Page 31 of Shattered
“Do you have any tattoos?” she asked.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I’ve always wanted one.”
What was she hiding? “It’s one of the strongest shows of commitment to an ideal, to state that we want this, whatever it is, permanently on our bodies,” I said. “Even in sickness or age, when our skin sags and the ink fades, we know that the art still marks us. Shows what we are. What we were, and what we will be forever. Permanence as an act of violent truth.”
“You make me want to be real,” she said, her voice triumphant. “I’ve always thought that I was real, using my own personality to sell my time, but I always fall back into old habits. Hiding behind lies. What I think the person wants to hear. What they want me to look like. What I think I’m supposed to be.”
I grabbed her face, the warmth of her skin penetrating the leather gloves. She sucked in a breath.
“You are who you are, Melissa,” I said. “And you will find out what that means to you. But never give up on being your most authentic self.”
Her lip quivered, perhaps in fear, or in lust. I wasn’t sure. But my cock ached and the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to untangle myself from her web.
“I need to go,” I said. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Stay,” she whispered. “Please.”
This was dangerous for both of us. The heat between us drew us in like an explosion ready to tear the entire city apart.
Her lips were wet, moist. Poised in an open hole. Ready for the taking. I pressed my grip into her.
I should stop seeing Melissa. I needed to stop.
But only after this.
“Do you let them fuck this pretty little mouth of yours?” I asked. She didn’t say anything, but I knew the answer. I rubbed the smudge of charcoal from her chin, then ran my thumb along her lip. “When a cock gets shoved down your throat, do you think of me? Fantasize about what it would be like to touch my skin, to know that I was a human underneath the armor, to know that I wanted you badly enough that I was willing to risk exposing my identity, just to fuck you?”
She stuttered, “I… I…”
“Do you think I’ll hurt you?” I asked. “That I’ll murder you like the rest of those pathetic men? Tell me, Melissa.” I held her face tighter. “Do you think I’ll hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered.
I moved the pastel pad to the top of the dresser, then took a seat at the foot of her bed. I rested my hands on my thighs.
“Show me how much you want me.”
She blinked her eyes as if she couldn’t believe what I was saying. But I knew the truth.
“You wore that outfit for me,” I said. “You’ve been waiting for me to return and thought that maybe if you wore something suggestive, that I’d know. That I’d come find you again.” I motioned her close. “Come rub yourself on my thigh. Show me how wet you are.”
She watched me, waiting for me to do something, and the fact that I didn’t move unnerved her, made her fidget, made her think that shehadto do something. We could play this game, do this dance until one of us made a move. But we both knew that she would break first.
She crawled across the bed, the springs creaking, and the comforter fell away from her body, showing off her juicy ass. Straddling one of my thighs, she rubbed herself on me, her wetness saturating the fabric. Rocking her hips.
I moved my hand close to her, positioning my open palm underneath her so that it rubbed against her clit. Her mouth opened, and her slick heat moistened my fingers.
“That feels good, doesn’t it?” I said, “Getting yourself off on me. Using my hand.” My cock twitched and she moaned in response, singing pleasure to it. “Seeing how much it turns me on.”
She slipped her hips forward, massaging herself against me. She was drenched, soaking my pants, her need dripping down my thigh, our closest to skin to skin contact. Her breasts pressed against my chest, hot and soft, and I wanted to squeeze them until she cried out in pain, but this wasn’t about that. I wanted her to see exactly how much she could writhe on me, purely from her own desire. The filthy slut who couldn’t get enough. Who fucked my palm because she was a dirty slut who wanted to.
This wasn’t good for me, but I wanted her, and nothing was going to stop me.
I put my other hand on her lower back, bringing her closer, guiding her hips into my palm, her lower lips sliding back and forth on me. “Make yourself come. I want to see your face.”
Her thighs clenched against me. “This is wrong,” she murmured.
