Page 99 of Broken by my Bully
I’m holding onto his wrist, my fingernails digging in, drawing blood. I don’t remember when I grabbed him, only that my arms are tiring.
My legs shaking as I struggle to hold on to his waist.
There’s a distant yell. A student calling out to a friend. Neither of us bother to look. We’re not part of that world anymore. We’re in ourreality now, the same forbidden, secret world we’d escape to when we met up in the woods.
A world where we could do anything, and never have to suffer the consequences.
He leans in, his breath a hot pant against the side of my neck as he uses the flat of his hand to rub my pussy. Back, forth, the friction driving me insane.
I grab his hair, yank at his head. His neck bends willingly enough, but the vicious gleam in his eyes is all the warning I get before he punishes me for interfering with his game.
He scrapes aside my underwear and shoves two fingers inside me so suddenly, so violently, that I gasp despite his strangling grip. My body bucks, but I’m not trying to get away.
I’m pushing him in deeper.
And then I’m rocking, hips arching, desperately chasing the growing ache burning inside me.
“Tryna come before I choke you out?” The tendons in Kai’s neck stand taut as he stares down his nose at me. “Yeah, I like the sound of that game. Let’s play.”
He steps back, and I lose my grip around his waist. My feet thump back onto the uneven ground, one ankle almost twisting as it lands on the edge of an exposed root.
Kai lets me take one sweet breath, then his hand is pinning my throat against the trunk again. I grab his wrist on instinct, but hetsksme with a shake of his head.
He holds up the hand he had between my legs, spreads his fingers.
“Look how fucking wet you are,” he says, glancing at the sticky web spanning between his fingers.
I shudder as he sticks those fingers in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks. When he pulls them out, they’re soaked in saliva.
That wetness streaks my skin as he puts his hand up my skirt and tugs my underwear down to my knees.
I try to jerk my thighs away, but it doesn’t matter to him. Neither does clamping my legs closed. He shoves the blade of his hand between them anyway and twists, wrenching me open.
The hand around my throat tightens.
“Ready…set…go,” he whispers.
My eyes roll into my head when he rams his fingers inside me.
“You love being manhandled, don’t you? Pretending you’re the flowers and chocolates, making love by the fireplace kind of girl when all you want is someone to use you like they lost the receipt.”
The sound of his fingers slamming home drowns out everything, even the furious thump-thump of blood in my ears.
Heat builds on my face. Blood getting trapped. Air stagnated in my lungs. Prickles dance over my cheeks, down my arms.
But those sensations are faint, barely there compared to the wild, furious jolts of pleasure he sends into my core with each hard thrust of his hand.
Faster and faster he fingers me, until there’s a new heat building, and it’s between my legs, and I’m chasing it like a dog after a ball.
“Open your fucking eyes and look at me when I use you.”
My eyes flutter, but I force them open because I’m as curious as he is.
“There she is,” he murmurs, scanning my face, but locking back onto my eyes as his hand speeds up even more. I’m going numb in the most delicious, awful way. “You like being used like this, don’t you?”
My eyes roll up again. My hands fall away from his wrists. That numbness is spreading, moving through my body in a wave. The ache becomes a burn, an itch, a desperate, clawing urge to tip over the edge and fly.
Or fall to my death.
