Page 66 of Ruin

I would welcome it.

Death.

If it were by his brutal hands.

This savage man with soft lips and broken words.

Tears build behind my closed lids as he kisses my temple, one of his hands cupping the back of my head, caressing me with strong fingers. Grunting as he pushes himself in deep, so deep I can feel him in my belly. And I feel him as he fills me up. There is wet sloshing as he pulls slowly out, licking down my jaw.

“Stay sleepy, Baby Bird, I don’t want you to wake up yet,” he coos, and I sigh, content to just lie here, wherever here is, so I do as he says.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, he holds me close, turning me onto my back, spreading my legs further. One of them thudding as my foot hits the floor, wiry carpet beneath my bare foot. My head lolls to the side, and I melt once again into the leathery cushioning beneath me.

I can feel him, his fingers between my thighs, his tongue on my clit and I want to squeeze my legs together, crush his skull between my knees. But I can’t, and I dream of it, my legs lifting, squeezing tight on either side of his face.

My back arches, pressure so intense in my lower belly, I can hardly breathe, has me stirring, a low groan leaving my lips. Eyebrows drawing in, I breathe hard through my nose. Suddenly feeling frightened because something is happening to me and I am so tight, and he is too big and there is pain. It is like a hot poker in my lower spine, and I try to go back to sleep.

“Oh, little Ava, look at you, taking me so well, breathe for me, beautiful. Long, slow breaths,” Charlie praises and calms and his hand comes up my belly, over thelumpthere.

Cupping my small breast beneath the pushed up t-shirt, his thumb rough over my tight nipple. My eyes snap open, my breathing erratic. I am staring at black leather, a car seat I quickly realise, and I think of the pills I swallowed before.

Charlie.

I think it, his name, turning my head slowly, looking at his beautiful face and he is in rapture. There is no other word I can use to describe the awe of wonder on his usually blank features.

“You’re taking my fist so fucking well, Baby Bird, so fucking good,” it’s strained his words, and I realise with shock that I am so, so full.

Fist.

Panic starts to bleed into my rapidly pounding heart and I can do nothing but look at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Willing his eyes to come to mine.

Please, please, please, look at me, Charlie.

And like a summoning, that glaring green gaze is on mine.

“Breathe,” he orders and my lungs work, his eyes snapping down to my belly, and I canfeelhim.

Inside of me, his scarred knuckles rough against the spongy softness of my insides. So full. It’s all I can think, and I don’t think I want to look even though my every instinct is demanding it of me.

“Look. Look at me fucking you with my fist, Baby Bird.”

He is smiling that sly, half smirky smile, a dimple popping in his left cheek, the opposite one to where he is beginning to scar with a raised, pink claw mark of my own making.

He is happy and it’s because of me.

All of my muscles clench around his fist and the pain I thought I was feeling is really only pressure.

I look down. My usually concave belly is so full and shaped strangely and then Charlie sort of, flexes his fingers, a sharp inhale filling my lungs.

“How’s it feel, my little Ava?” a groan unexpectedly mumbles free of my lips, his eyes seem to brighten in the darkness of the car. “You’re doing so good, you’re so full of me,” he whispers all of these pretty, rasped words.

My insides clench around him even tighter and I sort of feel like maybe I’m going to pee. With every tiny flex of his hand or his fingers, his knuckles, all of it is too much but it feels surprisingly good, and I think I’m going to come.

I’m heaving for a breath that doesn’t seem to come, and then his fingers start to unfurl, his whole hand is inside of me, and a scream is clawing its way up my shackled throat. Taut tendons grinding against the thick metal, but I can’t stop it as I explode all over his hand. Spine arching, head thrown back, eyes squeezed closed, I pant for breath. Everything is so sensitive, that with every shift of his hand, as I come down, is amping me up again.

He stares at me, his entire hand buried deep. His other lightly pressing over my belly, feeling the movement of his hand inside of me. He watches me, that dimple carved out in his cheek, sly smirk pulling at one side of his lips.

I am panting and he is almost fully grinning at me now. He twists his hand, the pressure exploding inside of me once more, this time, something more. Like the cork bursting from the top of a champagne bottle. I’m coming again and I can’t stop and liquid sprays from me, coating his bare chest where he leans over me, and that’s when he grins. Something smug and full of satisfaction on his face.

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