Page 38 of Shattered
But for her to trust me? That was a mistake.
“You shouldn’t,” I said.
I reached forward, grabbing her wrists in my hands, and she grunted and resisted, but not for long. I quickly tied her with some fresh cord, keeping her wrists together, but spreading her ankles, attaching them to the legs at the bottom of the bed. I leaned into her, pressing my hard dick against her body as I bound her.
“No matter what I do, I can’t get you out of my head,” I said, the mechanical voice raspy. “I could kill a million men and I’d still be thinking about what it was like to see you writhe on my hand, lost in your own heat.”
“Rourke,” she whined.
I took my pocket knife out and cut open her shirt, her eyes widening with the ripping echo. “I dreamed of you naked. Bound. Helpless. As I choked you, I made you come on my cock, I throbbed in your wet cunt. Would you like that, Melissa? Tell me.”
“I would love it,” she groaned.
I ran my hands along her skin. Smooth. The paint creamy and smudging her skin, getting on my gloves, marking me. My tongue flicked in my mouth, the instinctual need to lick her folds and taste her sweetness, but those boundaries,my fucking mask, held me back. I settled for rubbing my leather-clad fingers on her clit. Swollen. Sensitive. She twitched with each flick of my thumb. I licked my lips, then slapped her cunt hard.
“Fuck,” she cried.
Oh, the anguish was rich. I slapped her again and she bit her lip and cried like she was throwing a temper tantrum, so I did it again, enjoying the way she clenched her entire body. While she was busy complaining, I let one of my hands reach up and grab her throat, and immediately, she stilled, her eyes going wide as she stared at me.
“Each breath of air,” I said, I leaned down, the voice changer crinkling in industrial channels, “each breath of air, whether I’m here or not, is mine, Melissa. I should have killed you that first night, and I could at this very moment. But I won’t. Let’s hope we never figure out why.”
I slid against her, exploring her body, her hips rocked into mine, and I let one hand return to that delicate neck. Rubbing her wet folds, I teased her closer to orgasm. She bucked her hips, trying to get more of my hand on her cunt, and my cock throbbed.
I put a hand over her mouth, gently holding it there, and she moaned. “Do you feel what you do to me, Melissa? I’ve made myself come every night thinking about you. Burying myself deep inside of you. Making you come so hard that you forget your own name.”
She closed her eyes, whimpering, and I shoved a finger inside of her. She moaned, and another finger slid in with ease. She was ready for me. Desperate to come.
I held my palm tight over her mouth, then pinched her nose shut with my fingers, completely depriving her of air. Suddenly, she struggled against her restraints, forgetting that her wrists were tied together, and pulled at her ankles. The drive to live outweighed the need to come, but I knew better. I dug my hips into her side, tightening my grip, then finally, I released my hold.
“You’re letting fear control you,” I said. “Trust me, Melissa. I could kill you right now, that’s true. But I won’t. And I’m not going to stop putting you through this until you come, showing me that your desire to comerulesover your desire to live.” I pressed my body against her and she cried out. “Tell me you’d rather come than live.”
“Rourke,” she said, tears rolling down the sides of her face. My cock ached. Begged to be deep inside of her.
“Say it,” I growled.
“I want to come. More than live.”
“Then come,” I growled. At first, I rubbed her clit with my finger, then slid inside of her folds, fingering her deep. Forgetting what I had promised, she relaxed into it, starting to squirm in need. I covered her mouth and closed off her nose then, still rubbing her into orgasm with my free hand, and while she was fine at first, still thrusting and bucking, each second that passed, she was losing composure, unable to control her instincts. I slid a finger over to her ass, rubbing her tight hole, and her eyes widened. I let her breathe then, giving her a few seconds to gather herself, still teasing her ass. “You can tell me to stop, but we both know you won’t,” I whispered in her ear. She closed her eyes, rocking onto my fingers, letting me penetrate her in both holes like a dirty, filthy bitch. More than ever, I needed to fill her up. “Come for me, slut.” I covered her mouth and nose again, working my fingers in and out, overwhelming her with sensation. “Come for me, Melissa!”
She twisted, her body tensing into an uncontrollable position with a strength that dug indentations into her wrists where the cords lay. She bucked so hard that my grip almost left her mouth and nose, but I tightened my hold on her, keeping her down, forcing her to submit to pleasure, to want nothing more than to come. Her need dripped over my hands, the heat of it coming through my gloves, and she clenched and bucked, and finally that orgasm conquered her, ripping through her body in an overwhelming crash. I let go of her mouth and nose and she gasped, sucking in a long, deep breath, greedy for air, the sensation of full lungs almost too much in the middle of the climax, but her eyes searched for me, still wanting me, wanting my cock to pound into her, to conquer her completely.
“Shh,” I whispered, the sound muffled by the voice changer. I ran a wet glove over her face, trying to tell her to close her eyes. To relax. To breathe in and out steadily. And she did. “It’s over,” I said. “You won.”
And there was no doubt about it in my mind that she had won it all. Even me.
When I looked inside of her, seeing her depraved like that, the aftermath of her orgasm causing her chest to rise and fall so deep that I knew she was close to falling asleep, I saw myself in her. Filling her up. Whether it was good for her or bad for both of us, I didn’t know.
I began untying her wrists. She opened her eyes for a moment, but I shushed her again.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I said quietly. “You will sleep until morning. And then, I’ll be gone. But you won’t forget me, will you?”
She shook her head gently, her eyes closed. “No,” she said.
“Sleep,” I said again. And now, with her wrists free, she settled them on her stomach.
I left my pocket knife on the windowsill beside her; she could cut her ankles free in the morning. She was nearly asleep, those deep, heavy breaths full of yearning and exhaustion. The paint smudges were gone, sweated off, rubbed onto the sheets, or staining me.
I grabbed a scarf off of the floor. I tied it around her eyes gently, so as to not disturb her too much.
Then I took off my mask. My face dripped with sweat. The coolness of the air conditioning licked my face.
I bent down to her open lips, and I kissed her.
