Page 76 of Dirty Ink

Mason

If Rachel’s mouth on mine was the spark, then her teeth sinking into my lower lip, drawing blood, was the flame.

They say there’s no escaping a wildfire and whether Rachel knew it or not, there was no more chance of her escaping me. I had her pinned to the wall again and the heat that I pressed against her bucking, wild hips was all-consuming.

There was a fury to the way I tore at her hair just like there was a fury to the way she wrenched at my jacket. I’d meant what I’d said. I did hate her. I hated her with my whole fucking being. I hated her more than I hated anything else in the world. It wasn’t with kindness that I yanked at the hair at the nape of her neck till her head stretched back and exposed her neck to my tongue. It wasn’t with gentleness that I bit at her delicate skin there where the neck meets the shoulder. It wasn’t a sense of tenderness toward Rachel that made me grip the front of her costume and tear at it.

“Bastard,” she hissed, as she stared down at the costume.

Don’t let me make myself out as some kind of vengeful predator. As some asshole being too rough with a delicate, helpless woman. As a hateful monster taking it out on a defenceless fawn.

Because Rachel said it, too. Rachel said she hated me. And everything about what she was doing made me believe it. If I was rough, she was rougher. If I was brutal, she was demonic. If I bared my teeth at her, it didn’t fucking matter because her fangs were already piercing my jugular.

Rachel’s fingernails were like daggers in the small of my back as she dragged me closer to her. If my whole goddamn body wasn’t already inflamed, I would have felt the heat of drawn blood trickling down my back. She yanked at the back of my t-shirt till the collar choked me, bit into my flesh. I saw in her kiss-drunk eyes that she liked it: seeing me gasp for air, watching me claw at the material there at my throat, struggling against her till I did the only thing I could do to escape: rip my own fucking shirt in two.

There we were. Two enemies pressed up against one another. Each breathing raggedly. Each shaking in tattered clothes. Each with eyes filled with hatred. Each with eyes filled with lust. This was our only break from one another. The sizing up of the opponent after the initial round. The testing of wills. The blood-thirsty trail of eyes, from head to toe; my gaze catching on her breasts barely held back by her half-torn costume, eager to be free, eager for my mouth. And hers on the almost painful bulge against my pants, the only thing she hadn’t torn off of me.

Rachel dragged the back of her hand against her red mouth, eyes on mine, a boxer in the corner between rounds. The adrenaline only made her want to fight harder. To hit faster. To hurt me more. I grinned wickedly at her as we panted against each other. Because it just so happened that I felt the exact same goddamn way.

Rachel’s hands fumbled with the button of my pants and mine clawed like a caged animal at her fishnet stockings. She used her hands, her toes, everything but her fucking teeth to push down my pants. I did the same for her underwear. Neither of us bothered to free ourselves completely. It was like we were shackled at the ankles, but we didn’t care. Maybe we liked it: the bondage. I mean, what had we been doing to each other over all these years if not locking one another up and throwing away the key.

Rachel’s costume came away from her with one final tug and I groaned at the sight of her naked against the wall, nothing left on her but tattered fishnets and underwear-bunched heels. I slipped off the remains of my ruined t-shirt and lunged for her.

I got Rachel round the hips, but it was like wrestling an alligator. She thrashed in my arms, beat against my chest, dragged her fingernails down the back of my neck. I hoisted her in my arms and together we fell back against the wall, her lungs colliding with the bricks, my lungs colliding with hers. Slicked already with sweat, our bodies slipped against one another’s. I could feel her hard nipples brush against mine. I could hear the catch in her throat just like I was sure she could hear the catch in mine. The pounding music outside the locked door was loud, but Rachel’s mouth against my ear was closer. And closer will always be loud, closest always loudest.

“Dirty girl. You want to play rough?”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

She was all I could fucking hear. Her angry, snarling breaths as I struggled for her wrists. Her low cursing as I grabbed them, her victorious exhales as she wrenched them away. Her frustrated whine when I encircled them once more. Her pained gasp when I squeezed them, bone grinding against bone. Her involuntary moan as I pinned them together up above her head.

“It seems to me like you’ve forgotten who’s in charge.”

Rachel kicked off her panties and locked her ankles around my waist. Her thighs ensnared me. I might have gotten her held down, but she wanted me to know that I wasn’t any freer than her. We were both fucking trapped together.

“Let me fucking remind you.”

Without the use of her hands, Rachel snapped her teeth at me like a cornered, rabid dog as I guided my cock toward her pussy with my free hand. I held her wrists against the bricks with the other. But she didn’t stop. Not the biting. Not the thrashing in my arms. Not the bucking of her perfect tits against my chest.

My dick was so hard I feared that just the brush of her wet lips against my head might send me over the edge. It was twitching in my trembling fingers. Twitching between my strained, trembling thighs. Rachel’s teeth found the lobe of my left ear when I was off-guard. I howled as she whipped it back and forth like a chew toy.

I drove into her pussy with such a violent thrust that Rachel’s teeth were ripped from my earlobe, her back scraped up against the bricks. The noise that came from her mouth was the only thing that made me stop: if I hadn’t, I would have come right then and there. Buried balls deep inside of her. Knuckles bloodied against the bricks as I held her wrists. Lips against her throat. The noise was half pain, half pleasure; half hate, half love; half desperation, half passion; half desire, half loathing. It was everything fucked up about us. It was everything fucking goddamn perfect about us.

Rachel’s nails dug into the flesh of the back of my hands as I remained stilled against her. Eyes clenched shut. Trying to regulate my breathing. Trying to fight back against the overwhelming desire to just spill everything inside of her in that very moment. Her nails dug and her hips bucked and from her throat came a low, desperate whine. Her heels kicked against the broken skin at the small of my back. The music pounded outside. My heart pounded in my chest. Rachel’s pussy pounded against my cock, around my cock, into my fucking cock.

“Don’t fucking move.”

Pinned to the wall like that, without the use of her hands, Rachel was helpless. I could feel her desire in the twitch of her inner thighs against my waist, in the unevenness of her breathing, in the sharpness of her nails as she pierced deeper and deeper. I tightened my grip on her wrists. Any further and I would have broken them. I held her there against the wall, with me as far inside of her as I could possibly go and just stayed there.

“Fuck you.”

She fought against me, but I took the pain. Took the frustration. Took the temptation of her nipples against mine, hard and peaked and perfect to lick, to suck, to coat with my cum.

“I said. Don’t. Move.”

I held her there as she quivered needily against me, quivered yearningly around me because a part of me did hate her. I wanted her to know, to get a tiny little taste of what it felt like to be helpless. To go in search of the one true thing you’d known and find it gone. Find it missing. Find it forever out of reach. I fought against the overwhelming need in me to move myself, to fuck, to get off, to finally fucking breathe, because I knew it was just as painful for her. That it was tearing her up just like it was me.

I’d been falling all these years. And I was still falling, but it was nice to drag her down with my, even if just for a tiny moment in time.

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