Page 107 of Swallow Your Sorries

She says nothing.

“Why don’t you want to?” My fingers dig into her hip bone, trying to force her out of whatever distant thought she’s travelling down. “Don’t you think I deserve it?”

I do.

Iwant to hurt Elle. But the thought that someone else did, enough to leave a scar, ignites indescribable fury within me. It leaves a scar on me too. Whether she marks me or not, it’s there, burned right over my heart exactly where hers is.

She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not like you. I don’t like seeing people in pain at my hand. Even if they deserve it.”

“So you’re above it all?” I try to goad her. “You’re morally superior-fuck!”

My hard cock digs into her navel as I slam into her, pure bliss washing over me at the scalding then cooling wax that coats my nipple. I fist a hand into her hair and breathe in her scent as she struggles against me, so much so that she drops the candle and I extinguish the flame with my boot.

When she stops wriggling and my cock stops twitching in a threat to erupt, she tips her head back to look at me, but it only gives me access to her neck. I can’t help but lick her erratic pulse, swirling my tongue over the goosebumps until her skin’s so warm that they eventually disappear.

And once again she lets me. Allowing me to feast on her until her pulse eases, but never quite returns to a normal pace.

Minutes tick by as our eyes bore into each other and it’s like we’re travelling down the same road of emotions until we finally slow, slipping into begrudging acceptance and then finally exhaustion.

“I’m tired, Gant,” she whispers finally. “Really tired.”

I say nothing. Because I’m suddenly exhausted too after the rollercoaster, I know I’ll get back on come sunup.

“Why don’t we have an interlude?” she whispers. “A pause.”

“We don’t pause until I say so.”

“Then say so,” she says, leaning back to look up at me with those eyes that are too familiar and too different.

“Give me something to say so. Give me a reason.” There’s a plea in my voice because I want to pour my energy into another form. Into another being.For now.

“You want me to hurt, right? So, hurt me.”

“What do you mean?”

I think I already know.

She strokes my nape, her fingertips massaging the back of my scalp hesitantly at first, then with more conviction.

“Stop pretending. It’s tiring,” she echoes my earlier words to Sylo. “And we’re already tired. Aren’t we? We can rest for a bit. Together.”

“And while we rest?”

“Make me bleed. Isn’t that what you want?”

Gant

Make me bleed…

I’ve been dreaming about soaking my cock in Elle’s cunt for years and yet I can’t accept what my dove is offering.

Not yet, at least.

Because she isn’t giving in, she’s playing the long game now and her stony heart hasn’t changed and I need it to change even if I won’t allow mine to become penetrable.

A wound stuck in tender flesh is far more painful than a wound that merely shatters and destroys in one blow. You can always piece the shattered remains back together with enough time. But soft, pliable flesh is different. It aches and throbs. And even when the offending object is removed, the flesh has a memory of it being there. The soreness doesn’t completely vanish, even if it dulls. It’s always there, flaring with rain and memories.

That’s what I must be to Elle. Someone that’s always embedded into her heart, come what may.

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