Page 71 of Thorns from the Fall

He holds up a small white pill between his thumb and forefinger. The tiny numbers etched into the face of it match my fucking antidepressant.

“Now swallow it all, like the good little slut you are.”

My pussy throbs as I do exactly like that.

26

ROMAN

Gwyn sits backon her heels and opens her mouth wide, tongue out, showing me that she took everything. She’s so proud of herself, hands folded in her lap as she sits. Her pretty, honey eyes are wet with tears from the force of me fucking her perfect mouth, and I have to stop myself from leaning forward and kissing her.

She’s transcendent. A red flush creeps across chest, and her long, blonde hair shines golden in this light.

I hate her. I hate how she makes me feel. I hate that she makes me question myself and everything I’ve ever known to be true in my fucking life, and I hate that I can’t stop thinking of what my brother said. Because he’s right. How is what Gwyn did any different than what I would do in the same position?

As I sit here though, taking in how beautiful she is, freshly face-fucked and ready for more, I have my answer. It comes to me far too fucking quickly, and I hate it even more than I hate her. Because there’s a giant difference between the two of us, and I don’t know if I can reconcile that.

I don’t want to think about it.

Gwyn’s like a fucking stormcloud, and I’m hydroplaning on a darkened highway. How the fuck am I supposed to steer intothe fishtail when she rains down on me? When it’s her smile and that sultry laugh and her sorrow and her earnest determination? I’m stuck in her downpour, but fuck it if I’m not already sopping wet.

“Come here,” I say, patting my thigh. “Lose the panties.”

Gwyn stands, and I can’t look away from her body. Heavy, round breasts, a soft, rolled stomach that I want to grab onto, wide hips, and perfect curves. As she pulls down the black fabric covering that delicious triangle of flesh, I grow impatient.

I want her skin on mine.Needit.

Because I have to quiet the thoughts crowding my head. And if there’s one thing that obliterates all fucking sense, it’s her body against mine. It’s my cock inside of her and my teeth in her flesh. It’s her lips on mine despite the taste being poison on my tongue. I can’t cross that line because there is no fucking antidote.

Gwyn takes a few steps forward, knee brushing against me, and then she hesitates.

“Do you believe me?” she asks, and she doesn’t meet my eyes. I almost laugh. Because how the fuck could she hope for that? Part of me wants to trust her without hesitation. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to parse out the truth from her lies, assigning validity to things I stupidly hope she meant and discarding the things she didn’t. But I’ll never be confident in anything she says, because deception is a part of her.

Briefly, I think about all the people in her life she’s tricked into believing she was okay. Gwyn is well practiced in deceit. She’s a liar, and that’s all there is to it.

But she’smyliar.

“I do think you’re sorry for what you did. Now come fuck my hand before I change my mind.” I spit on two fingers and let my arm rest, ready and waiting for her.

Tentatively, her gaze darts from my outstretched fingers to my face, and I think the breath that sneaks past her lips isrelief as she climbs on top of me. She straddles one of my legs and sits. I can feel her warmth and weight and her wetness and it’s somehow both erotic and comforting. My hand is between her thick thighs, but she doesn’t move to position herself more appropriately for my demand.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask.

She’s looking at me with those big, honey eyes, mouth slightly open. I don’t know how the fuck I can watch her take my dick like she just did, stretched wide and easy, and still want to caress her lips and treat her so fucking gently. Her blood is a curse, and it’s probably only a manner of time before I give in to her suffering. She looks so vulnerable right now, naked in my lap, and she puts her hands on my shoulders.

With so much earnestness it’s almost adorable, she swallows and finds her words.

“You forgive me?” she asks, and I realize she’s misinterpreted me. Just because I believe her truth, barely discernible amongst all the lies, doesn’t mean I forgive her for it.

“No, Gwyn. I don’t.”

Her brows lift, and her eyes water. I put a fingertip under her chin, tilting it up as I lean forward. Her lips part, and her eyes shut. She thinks I’m going to kiss her, and a really fucking annoying part of me wants to. But that’s not what we’re doing. She’s self destructive, and I’m merely indulging her. Even without my forgiveness, she’ll stay right here because she hates herself enough to maintain proximity to me even if it kills her. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s banking on it doing just that. I let my mouth hover over hers, but I’m far too tempted to let them touch.

“Now are you going to ride my hand or did I spit on it for no good reason?” She sighs and we share breath and I swear to god this woman is going to fucking kill me. Because as she grabsmy hand, sliding it through her wetness, she snags my lower lip between her teeth and bites—hard.

She rises to her knees, still drinking from my lip. She moans when I press my fingers inside of her, but she doesn’t let go, filling her mouth with my blood while I fill her tight cunt. When I use my thumb to circle her clit, she breaks free, mouth open wide and stained with my blood. She pants, staring down at me, at my hand, at where her pretty pussy takes me. When I slide a third finger into her slick, wet grip, she throws her head back. She writhes and bucks on my hand, and her tits are in my face, bouncing and begging for my teeth. Gwyn is so fucking wet, and the knowledge that having my dick in her mouth made her this ready makes me hard. When our bodies crave each other, her betrayal doesn’t matter.

And it’s a craving, raw and needy, when my cock rubs against her thigh. Her knee is dangerously close to my balls, but she’s so preoccupied with her own pleasure, I’m not worried.

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