Page 104 of Dual
He grabs his cock, and within a few rough strokes of his fist, he's hard, thick and flushed and perfect.
Then he grabs the back of my hair in a fist, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling just hard enough to make my scalp tingle.
I grin up at him, then open my mouth and stick out my tongue in blatant invitation.
I've barely got my mouth open before he's stuffing my throat full of cock, the taste of him flooding my senses---salt and skin and that indefinable essence that's purely him as a little bit of precum escapes.
"This is how you want it," he growls, and I both hear and feel his anger as he forces himself deeper down my throat, swelling thicker with each furious word. The vibration of his voice travels through him and into me, a dark electricity I can't get enough of.
Fuck, I love it when he gives into his dark side and handles me rough. When he stops pretending to be the hero and embraces the villain that lives inside him. The one I always knew was there, waiting to be unleashed.
I hum my assent around him, the vibration making him twitch against my tongue. I reach up and squeeze his balls, letting the tips of my fingernails dig in just enough to teeter on the edge of pain.
"Fuck!" he shouts, the word tearing from his throat like it was ripped out of him. Then he drags out of my mouth until saliva's dripping from my lips in obscene strings before shoving all the way back in and down my throat.
Choking me with his cock.
I all but squirt in my panties at the roughness, the controlled violence of his movements, the way he's using me like I'm nothing but a receptacle for his rage. My pussy clenches around nothing, desperate and aching.
Anna's the one who over-psychoanalyzes why we like this shit. Why pain becomes pleasure and submission feels like freedom. Why being used makes us feel whole.
I'm just the one who gives in.
My lips have been over my teeth, protecting him, but as Donny pulls out this time, I allow my teeth to just barelyscrape along his cock---not enough to hurt, just enough to remind him that I can.
He groans as he pulls all the way out of my mouth, the sound primal and raw.
"Spit on it," he demands, voice thick with lust. "Then beg me for more."
His hand in my hair grips tighter, and the pull at my scalp is right at the edge of being too much. It's just perfect. So fucking delicious.
"Please fuck my face," I beg, the words falling from my lips without shame or hesitation. "Fuck me so hard, Donny."
I relax as Donny shoves his cock back in, surrendering my body to his control. In and out of my throat, he does just as I've begged---each thrust a little deeper, a little harder, a little more desperate than the last.
My darling sunshine boy with the shadows in his eyes.
I look up even as he holds me there, gagging on his cock, tears streaming from my eyes, mascara no doubt running down my cheeks in black rivulets. His eyes are so dark as he looks down at the picture I make impaled by him, pupils blown wide with desire, with fury, with need.
And then he's dragging me off his cock and taking me down to the floor, the cold hardwood a shock against my back as he yanks my leggings down just far enough to expose me.
He doesn't even bother taking off my underwear. He just shoves them to the side far enough so he can get his cock inside my cunt, the fabric biting into my flesh as he penetrates me in one brutal thrust.
Igroan with satisfaction as he fucks me, the fullness of him, the heat of him, the anger of him all combining to create a perfect storm of sensation. My nails claw at his back, leaving marks through his shirt that I hope will linger for days, evidence of this moment branded on his skin.
He tears my shirt open down the middle, buttons popping and skittering across the floor like tiny frightened animals. Then he slaps my breast, the flat of his palm making sharp contact with the sensitive flesh. First one, then the other, the sting blooming into heat that settles deep in my core.
I clench on him even as I glare up at him. Because he's not looking me in the eye as he fucks me. And Donny always looks me in the eye so I know exactly who he's fucking. It's one of his rules---his insistence on connection even in our most animalistic moments.
"Look at me," I demand, voice hoarse from his cock.
When he doesn't, I get furious. Yes, I want to be his fuck toy, but only when he knows exactly who I am to him. I'm Mads. His Mads. The dark half of his broken bride, the shadow to Anna's light, the chaos to her order. He doesn't get to pretend he's fucking someone else when he's inside me.
When he keeps his gaze averted as he continues roughly fucking me deep, hands now on my hips as he takes his pleasure, the fury takes me over, red and hot and all-consuming.
"Look at me!" I yell, and when he still doesn't, I slap him, the crack of my palm against his cheek echoing in the kitchen.
That gets his attention. So I slap him again.
