He drives into me in a brutal rhythm that triggers the primal part of me. Unable to stand on one leg, I grip his shoulder for balance.
The position, the fact that I’m entirely naked, covered with blood, and he’s fully clothed is a clear translation of the power imbalance between us. Of how much he owns a hidden part of me.
The part that’s yearning to let go and let him ravage me until there’s nothing left.
The part that’s been hoping, pining, and being absolutely ashamed of this side of myself.
There’s no shame when I’m in Jeremy’s arms. He doesn’t judge me. He wants me to own that part of me.
And most importantly, he fucks me like he craves me, like he can’t keep his hands off me.
Like if he stops fucking me, he won’t be the same.
I hold on to those emotions as I beg and call his name. The more I beg to be fucked, the harder he goes, the deeper he delves, the crazier he becomes.
He bites my neck, my breasts, my earlobe—anywhere his teeth can reach.
It’s a claim, a territorial declaration of ownership, and I have to bear his marks.
With each thrust, he hits my G-spot, once, twice, until I’m unable to stand.
The stimulation builds inside me and then explodes all at once. I hug his shoulder as the orgasm racks through me with stupefying strength.
“Ask me a question.” His voice barely reaches my hazy brain.
Only when I open my eyes do I realize that he still has the gun to his temple. The twisted pleasure comes to a slow halt.
“Jeremy, please stop.”
He drives into me, ruthlessly, not looking close to being done. “Ask. Me.”
“What do you want?” I whisper, quivering against him.
His thrusts grow in intensity and length. Jeremy is a sight to behold when he’s orgasming. His muscles stiffen and harden beneath my fingers, and he slightly bites the corner of his lip. But most importantly, his grip on me tightens like he refuses to ever let me go as warmth spills inside me.
“You,” he says, then pulls the trigger.
I scream.
21
JEREMY
Cecily stands unmoving under the shower.
Water cascades down her neck, over the slope of her creamy tits, and down her swollen, pink pussy.
My blood and cum swirl into the drain and disappear.
I lean against the counter, facing the glass shower, legs crossed at the ankles and my hands gripping the sink behind me. It’s a hopeless attempt to stop myself from lunging in her direction and messing her all up with my blood and cum again.
Dirty her.
Mark her.
My cock jumps, straining against my jeans at the thought of ramming into her tight heat, throwing her up against the nearest surface, and pinning her down.
I’d chase, catch, and fuck her until she’s crying.
No—sobbing. She begged me to fuck her, but she still cried and whimpered.
Whether she did it because it was too much or something else, I’m not sure.
There are a lot of things I can’t pinpoint when it comes to Cecily Knight.
Such as why I’m watching her take a shower, and why the fuck it’s taking superhuman effort to not join her. All while trying to figure how to get rid of the shell-shocked expression on her face.
It’s been there ever since I carried her into the house and planted her beneath the shower.
The moment I pulled the trigger against my temple, she cried the hardest. It was no different than witnessing a breakdown. A person’s disintegration into another universe.
But the tears have come to a halt and she’s crossing into different territory.
Fucking decimation.
She’s not fully into the catatonic state, but if I leave her alone, she’ll definitely reach that point.
“Cecily,” I call with a calm I don’t feel.
She flinches, and I can see the life rushing back to her bright green eyes before she whips her head in my direction. “Huh?”
It takes all my control not to study every nook in her body, every cavity, and every slope. I can still feel her flesh trembling against mine when I fucked her like an animal earlier.
And the time before that.
I’m reduced to my primal instinct when this woman is around and I don’t like that.
Not one bit.
She’s waiting for me to speak, her expression sober, but there’s still the probability of her slipping into an unreachable state.
I crane my chin and point it behind her. “Use shower gel.”
A delicate frown appears between her brows, and I’m almost sure she’ll choose to be difficult just to piss me off, but she reaches behind her for a shower sponge and pours the gel all over it.
She lowers her head as she lathers her shoulders, armpits, and breasts.
“Eyes on me.” My voice roughens despite my attempts to remain unaffected.
And when those mystic eyes fixate on me? Fuck. I honestly wonder why I’m not in there taking over the task.
But then I recall that I need her to be conscious of her actions. If I do it for her, it’ll be easier to dissociate.
A blush covers her cheeks, neck, and even her ears as she hastily runs the sponge over her stomach and thighs.
Cecily might pretend that she’s not affected by me, might deny the palpable attraction between us and say that she wants nothing of what I’m offering, but her body doesn’t lie.
Her nipples have become harder since her eyes met mine, to the point that she winces whenever she touches them.
A soft shade of pink covers her pale flesh and she’s clenching her legs.
“Clean your pussy, too.”
Her throat works with a swallow. “Can I get some privacy?”
“No.”
A slow but steady fire lights up her expression. “I’m uncomfortable.”
“And I don’t give a fuck.”
The sound of her heavy breathing echoes in the air as she opens her thighs and scrubs her cunt not so gently.
Unease and anger mean she’s here and won’t be lured to whatever alternate reality her brain leads her to.
She finishes in record time, her movements jerky and fueled with her clear disdain.
I’m starting to learn that Cecily’s body language is able to express her feelings better than her words.
It’s not that she’s lacking in the verbal department. She’s intelligent, with a brain that can contain different interests and subjects without failing any. But she has an awful relationship with the sensory world.
She’s the type who trips over a rock due to being too caught up in her head.
As a result, when push comes to shove, she can’t find the right words to express what’s inside her. At least, when it comes to herself. She’s more eloquent when she has to turn on the mama bear mode and protect her friends—my sister included.
Cecily is selfless to an annoying degree and I’m contemplating a way to erase those habits.
Once she’s finished, she turns off the water and slips out of the shower. I push off the counter, my fingers aching from how hard I gripped the surface.
There should be a reward for the effort I spent to back off. Too bad my cock only accepts her pussy as compensation.
Cecily jerks to a halt the moment I move, her expression no different than an injured animal’s. A prisoner who hasn’t seen light in decades.