Page 54 of Dance of Madness

He slams into me from behind, and I go down hard—knees scraping against concrete, palms breaking my fall. His weight crashes down on me, one hand fisting my hair, the other clamping down on my hip.

I scream, but not in panic. It’s a cathartic release.

He tears at my clothes. My leggings are yanked down, my shirt shoved up. The cold air hits my skin and I don’t fight it.

Idon’t want to.

I hear him panting. Hear his zipper lowering, the low growl that rumbles from his throat when he shoves my thighs apart. Feelthe hot,fucking huge, heavy dick against my ass as he pulls my leggings further down and roughly pushes my legs even wider.

The swollen head sliding down, parting my slick, eager lips.

He thrusts in brutally, viciously, so hard that tears spring to my eyes and the wind is knocked from my lungs. I’m barely aware of what’s happening until he’s on his tenth thrust.

And I’mloving. It.

Loving the way it feels like he’s breaking me in half. Like he’s tearing me apart and putting me back together with every glorious, rough pound of his big cock.

My cheek is against the floor. My mouth is open. My body is splitting open and falling apart andgiving inall at once.

Honestly, I thought it would hurt more.

I thought I’d cry.

But after that first ram into me, it doesn’t, and I don’t.

Ilet go.

In that moment, he’s not a stranger.

He’s the only person who’s ever trulyseenme.

“You know,I lost a bet with myself tonight.”

He hasn’t rolled off me yet. What started as me face down on the ground turned into him pulling me onto my hands and knees and railing the absoluteshitout of me. Then we switched so thatI was on my back, with him on top of me, between my thighs, his hand around my throat as he fucked me into oblivion.

Even with a gun to my head, I couldn't tell you how many times I orgasmed over the last hour.

We're still lying like that: his body over mine, my legs around his muscled hips, his hands on either side of my face. Through our masks, I can see his eyes.

Bright, venomous green.

And he’s still inside me.

It’s only now that we’ve stopped moving that I realize just how raw I am. The delicious bruises covering my body and the ache between my thighs. The hardwood under me presses into my spine where my shirt's pushed up, and I suddenly feel how bare I still am.

Yet it doesn’t bother me at all. Not just because as a dancer I’m pretty used to my own nudity.

It’s deeper than that.

I chide myself, shoving the thought into a little corner in the back of my mind.

We never agreed to that. We never talked aboutthatat all.That’snot what this is.

Tonight was about release. Sex, and just sex. He knew I was a virgin. We’ve spent months talking about kinks and desires and fantasies. And he finally flat out asked me if I wanted to experience mine, which happen to be his, too.

Needless to say, I said yes.

But that’s all this is: sex. An exploration of our dark sides. It isnotanything more, no matter how much intimacy we’ve built through our letters.

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