Page 88 of Deep End

“Lukas?”

He glances at me.

“Am I doing it right? This whole . . . thing.”

He knows exactly what I’m asking, but he continues shaking out my skirt. His reply is unrushed. “I don’t know if it’s right, but this is . . .” His mouth flattens. “Youare exactly what I wanted.” The skirt drops, forgotten. “I think . . .” He’s so rarely hesitant, or lost for words, I almost don’t recognize his confusion for what it is. “I’d imagined it a lot. Ever since I became aware of sex, before I had a name for it. And I’d hoped that it would feel good, butthis. . . I just didn’t know it could be like this.” His jaw works, like there are words he wants to say that won’t come out.

“The stuff on the list.” My tongue is too thick in my mouth. “You can do it. All of it. You don’t have to hold back.”

He looks down at my body, amused. “Does itfeellike I’m holding back?” It’s gentle but fast, the way he presses me down on the mattress, one wide palm warm against my sternum, hot through the thin cloth of my shirt.

“I just don’t want you to—”

“Does it?” His fingers stretch my legs open, find bruises I overlooked, press into them like pegs into holes. The pleasure of the pain licks up my spine and quickens my breath. “Am I taking it too easy on you, Scarlett?” Teeth scrape against my jaw. “Am I being toonice?” His bite tightens, and—oh my god.

The tentative Lukas of a minute ago is gone. I stare up at him and can only say, “Please.”

“Please, what? Please, stop?”

I shake my head.

“Please, make me come?”

I bite my lower lip, suddenly embarrassed.

“Please, fuck me? In your sore little cunt?”

The nod erupts out of me, urgent, unplanned. It surprises both of us.

He frowns. “Come on, Scarlett. You need a break—”

“Please.”

It wars on his face for a split second, the question of what to do, but he trusts me to know what I can take. He takes himself out of his joggers. Straddles me. Pulls up my shirt and sucks on my tender nipples till I’m squirming from wanting more and less at once. His knees press against the outsides of my thighs, knocking my legs together, and I whimper, about to protest that this is not . . . I really want him to . . . why is he—

But then he hushes me and I feel it. The fat head of his cock bumping against my clit, a forceful push, a hot, burning, immense stretch that makes me tense like a bowstring, and then he’s inside and—yes. The walls of my cunt start fluttering around him. The ache gives the pleasure a cruel, beautiful edge.

“Christ, you’re tight.” His face buries against my neck. “Like I didn’t spend last night fucking you.”

He moves slowly, like wading through water, teasing sharpbreaths out of me. It hurts. It feels better than good. I can’t take it anymore. If he stops, I’ll die. It’s not enough.

“Deeper,” I plead, because his strokes are too shallow, just a couple of inches filling and then emptying me again. I try to angle myself to get what I need, stilted little rolls up against his cock, but his palms pin mine above my head, fingers twined together, and my thighs are crammed between his, pressed together by his knees. He controls every movement, every glance, every exit route.

“Lukas,” I sob. He ignores me. I try to open my legs, but he’s stronger. The display of force only revs me up higher. “Deeper,” I beg. “All the way.”

“Not this time.” His teeth close around my earlobe, a threat, a mean little warning. I moan. “Quiet. You’ll take what you’re given and thank me for it. Won’t you, baby?”

I nod. I’m so,soclose—because of the things he says, the way he moves, his unyielding hold on me. I’m a wet mess of tears and slick and the tightrope of all my muscles.

“You know I’m going to fuck you whenever and however I want,” he says against my ear. “Just be patient. You can be patient, right?”

I nod, desperate.

“You can be good?” I clench around him, gripping the end of his cock. His response is a half-groaned laugh. He has to collect himself and pull back from the brink. “You’re going to come already, aren’t you?”

God, I hope not. I hope I can make this last. Who knows when the next time will be.

“That list, Scarlett?” His mouth slides against mine, messy, uncoordinated, sharing air that feels dangerously thin and hard to come by. “I’m going to do it all to you. All of it. And when I’m done, I’ll do it again. And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’ll do itagain—”

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