Page 23 of Antihero
She gives a saccharine smile back, then grinds softly against me. My breath hitches. All I need to do is not respond, not give her anything to work with.
I can feel her opening around the bottom of my shaft, lips warm and already slick. The way her hips roll promises ecstasy. When was the last time I had a woman ride me?
I need to stop staring at her peaked nipples. The way her arms press her breasts forward, and how each of her deep inhales lifts them a little higher. I force my thoughts, my attention away, and she dips closer. Her hardened nipples brushing the top of my chest, her lips caressing the other side of my jaw to her knife. I think of every unsexual thing I can. It works, and she knows it.
“Oh,” she pouts, “Don’t be like thatNeedler.”Somehow, she makes the name sound emasculating. “Didn’t you have fun last time? Why not again? Except you’ll not get the chance to choke me this time,” she adds the last sounding vaguely displeased.
Her hot breath tickles my neck, her body tantalising and full against mine. The ache in my shoulder feels far away, distant. I need it present, a distraction, something to focus on that’s not her, soft, warm, promising…
She bites my throat, hard enough to hurt, to break my safe thought pattern as I grunt, managing not to buck her off as the knife bites its own mark against my chin. "Maybe a kiss would help?" The way her eyebrows lift, I know she’s not talking about kissing mymouth.
I actually laugh, and am rewarded by her looking put out. "It’s going to take much more than a knife at my throat before I let your teeth anywhere near my cock," I tell her, my tone cruel.
"Oh? And what will it take?"
"A knife at your throat," I respond, pressing my head up, my chin onto the blade.
Paige blinks, then recovers, eyes narrowing. “Don’t move your hands. And don’t bother going for the knife. I promise you, I’m faster.” She lets go of my hands, pulling herself more upright, giving me a view of her barred upper body. Her hair is no longer in those fake waves but just her usual dishevelled look, tumbling over her shoulders and against her back, her breasts taut.
The knife stays at my throat, now pinching against my Adam's apple, but her free hand is trailing down my chest, coursing herfingers over my abdomen. My breath pants. I’m sure she feels it. The effort of resistance, like running a sprint.
My brain has gone blank, too lustful and simultaneously too busy with the effort of staying flaccid. When her hand finds me, it’s like a jolt. I do worse trying to cover up the sound that comes from me, like a gut-punch, than I do attempting to stop the blood rushing down to meet her touch.
I grunt in frustration, my head falling back, throat long, and I swell in her hand, the pressure instant.
When her hand leaves me, her weight settles again, this time crushingly as she rolls herself along me. I swell more, and think less.
She grins and bites her lip when my manhood twitches, now full. Paige braces her free hand on my chest and looks down at me. “That’s better.” Her voice turns breathy as she grinds, long and slow, right to my tip. Then back down. I can’t take my eyes off her, watching her like she’s both a serpent and some kind of succubus I can’t resist. I need her, need release, as much as I need to hate her. She grinds once, faster, eyelids drifting half closed as a breathy moan escapes her parted lips. Then slow again, right up to my tip, her eyes opening to meet mine as she tilts her hips and I feel the head of my cock slide towards tightness. Jaw tightening, my breath rasps out hard.
My muscles clench, lifting myself involuntarily against her, braced at her entrance. Breath trembling as she presses back, Paige pulls me in slowly, lifting herself up to position and sliding down onto me. Lowering herself slowly, tentatively at first, she squeezes my first inches, then again, taking more, and more, until she’s swallowed me completely. My own groan extends out, almost pained, as she finally fills herself with me, squeezing my cock, relieving the pressure at the same time as stoking the need for more.
She braces her hand against my chest as she starts to move; rolling, grinding movements. Her short little gasps come out almost accidentally as she watches me. Her lip is caught between her teeth.
The knife has slipped against the corner of my jaw rather than to my throat, but I couldn’t move to dislodge her, even if I had that willpower. I’m paralysed by her body, mesmerised as she rides me.
“You need this…” she breathes out.
“No,” I grunt.
She ignores me. “You need someone to hunt…” Her breath catches as she rolls her hips, taking me deeper, “…and someone to save.”
I process her words. The formulation of my own is near impossible as she moves in long, slow, and lingering strokes. I can’t stop watching her face, her expression soft and wondrous. “I was getting better. Before you…”
For a moment, the torture and heaven of her movements cease, and she leans forward on me, eyes glassy with ecstasy. “You can pretend to be ‘John’. You can turn yourself into a husk and empty yourself of life. Or…” Straightening, her lips tug into a smile as she moves again. “…you can have this. You feel alive now, don’t you?”
I can’t answer, can’t think. Her gasps grow sharper, faster with her movements, and she straightens more, grinding harder so that I feel myself push that bit deeper, feel her clamp around me. She said I won’t choke her again this time. I’ll prove her wrong about that.
She gasps in shock when my hand closes around her throat, up close against her chin. I could stop her now. Indeed, she hesitates, perhaps expecting me to. But I don’t stop her, and then I can’t hold it back any longer, can’t resist the tightness, the pulsing of her silken muscles as she rides herself to climaxon me. She’s gasping, seeming almost surprised, like giving up even this bit of control wasn’t what she came here for. Paige cries out, grinding fast and violent, jolting on me. Enraptured by every moment and nuance of that, I’ve no choice but to let myself release too, spilling hot inside her. My hand tightens around her throat at the intense peak. A peak that stretches out, toeing the line between pain and pleasure, and leaving me lax when it finally subsides.
For a few blissful milliseconds as clarity returns, we stare at each other. Then, anything like post-coital bliss is snatched away. I scrabble for the knife she dropped somewhere by my shoulder, but by the time I get it, Paige is off me, the door swinging closed at her back.
I flop back onto the bed, breath spent, the complacency of orgasm settling me back as my pains make themselves re-known. But even with my stinging shoulder and my aching ankle, my mind is oddly peaceful, already stuck replaying the last half hour.
She’s well and truly burrowed into my head now. Even if I’m never touched by her again, I’ll still think about tonight. And not in the way I should—as a trespass, a violation. But as a refuge, something rousing and near otherworldly. Something I want again and again.
I run a hand back through my hair, letting a breath hiss out.
“Well,” I say to myself. “Fuck.”
