Page 45 of My Turn Petal
“Please, put it inside me.”
He alters between squeezing my throat and dipping the tip of the handle in my soaked pussy.
As he twists the handle inside me, I moan.
“Deeper,” I’m in ecstasy and I want more, I need more.
He let it slip a bit more and my walls already convulse around the foreign object even though he hadn’t reached ‘the wall’ yet.
I’m sure it’s barely an inch inside me but it feels nice.
I grind against the knife, enjoying the way it scratches my pussy.
“I would have taken your pussy from the back like this, watching your delicate face sinking underwater, trying to resurface for some oxygen while I fuck you hard.”
“AAH.”
“I’d roll my hips roughly while I watch my cock sink in between your thighs, swallowed to the depth of you.”
Fuck, those spicy audiobooks are working wonders.
I pant out, “I’ll squeeze your cock.”
“You better.”
“Push it a little bit more,” I demand.
He let it roll in me a tiny bit farther, and I’m immersed in this pleasurable, intoxicating feeling that I’ve never had the opportunity to explore with someone else.
Simply because after a few trials they stopped trying and right now they seem like fuckers who didn’t care about me and only about their pleasure—who also never tried anything exciting like this.
My walls constrict as I try to swallow the knife.
Theo’s palm holds my throat firmly as he squeezes it once again before he glides it to my back and shoves me down lightly until I curve my spine while my ass is still in the air.
The knife feels a lot deeper like this and my face starts burning, realizing what I had done.
The automatic reaction is no news to me, I despise it yet I’m used to it.
I lose my balance and he immediately pulls me into his arms and wraps me in a towel.
Pale as the walls encapsulating us, I want to perish. Let the earth swallow me whole or let me evaporate into thin air.
A vicious headache consumes me.
The room is spinning as Theo lifts me and I tuck my ankles around his hips, a ringing is piercing my eardrums, and darkness filters my eyes—blurring everything that is in front of me.
His helmet is gone and I try to focus on his eyes and I see a fragment of light with the little sight I have left as he carries me to the kitchen.
I rest my arms on his shoulders for support and rest my head in the crook of his neck while the headache drills holes in my brain.
The bile in my core is primed to burst at any second.
Placing me on the kitchen counter, “Can you stabilize yourself?” the concern washes his entire face.
“Yeah,” I respond as I inhale big chunks of oxygen.
Even when I’m not on my bike, in my head I am, because this reality sucks. Here I feel fragile like glass, whilst there I feel invincible.
