Page 95 of Two Chambered Heart

In the silence under her shuddering breaths, she could hear herself dripping onto his floor.

“Look at your pussy throb for me. You’re pushing all of my cum out with the way you’re clenching.” He brought his hand up to her, pushing his own seed back inside of her, and she didn’t even have the breath for another moan.

In the deep red light of the room, she wasn’t sure if she was in heaven or hell.

She was starting to think that maybe, they were the same place.

She felt sticky and sore. Her shoulders were aching from being tied behind her for hours and she could feel the burning, raw skin on her hips and chestfrom where the rope had been rubbing. Jason had kept her in suspension into the early morning, before finally lowering her limp body and tucking her into his bed with a glass of water. Her watch told her it was approaching evening, though she wouldn’t have known from the blackout curtains keeping the bedroom shrouded in darkness.

She groaned, rolling over in the bed and opening her eyes.

Jason was propped up against his slatted headboard, a small bedside lamp casting enough light for her to see he was reading.

“You’re awake?” he asked, a little hesitantly.

She sidled up next to him and reached for him in confirmation. “What are you reading?”

“Dostoevsky.”

“I haven’t read anything like that, but that seems to fit—pretentious and broody and tortured like you.”

“I think you’re missingromanticin that list.”

“How is a Russian novelist romantic?”

“Above all, don't lie to yourself,” he quoted. “The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect, he ceases to love.” He closed the book and pulled her to him, running a thumb over the angry red marks on her chest.

“Okay, I hear you. There may be a lesson in there for you somewhere. But how’s this for romantic? I think you actually fucked me into psychosis. I feel like I need to be admitted.”

He laughed, deep and full, and it was a glorious sound. She had to bask in the richness, closing her eyes to let it wash over her.

“We should probably shower. We smell.”

“Not yet. Your skin will burn.” He turned to his bedside table, pulling a jar from the drawer. He opened it, dipping his fingers into the congealed substances inside, gently spreading it across her tender skin.

She sniffed. “Coconut oil?”

“Mm-hmm, it helps with friction burns. Pulls some of the heat out. Where else?”

She pushed the sheets down to look at her legs, blushing when Jason’s oiled hands found her skin. It was really tender, both her burns and his touch.

“Once the inflammation settles, we can take a warm bath. It will help with some of the muscle soreness.” The we in his sentence was her victory. She felt like maybe she had just won the war. She hoped, at least, but Jason was unpredictable.

Snuggling into the crook of his arm, she watched him pick up his book again.

She ran her fingers along the muscles of his stomach, tracing each defined ab, watching them flex and his skin pebble in her wake.

They stayed like that for a while, enjoying each other’s quiet company after a night of pure decadence.

Eventually, her fingers found the waistband of his sweatpants.

“I don’t think you’re ready for another round, sweetheart.” He said, removing her hand from where it had landed.

“You’re probably right. I feel like a fucking sex doll.”

He laughed again. “You’reoursex doll.”

Ours.The word rattled around in her brain, and her stomach dropped.

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