Page 46 of There is No Devil

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He tears off the deep plum gown I was wearing, ripping the straps so that the expensive beading scatters across the hardwood floor.

I attack him back just as hard, yanking open his shirt, ripping the material, losing the buttons.

We’re kissing each other with more than passion. We’re exorcising our anger, our resentment, our fear, and our rage.

It’s not directed at Cole and it’s not directed at me. It’s a dark, swirling energy between us. A bitterness that has to burn out before it consumes us both.

Cole hasn’t even got my dress all the way off when he throws me over the arm of the couch and takes me from behind. He wraps his hand up in the long rope of my hair, jerking my head back, using it as reins while he mounts me and rides me hard.

He’s fucking me ruthlessly, roughly, the slap of his hips against my ass punctuated by actual slaps from his hand.

“More,” I moan. “Harder.”

I deserve this.

My guilt over Erin can only be assuaged by punishment. I want to be spanked harder, faster, meaner. I need the sadist in Cole. I need the psychopath.

And Cole obliges.

He forces me down on my knees, the back of my head against the arm of the couch. He shoves his cock into my mouth, my head pinned, no way to escape.

He holds my head between both hands, fucking my mouth. His cock is iron-hard and relentless, tunneling into my throat. I’m choking on it, drooling around it, trying to steal gasps of breath before he drills into me again.

There is something so satisfying in this. Something that I deeply need, that I’ve never been able to ask for before.

The more I come to trust Cole, to believe that he won’t actually hurt me, the more I want him to push the line.

This is the broken, fucked up part of myself. The part that’s furious over every time that I was hurt or used, but still craves the freedom to seek out roughness and even violence when I want it, on my terms.

I’m a tree that grew in cruel wind, twisted and bent by it. Sex and violence, passion and intensity, are inextricably entwined for me. I can’t have one without the other. Right or wrong doesn’t come into it. I am the way life made me.

Only this satisfies: biting, clawing, scratching, struggling. Cole and I fuck on the couch, on the floor. He slams me up against the wall, bodily lifting me off the ground.

I need to experience his strength, his power, his ruthlessness, because that’s what I need in a man. It’s the only way I feel safe. He has to terrify me so I know he’ll terrify everyone else. I’ve never met a real hero, I don’t think they exist. Only a monster can protect me.

We’re fucking in the dark so we can unleash the demons inside of us.

Anguished sounds come out of me: sometimes sobbing, sometimes begging for more.

Our clothes are all gone now, torn to ribbons on the floor. Cole’s back is a mass of scratches as if he’s been whipped, his skin under my nails. His teeth marks print my shoulders and my breasts.

Still I moan in his ear, “Don’t stop. I need more …”

“You fucking lunatic, I’ll kill you,” Cole snarls. “You don’t know what I have in me …”

“Show me. You promised to show me.”

He throws me down on the floor, so hard that all the air slams out of me and I see stars on his ceiling.

He climbs on top of me, our bodies slick with sweat. It’s dripping down from the inky tips of his hair, from the sharp planes of his jaw. It splashes on my face and my breasts. I open my mouth to taste the salt on my tongue, I lick it off his throat. I want his sweat and his cum all over me. I want to be filthy.

He rams his cock inside me. The harder he fucks me, the harder he gets. His cock is on fire, I feel it burning all the way up inside me. My wetness could be pussy or blood. I don’t fucking care anymore.

I look up into his face and I see the naked Cole, that real, true creature. The devil himself. Eyes as black as pits, always burning. Face as beautiful as sin. Mouth forever hungry, swallowing me whole.

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