Page 84 of Dual
I reach down to squeeze her ass where the cane marked her, digging my fingers into the welts. She jerks violently, a strangled cry tearing from her throat.
“You like the pain, don’t you?” I growl, my other hand finding her clit. “Your cunt gets even wetter when I hurt you.”
My control slips further, my accent thickening as it always does when I’m this far gone. “You feel so fecking good, love. When I’m at work I dream of railing your perfect little pussy. Of bendin’ you over me desk and fuckin’ you ’til ye can’t remember yer own feckin’ name.”
I can feel her beginning to tense, approaching climax. “Come now. Come on my cock. NOW!”
I squeeze her marked flesh ruthlessly as I stroke her clit and drive into her relentlessly.
Her scream turns high and desperate, her pussy convulsing around my shaft in powerful waves.
The rhythmic pulsing triggers my own release. I thrust one final time, burying myself to the hilt, my cock jerking as I empty myself inside her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, each pulse of cum feeling like it’s being ripped from my very soul. “I love ya so fuckin’ much.”
We collapse together, bodies still connected, both breathing hard. I press tender kisses to her spine as I release her from the cuffs, massaging her wrists gently.
“It’s good to cry,” I murmur as she dissolves into sobs. “Just let it out.”
I gather her into my arms, carrying her to the private aftercare room. I lay her down gently on a newly made-up bed before climbing in beside her, pulling her tight against me.
This is the aftermath I crave—holding her, soothing her, being everything she needs me to be. The way she collapses into me, trusting me completely to piece her back together after I’ve taken her apart.
“You were perfect,” I whisper into her hair. “So fucking perfect for me.”
She cries harder at my words, her entire body wracked with sobs. I just hold her, running my fingers through her hair, whispering that it’s going to be alright.
“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers.
“Don’t be,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “You never have to be sorry for needing something.”
“I miss her sometimes,” she admits. “Even though she was...” She trails off.
“She was part of you,” I finish. “It’s natural to feel her absence, even as you become more whole.”
“Will you... will you still love all of me? Even the parts that used to be her?”
My arms tighten around her. “I’ve always loved all of you, Anna. The soft and the sharp. The light and the dark. Every single piece.”
And it’s true. I don’t just want the easy parts of her. I want the complicated mess, the contradictions, the fractures and the fissures. I want her whole and broken, because she’s the only person who understands that sometimes love looks like this—desperate and violent and necessary.
As she drifts toward sleep, I keep holding her, marveling at how we found our way back to each other. We’re both sobroken, so fucked up in our own ways. But maybe that’s what makes us work. We don’t need to be saved—we need to be seen. Accepted. Loved for all the dark, twisted parts of ourselves that we can’t show anyone else.
Dr. Ezra thinks I create family by taking care of the needy. Maybe he’s right. But if that’s true, then Anna is perfect for me—because she needs me as much as I need her. Not to be fixed, but to be held. To be understood. To be loved without judgment or condition.
In this quiet moment, with her nestled against me, everything feels almost right. We’re two broken people trying to save each other through the only language we both understand.
The only question…
Is that enough?
TWENTY-SEVEN
DOMHNALL
I wakethe following day to the sensation of movement beside me on our bed at home, the mattress dipping as Anna shifts excitedly. When I pry my eyes open, she’s already sitting up, a wild look in her eyes and her arms full of glossy printouts that catch the morning light streaming through our bedroom windows.
“Domhn!” Her voice is breathless, eager. “I talked to Quinn, and she says they’ve got it all covered at work. I took care of everything!”
