Page 32 of A Murderous Crow
I wasn’t going anywhere that time.
He picked up my other hand from where it lay beside me on the bed and did the same thing.
“Do you want the blindfold on, or off, when I put myself inside you?” he asked and followed it up with, “Permission to speak.”
“On, please,” I murmured, and his hand slapped the outside of my thigh, the crack loud, and the sting immediate. I yelped and bit my bottom lip.
“On, please, what?” he asked.
“On, please, sir,” I said breathless with fright.
He rubbed the mark that he was sure to have left and remarked, “Your fair skin pinks up so pretty.”
I didn’t say anything. I mean, it felt like the right thing to say something like thank you, but I liked to think I was a quick learner.
When I remained quiet, he chuckled lightly and said, “That’s my good girl.”
I swallowed hard. So, ithadbeen a test.
The bed shifted several times as he walked himself up on it and pushed my knees apart to get between them. A moment later, I heard the packaging rip, and him spit a fragment off to the side.
I listened, ears straining, voice likewise straining to remain quiet, as he made himself ready. I listened to the latex strain, and the crisp noise of it rolling down his length, and I could picture him, hard and straining against his slacks after he’d finished making me come at the restaurant.
My breathing picked up, his hands warm as they slid up over my ribs and cupped my small breasts. His fingers pinched my nipples and rolled them, and I bit my lips together, hoping to keep the moan trapped behind them.
I didn’t know if that would count as talking – but apparently, it did not, because he sighed out and continued to touch me, his one hand sliding further up my chest, wrapping around my throat, and squeezing. I gasped, afraid, but he didn’t cut off my air or anything. Instead, he just pressed me down into the bed and held me in such a way as to let me know I was indeed helpless, and he could indeed doanythinghe wanted to me. I reached for him, and my hands came up short, the chains jolting against whatever held them in place.
He walked back on his knees and wrapped his powerful arms around my thighs, bodily pulling me down the bed. I yelped insurprise as much as fear, as the manacles he had me in stopped short and pulled my arms taut over my head.
“You’re going to take every inch of me,” he swore, and he slapped his cock against my pussy, spanking my clit with the swollen head.
I captured my bottom lip between my teeth and let my head fall back as he situated himself at my opening. God, I wanted it. I wanted him inside of meso bad. I was wet, and my pussy ached to be filled. I was running purely on how turned on I was, but then there was the small part of me that was just screaming, the sound reverberating on the inside of my skull, just in an absolute panic and dread over what a bad idea this was.
“Just breathe,” he ordered, and I realized I’d stopped, that I had been holding my breath, every drop of air squeezed from my lungs, and I was waiting on pins and needles so hard that I’d forgotten to draw any back in.
I sucked in a sharp breath, filling my screaming lungs, and that’s when he penetrated me. His body invaded mine, sliding into my wetness, stretching me around his not-inconsiderable girth, which just got wider the further he pushed himself into me. My body was more than eager to have him there, my pussy throbbing, and pulling him in, silently begging his cock to quench its thirst, to vanquish this gnawing hunger that’d settled in my womb.
My fucking, God, how long had it been?
I knew the answer with my head, but my heart denied it, crying out that it’d felt like eons since I’d let anyone this close. Oh, howgoodit felt even though it simultaneously felt so wrong, so dangerous.
I instinctively wrapped my legs around his lean hips in a futile bid to create some semblance of a transfer of control, allowing me to slow things down, and put a little distancebetween our bodies, even though I didn’t want to kick him out of me completely.
He twisted his hips in such a way that it rubbed so good inside me that I cried out, and then his hands were at the backs of my knees. I lost my grasp with my legs as he pushed them apart, freeing himself while simultaneously pushing my legs to my chest – folding me like a fucking lawn chair – before letting his weight carry him down on top of me, and thrusting his cock into me brutally deep, where he bumped my cervix and made me cry out with the pain of it.
“I’m driving,” he reminded me coolly, as I writhed ineffectively beneath him, gasping and trying to both find the words and fight them from coming out. I breathed through the sensations and scrambled through my thoughts, all the words and things I wanted to say slipping through my fingers like grains of sand until the gleam of what I needed to say caught my mind’s eye.
“Yes, sir,” I gritted out. He eased up, just enough, and started riding me, pulling out and surging forward with precision, finding that place between too much and not enough, so that he could expertly exploit it. Believe me, it blew my entire worldview on what was just pure, unadulterated sex.
There wasn’t anything loving about this. There was no feeling behind this. No sweetness, no caring. This was animalistic, single-minded determination in action, although I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what the end goal was supposed to be.
It wasn’t hate-fucking – there was no hatred involved. It was clinical, precise, and cold on an emotional level, which upped the ante on other things – dirty, raunchy, and darkly decadent among those things.
I focused on breathing. I focused on enduring, and somehow, some way, I found myself stumbling through the weeds and out into a stream of purest fucking pleasure.The kind of pleasurethat cut like a razor and revealed the complex layers of one’s psyche.
At some point, I simply switched off, stopped thinking, and just gave myself over to the feeling of his warm body over top of mine, of the punishing rhythm, of the feel of his cock scouring the inside of my walls and igniting a fire in me I didn’t think was possible.
I wanted so desperately to touch him. I wanted so badly to pull his mouth to mine and have him kiss me. I desperately missed the reassurance of lips on mine, of soft touches, and of the magic of connection. Eventually, I managed to let those things go, and just gave myself over to the feeling of touch, and the sound of his breathing as he crushed me to the bed, and moaned his own pleasure that he took from me into my ear.
