Page 69 of Penance

Her lips part slowly, her head tipped back, her hair falling down her back and reaching nearly to her hips. Her breath stutters and breaks, a small sound that only serves to push me closer to the edge. I hold her gaze, watching her eyes.

I fucking own her, now.

A year ago, she never would have even considered me like this.

Now, she does whatever I tell her.

“Fuck,” I whisper, stepping closer, stroking harder. I can hear the sounds of my fist sliding over my dick, the lewd, wet sounds that echo around us. “F-fuck, cumming.”

Then I explode, shoving my cock into her mouth and feeling her lips seal around it. A primal, guttural sound rips from my chest and rings around us, like a wolf claiming his mate.

Mine.

Fuckingmine.

My climax is like bombs and gunshots, explosions and bright white lights flashing behind my eyes. I almost drop to my knees.

Almost.

I pull out of her mouth and stare down at her.

“Good girl,” I praise her, and I watch her shudder at my words. “Good fuckin’ girl, Mercy.”

My hand slides down her jaw, and then to her throat, and I wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze, just a little. Just enough to warn her.

“Show me.”

She does, her mouth dropping open and her tongue sliding out, showing me the mess I left her with.

Good.

Now I’ll live inside her in more ways than the baby I gave her.

“Swallow it,” I say, pulling my hand away.

She does, gulping hard and then looking up at me again.

I watch her as she remains on her knees, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her hands tremble as she reaches up to wipe her mouth, drawing the back of her hand across her lips.

Always the modest little lamb, she wants to make sure not to leave any evidence behind.

I should have painted her fucking face with it.

Maybe next time I will, and then I’ll take pictures.

Her hand drops from her mouth, clenching into a fist against the cold floor. She watches as I reach down and tuck myself away.

What is she thinking?

Fuck, I wish I knew.

Folding my arms, I lean against the bathroom door, watching her. I want her to scream, to cry and slap me, but she won’t.

No, not my Mercy.

I watch her come back into herself and she reaches down to the cold wood floor, grabbing her phone. She turns it over and then looks back up at me.

“I-I have… an ultrasound,” she stammers, her voice shaking. “M-my doctor called. They changed the appointment. I-it’s at 2 o’clock.”

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