Page 37 of Carved in Scars

I thrust all the way into her again, and she moans.

“I don’t know, Ally,” I groan, continuing to fuck her slowly. “You’re going to have to be quieter than that if you want me to give it to you faster.”

“You’re…torturing me,” she forces out.

I smile. It doesn’t get much better than a girl you’ve fantasized about for months underneath you, telling you you’re torturing her with your big dick and a slow fuck.

“Quiet,” I repeat.

I give her what she asks for—just a little faster, rolling my hips a little harder as Ally meets me with every thrust, silently begging for more. The headboard starts to tap but doesn’t slam against the wall.

I put one of her legs over my shoulder, then reach my hand between us and circle her clit with my fingers.

She turns her head to the side and bites into my pillow when she comes, burying the scream I would have pulled from her inside of it, and the sight of that is enough to drive me right to the edge.

“Fuck,” I groan. “Can I come in you?”

“Yes,” she says.

Her legs are still shaking when I reach both hands under her knees and spread them wide. Maybe I lose control a little bit because she feels so good like this, and I slam into her and let the headboard pound against the wall.

“Devon…”

“Fuck…yes.” I grit my teeth, pin her legs next to her head, and come hard inside her.

I lie down next to her, and she sits up and starts digging through the blankets for her shorts.

“No way,” I say, pulling her back down onto the bed. “You have to stay with me for at least two whole minutes before you run away this time.”

She doesn’t even bother to fight me on this one. She lies down with her head on my shoulder, wraps one arm around my chest, and pulls on my earplug with the other hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nods.

“Why do you do it? The cuts?”

She sighs. “Um, it’s like an outlet, I guess. Kind of like art, but for letting out the pain. It gives it a physical exit point, and I don’t know…gives me a false sense of control, I guess. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

I run my fingers through my hair and try not to picture it in my head—Ally in so much pain, suffering enough that she wants to hurt herself. I can’t take it.

“I don’t want to, but it’s become kind of a compulsion or a routine, even. I started with just one…and then I decided that three at a time was better. Then, I decided if there needed to be three, I couldn’t do it more than two days in a row, and just added more rules from there. I want to stop, though; I’m trying.”

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You do help me,” she says. “More than you know.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. You talk to me.”

“Your friendsdon’t talk to you?”

“No,” Ally tells me. “Not like this. I can’t tell them, and they don’t ask.”

I’m not sure how to reply to that without saying something shitty, so I don’t.

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