Page 46 of Fragile Twisted Vows

“Look at how wet she is for me, Lucille,” he growls out as he circles my wetness around my clit as his massive length continues to retreat and drive forth until it touches the fucking barrier of my soul.

He’s invading me from the inside out, exposing every bit of me and we’re not even naked.

“It’s your fault!” I cry out, another climax building as the wet, fast sounds of our fucking fill the air.

I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to react or respond. My consciousness is long gone and in its place is pure, unabashed desire. And it’s a fiery, unhinged monster.

“Yeah?” he half growls, half chuckles. The sound is sweeter than honey. I didn’t think he was capable of such a sound. Then again, I never thought this was even possible.

“My fault, baby girl?” he growls and my heart stutters in my chest at the pet name.

Did he mean to call me that? Or does he say that to every woman while he fucks her?

Don’t do that, Lucy. Don’t think about him fucking other women.

I don’t know why that fills me with anger, he was married to my sister for god’s sake.

And that thought hits even harder. That realization fills me with both guilt and rage, and I think he feels it too.

But he doesn’t stop. And surprisingly, I don’t want him to.

No, instead, he takes that rage and guilt and fucks it into me with such a force that it leaves my body altogether because there is no space for those feelings here. There is only space for this, for he and I at this moment.

I want to keep talking with him. We barely ever talk, we’re always arguing. At least with this, there’s ecstasy. There is pure lust, even if it’s mixed with hatred.

“It’s all your fault, Damien,” I groan, my teeth biting at my rope as I groan. “You’re the reason it aches,” I say and I don’t care how it sounds. Like he’s at fault for more than just this intimate ache, he’s the reason for all of my ache.

I meant that and he knows it, but he doesn’t stop. Actually, he grabs my jaw and rips me away from my wrists so he can bite at my throat while I tighten around his pounding length.

“I know, Lucille. I make it ache really bad,” he growls as his hand digs into the skin of my jaw while the other circles and pinches my clit as I cry out from yet another impending release.

“I make it ache and then I take it all away,” he whispers and I can’t deny him, because he’s right.

He causes the hurt and then he eases it. He makes the mark and then he soothes. He is the ultimate cause and effect and he has no problem doing or being so. And I’m beginning to wonder if I care either, if it even bothers me deep down.

I don’t think it does.

Mostly because deep down, a part of me has always been in love with Damien Reed. Even since my sister first introduced him. It’s been forbidden, it’s been ignored. He’s hurt and he’s inflicted pain with his ignorance and cold heart, he’s wounded me over and over again with his lack of acknowledgement, and then he’s healed it all when he saved me that night.

And here he is now, soothing all of the ache and hurt that he’s caused over the past few days. Doing what Damien does best. Fucking shattering me from the inside out.

And I do just that. I shatter from the inside out, but this time, I do it around him.

I come hard and I come for what feels like forever, all the while crying out his name before my mouth finds his thumb. I suck on it then, drowning out my cries and tasting whatever flesh that he can give me. It’s pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it.

I’m in love with him. I always have been. You see, Jenni was wrong. It wasn’t a stupid crush.

It was always an obsession.

I’m in love with him and he will never be in love with me, but at least I can have this.

Despite all of the bullshit behind me and ahead of me, right now, I have this.

I have him.

And he’s coming inside of me, growling out my name as our orgasms bleed into one.

I don’t want the moment to end, because I know as soon as it does, reality will come crashing in, so I soak up every passing second. I soak up the tremors in his body as he releases into me, the feeling of his climax as it starts to seep out of me when he retreats. I try to ignore the empty, cold feeling when he pulls out and backs away from my body. He doesn’t caress me, doesn’t hold me, and I know that he won’t because that’s not what this is about.

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