Page 22 of Unmasked Anarchy
I step into the main house and tiptoe past sprawled out bodies, bikers and girls, most of them naked.A couple is tangled up on the pool table, a bare bum on display for the world to see.The rough sounds of snoring travel through the room.I shake my head, moving forward.
The hallway smells like gunpowder, and I can see they have put large boards where the windows were shattered.I creep down farther until I reach the bedroom where I carefully push the door open.Gage is asleep, sprawled out on top of the sheet like he fell there and simply never moved.
He’s shirtless, his muscled body on display under the dull light of the lamp.There are purpling bruises mapping his ribs and biceps.His hands are laced behind his head, the veins still raised from the events of the night, and the lines around his mouth soften with sleep.
I watch the rise and fall of his breathing, try to fit the feeling in my chest to the man I married.He’s beautiful.I hate how beautiful he is, how even like this, he is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.I sit down on the edge of the bed.The movement stirs him, but he doesn’t wake.He just shifts, head rolling toward me, lips parted, one arm dropping loose at his side.A heat pools in my belly, guilt moving cleanly through it.
I want to wake him, want to crawl inside those arms and ask for an apology or to beg his forgiveness, or just to have him look at me like I am something he owns again.I want to be held down and ravished by him.I want him to declare to the world that I am his and mean it in a way that’s deep.
I pull the sheet down.His cock curves against his thigh, heavy and delicious.I bite my bottom lip, knowing I should just turn and leave, but I can’t bring myself to.I run my palm over the length of him.He grunts, hips twitching, but doesn’t wake, and that just spurs me on.
I lean down, placing my lips on the tip, then my tongue.I suck him slow because this is for me, not for him.Each movement is deliberate, a way to reclaim a part of myself that feels lost.It’s a pathetic trauma bond that I know is toxic, yet I can’t seem to shake the need I have inside for this man.The connection is a tangled web of emotions, a mix of desire and desperation that pulls me in despite the warning signs.
I’m aware of the danger, the way this bond wraps around my heart, squeezing tighter with every encounter.Yet, there’s a comfort in the familiarity, a sense of belonging that I can’t find anywhere else.It’s as if he holds a piece of me, a fragment that I can’t bear to lose, even if it means sacrificing my own well-being.The toxicity is palpable, a constant undercurrent that threatens to pull me under, but the moments of closeness, the fleeting glimpses of something real, keep me tethered to him.It’s a cycle I can’t break, a need that refuses to fade, leaving me caught between the desire for freedom and the pull of a bond that feels unbreakable.
He stirs.His thigh tenses under my hand, the muscle like iron.His voice is rough, distant, a grumble trailing up from his chest."What—" I don’t move away, I just take him deeper.It doesn’t take him long to figure out it’s me, because he moans, head falling back, one hand searching for my hair.He finds it, tangling his fingers until my roots ache, until my mouth is full of him and nothing else matters.
I gag, just a little, and he growls, a filthy little reward.I don’t stop.I want to take all of him, want to feel the victory of making him come apart.
"Stop," he pants finally, pulling my head up.I look up at him, and fuck if he doesn’t look good right now.His eyes are nearly black as he stares down at me.
“This your apology?”he growls.
“Is it enough?”
A moment of silence.
He wraps his arms around me, the embrace crushing, and flips us in one violent motion so I’m pinned.It’s a miracle the bed holds up, but the only thing I care about is the way he kisses me.His tongue is warm against mine, all masculine and hungry, and when he pushes inside me, I bite his shoulder so hard I taste copper.
He fucks me like he’s trying to banish the entire night.There’s none of the measured possessiveness from before, he’s rough, relentless, holding me down with a strength that’s more desperate than angry.In the dim bedroom, the air is thick, and the hollow of Gage’s throat is slick where I bite it, again and again, until he gasps and snaps my wrists into one of his hands.
He doesn’t say a word as he pins my arms above my head and keeps my legs wide with his hips.I buck my own hips as he drags his cock out, slowly, before plunging it back in.My pulse washes out my senses; all I can focus on is the way Gage’s hand bruises my wrist, the way the bed shudders under us, the way his breath flames out in short bursts against my neck.
“Say it,” he growls, his voice rough.“Say you’re mine.”
I bare my teeth, twist hard enough to wrench one hand free.“No.”
He laughs, genuinely laughs, and grabs my hair with his free hand, yanking my head back.I try to turn my face away, but he catches my chin, digging his thumb into the soft spot until my jaw aches.He thrusts so deep my insides burn, but I don’t want it to stop.
“Say it, Sabie,” he hisses.“Or I’ll stop and leave you desperate for more.”
I hold out as long as I can, but he knows my body, knows exactly how to angle, how to grind against me.The pressure is building, the ache so deep I don’t think I can hold on for a second longer.
He stops, and slowly the pleasure subsides.I squirm beneath him, gasping out a curse.
“Tell me,” he growls.
“Yours,” I hiss.“I’m yours, you son of a bitch.”
Gage laughs again and suddenly pulls out, flipping me over onto my stomach.The sheet twists under my knees, a burn against raw skin.He drives back in, faster now, knuckles digging into the back of my neck to hold me down.
I love it.Hate it.I think about Kael, about the soft way he touched my body, and then I arch my back so Gage can go deeper.When I cum, I do it with a broken scream of pleasure that I can’t explain.
Gage follows close behind me.
His growl of pleasure sends shivers down my spine.
Then, he is gone, and I am left with that cold, empty feeling again.
