Page 157 of Degradation
My hands claw at the wooden desk, my nails fracture as he starts thrusting away, using my body while I scream out, while I moan over and over.
“Harder.” I gasp. “Harder.”
“With pleasure.” Devin says in a way that makes me feel like I’m actually in control. That I’m in charge.
God, I’m a whore. I have to be for the way I feel right now. For the way I so badly want this, no, need this, even with my uncle watching, especially with my uncle watching.
I want him to see.
I want him to realise.
I have won this. I have fucking won.
I cry out, gasping, feeling like I’m right back there, all those years ago. That me and Devin are in that room and I can look at him, I can see him, I can feel all those twisted moments and instead of being horrified by it all, I’m entranced, I’m mystified, I’m lost to it.
“Mine.” Devin says, “My woman, mine.”
I roll my hips, I writhe against him, demanding in every way I can that he prove those words, that he proves them right here.
My climax races so fast. My whole body tightens with anticipation, and I feel as Devin’s thrusts change, as his movements alter. He’s close too. He must be.
His fingers dig into my flesh, pinching in a delicious hit of pain as I topple over, as I lose myself, as I drown in the undeniable, unbelievable, unimaginable ecstasy of his touch.
Pailtyn
Am I mad? I think I must be. No, I have to be.
We’re back in the room, the bedroom. I let him carry me back up like I’m so sort of invalid, some helpless princess once more.
His hands tangle in my hair, and he breaks free from kissing me to make a comment about how he should brush the knots out.
It sounds so ridiculous, it sounds so out of place, coming from his mouth that I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity.
“You think it’s funny that I want to take care of you?” He snaps.
“You’re not the caring type.” I reply.
He stills, his hands tightening enough to make me realise I’ve pissed him off and I chastise myself for being so careless with my words.
He may say he loves me, but that doesn’t mean shit when it comes down to it.
“I can be.” He states. “I can be caring, and I will be. I’ll keep you safe, Paitlyn, no one now will every hurt you.”
Lies. I know they are. But right now, they’re sugar coated, almost soothing, and I’m too used to the darkness to want to disregard a tiny bit of kindness, even if it is make-believe.
He traces my face with his still bloodied fingertips. “Go lie on the bed.” He says.
The words catch me off guard. Does he really want more already?
I let out a low breath as I take unsteady steps over to where the bed is. I clamber on, laying on my back and effectively stare at the ceiling, though I’m met with that same dark emptiness as always.
The shift in weight on the mattress tells me that Devin is there, by my feet.
“Spread your legs.” He says.
I wince, but I do it all the same, and I feel him move, feel him adjust to settle his colossal size right between them.
His hands reach up between my thighs, his touch feels gentle and, as he slides one finger inside me, I clench my jaw. I’m still wet but it stings all the same.
