Page 54 of The First Cut
Shutting my eyes, I breathe through the bite of pain, ever conscious of the inky black memories lying in wait, ready to encroach.
Slipping his hand around my throat, he pulls me up until I’m leaning back against him. He doesn’t move now. He’s fully seated inside me. He looks down at me like he’s the winner, and I’m first prize.
“My cock fits your pussy like it was made for you.”
“Hannibal,” I gasp as I adjust to his size.
“There she is,” he whispers before he bends me back over the counter. “Keep your eyes on me. I want you to know exactly whose cock you’re taking.”
I do as he asks, gripping the counter once more as his hands move to my hips. He pulls out to the tip before bottoming out inside me, making me scream.
“Never had a pussy so fucking good,” he snarls before he starts fucking me slow and deep. Each thrust pushes my limits just a little bit further. There’s an edge of pain, but not enough to distract from the pleasure that’s starting to unfurl inside me like a sleeping tiger learning to stretch. Its sharp claws dig into me as something primal awakens.
“Eyes on me!” he barks, making me jump. I hadn’t even noticed they’d slipped closed.
“Look at you taking every inch of me. I knew you’d fit me like a fucking glove.”
I focus on our reflections, not so far gone that I can’t see we look good together if you don’t look below the surface.
As his fingers start circling my clit, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what attracts him to me—all my dark, broken edges. Lord knows I don’t have Suzy Sunshine shit to offer him. But Hannibal wouldn’t know what to do with sunshine other than consume it.
Each stroke of his fingers works me slowly into a writhing ball of need until I’m shaking like a junkie needing a fix.
“Make me come, doll. Squeeze that pussy nice and tight. I want to feel you milk my cock.”
I do as he asks, ripping a groan of pure pleasure from him before he starts working my clit faster.
“I’m going to cum inside you, fill you up until you’re dipping. And then, when you’re too tired to move, I’m going to take you again. And you’re going to welcome me in.” It’s not a question but a statement of fact. The authority in his tone sends my pulse skyrocketing.
He thrusts inside me as he reaches up and pinches my nipple hard. I cum with a moan, unable to hold back any longer as I feel him pulse inside me, filling me up like he said he would. And for one perfect moment, I don’t feel empty anymore.
After we get cleaned up, we crawl into bed where he holds me tight. Feeling safe and sated, it doesn’t take long before I drift offin his arms. When I wake up, he’s still tucked up behind me, but now his cock is kissing my cervix as he fucks me slowly.
I don’t know how long he’s been inside me, but I can feel how wet I am. A throbbing need wants to beg for more, but I’m too scared to open my mouth and break the spell. Instead, I pretend I’m still asleep and let him use me as he sees fit. I would've thought that was not something I’d be interested in, given my past experiences. But I love it. By the time I woke up, I was too turned on to get caught up in my head. Instead of telling myself all the reasons I should hate this, I let go and just let myself feel it all. There’s beauty in being able to submit, especially after everything. I find joy in allowing myself to sink into the moment. This time, when I come, it brings peace that I haven’t felt for a long time.
We fall back asleep, with Hannibal still inside me, leaving us connected. A few hours later, he wakes up and eases out of me. I moan and roll over, only stopping when he spreads my legs and cleans me up with a cool washcloth.
He presses a kiss to my inner thigh once he’s done. “Thank you,” he murmurs. I don’t know what he’s thanking me for, but I reach down and run my fingers through his hair in response.
“We’re gonna make this work, Lola. Just you wait.”
My fingers still for a moment before I stroke them through his hair once more. “I hope so,” I whisper. If it doesn’t, I’m fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
Hannibal
Iwatch her as she walks out of the shower, wearing one of my T-shirts stretched tight over her bump. She keeps her eyes averted from mine as she towel-dries her hair.
She moves with caution, like she has some kind of inbuilt survival skill. She’s adapted to know when to be quiet, to not draw attention to herself, by thinking small and being silent. She has no idea that to a predator like myself, that shit only makes her look more like prey.
Eventually, she sits on the end of the bed and runs her fingers through her hair before twisting it up and pinning it into place with some kind of clip.
“You hungry?”
She jumps at the sound of my voice but turns to look at me. “I could eat.”
“Good, because I’m starving. What are you in the mood for?”
