Page 235 of House of Cards

It hurts, but fuck, it feels good.

He keeps grinding into me, hips rolling and bucking. And I’m writhing and squirming just as fiercely, as urgently, as him.

“Yes, fuck, oh?—!”

His teeth clamp down on my shoulder.

The pain is exquisite. Blinding.

I’m suddenly woozy, ready to faint, but then his lips are against mine again and all I taste is my own blood and?—

I don’t even know I’m about to come until my body clenches up, my pussy walls gripping Smith’s cock like a fist. I dig my nails into his thighs, holding on for dear life as a violent climax rips through my body.

Dimly, I hear him murmur something.

“Only me, Zoey. Onlyeverme.”

Must be my imagination trying to make sense of his rapid breathing as he keeps himself buried deep inside me, rocking every so slightly as I ride out my climax on his hard cock.

Or my fucked up mind trying to piece together reality.

I’ve barely descended from heaven before his hand is around my throat, squeezing hard enough to bruise as he licks the bite mark on my shoulder. Each swipe of his tongue makes me gasp and struggle, the pain too intense after my climax.

“No, stop, Smith, please, it hurts, it fucking?—”

He tenses, then thrusts.

Deep, brutal. Once, twice.

“Fuck!” he mutters like a curse, and then he’s filling me with his seed, taut body shuddering against me. Hips rolling as his cock churns our cum into thick cream.

He slows, stops, and for ten heavenly seconds, it’s just him inside me. Our slow, deep panting. Our sweaty bodies melding together.

“You should go,” he says, his voice flat.

Dead, like his heart.

He pushes me off his lap, turning away, already looking for his clothes. His walls slamming closed like steel doors.

My mouth is open. Not because I’m still fighting for breath, but because I can’t understand what the fuck is going on.

“Wh—I—You…”

He finds his sweats, keeping his back turned as he steps into them.

“Troy will drive you wherever you want to go in the morning.”

I sit down on the bed with a wet squelch, my pussy still throbbing, still wanting more.

“I beg your motherfucking pardon?”

“This was a mistake.” He still won’t look at me. Still won’t acknowledge the epicness of what just happened. Maybe this is just an average Tuesday for him.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

Heat floods my body. Anger, arousal, disbelief all tangled together in an awful emotional soup.

“You just fucked me senseless and now you’re kicking me out?”

---