Page 84 of Creatures Like Us
“Intense,” he whispers, staring down at his torso. “Hot.”
I bring my bloody hand between our bodies and grip his straining cock. “I can tell.”
“Do you want to fuck me the way I did you? With this?” He nods at the blood.
“Yeah. If you want me to.”
“Please.”
I haven’t fucked him since that day I came back from the woods; he’s always been the one fucking me, but I have to admit I’ve been thinking about it. It’s different to be the one on top, taking my pleasure, and after everything that has passed between us, I think it’s fitting.
I need to show him that I want to be close to him in every possible way I can, that I’m okay, that I don’t hate him for what he did to me. The sex is just a vessel for that to happen, and the sensations themselves—the pleasure and the pain—are secondary to the implications of our surrender.
Yes. Me cutting him, me fucking him, it’s all the same, and all it does is bring us closer.
I crawl down his body until I sit between his parted legs. Hands under his knees, I make him tilt his lower body upward as I bring my tongue between his legs, to the warm place between his cheeks. I lick him there, one long swipe.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
I press my tongue to his hole, feeling it shudder along with his whole body. “Relax, Goldilocks. Let me take care of you. Let me make sure it doesn’t hurt like it did last time.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” he whimpers, and I hear the tears in his voice. “I’m not nice to you.”
“What?”
“I’m mean to you. I’m cruel. I don’t mean to be, but?…?I can’t help it.”
“Shh.” I keep lapping at his hole, wanting to make him relax and let go of all he’s done, all I’ve done, and all we’ve done to each other. I think it’s working.
“That feels so good,” he whispers.
I hum against him, folding him nearly in half as I dip my tongue sharply into his hole.
“Fuck,” he sobs. “Fuck, fuck.”
I alternate between kissing and licking his hole, trying to make him see that I’ll take care of him through this. He moans through all of it, sobs and whines as I hold him up and part his cheeks wide, already addicted to the way he tastes and smells and the way his hole softens and opens up against my tongue. I eat him out for longer than is probably necessary, but it feels necessary for me. To reassure him. To calm him. To make him focus on the pleasure rather than the pain I know he hates.
“Blood didn’t work as lube that well,” I mumble. “So I’ll use the real deal on you, okay?”
“Oh?…?Okay.”
I reach for the bottle by the bedside and squeeze some onto my fingers. “You’re so pretty here,” I mumble, pressing a finger to his hole. “You’re pretty everywhere.”
He makes a strained sound, face going bright red. “Sh-Shut up.”
“Shh. Relax for me now.”
“I’m?…?I’m trying. But it?…?it hurts.”
I remove my finger immediately. “Where?”
“Not there. My wound; it’s burning.”
“Turn to your side.”
He turns obediently, and I slide up beside him, pushing my finger between his cheeks and finding his hole again, sliding the middle finger inside, careful and slow.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, kissing his neck. “You can let me inside. No pain.”
