"What do you need?” he asked.
"Put your fingers in me and fuck me that way,” she said, moving over so he could sit up. She stayed on her hands and knees, spread her thighs, made an offering of her dripping cunt to him. He put two fingers into her hole. It wasn’t enough and she told him so. He fucked her with three fingers, then four. The hand, she told him. The whole hand. In the mirror she saw him start in surprise but he did as she asked, turning his hand and sliding it fully into her. She could sense he didn’t think she could take so much but her body received the hand, enveloped it, and she groaned in relief when it was inside her all the way up the wrist. She spared another glance at Sebastian in the mirror and saw him staring at his arm inside her in fascinated horror. He’d never done this before. Neither had she, but she’d known instinctively she could take it and she had. She reached behind her, grabbed him by the forearm and showed him how to fuck her with his arm.
This was what she needed, total penetration. She rocked her body on Sebastian’s hand, fucking herself, impaling herself, bringing herself to orgasm while he watched her using him. Deep throated groans came out of her as she clawed at the sheets, nearly tearing them. The fist was an immovable object inside her so she moved herself all around, squirming and twisting and contorting herself to make it touch every spot that needed touching. Mona was gone again, lost in the blinding waves of obliterating pleasure. The fist in her was too much to take but too much was what she wanted. She needed the extremities of pleasure and pain. Nothing in the middle would do for her anymore. Malcolm had seen to that.
The climax built to a fever pitch. She could no longer hear her own moaning through the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. Sebastian moved his hand inside her in a gentle spiral that opened her up even more. She came with a sharp single cry. Her interior muscles contracted so hard they forced Sebastian’s hand out of her.
Mona collapsed onto her side and lay there breathing through her nose. Finally, she was spent. But for how long? If Sebastian touched her again she would want him inside her. The aching between her legs was a permanent fixture now. She would have to get used to it.
Sebastian didn’t touch her again. He slid slowly off the bed and found his clothes on the floor. He dressed while she watched. He didn’t speak.
"I’ve horrified you,” she said.
"It’s not that.”
"But it is,” she said. "You can admit it.”
He paused while buttoning his shirt. "I had imagined it differently, that’s all.”
"Did you think I was innocent?”
"No.” He shook his head. "I thought you were...like a girl. I don’t know how to say it.”
"If I’m not like a girl, what am I like?”
"Like an animal.” He didn’t say it like a compliment.
She slowly sat up on the bed and spread her legs wide.
"Your semen is on me and inside me,” she said, using her fingers to hold her labia open. "See? If I’m an animal, you’re a man who fucks animals.”
He glared at her. "You’re a whore, aren’t you? A whore.”
"You knew I was.”
"No, I didn’t. I thought you had a lover and to please you he gave you gifts.”
"He doesn’t give me Degas sketches because I fuck him. I fuck him because he gives me Degas sketches.”
"Show it to me,” he said. "I want to pretend that’s why I came over here.”
She shrugged and stood up.
"It’s in my office,” she said.
"You won’t put on your clothes?”
"The gallery is closed,” she said. "Why should I?”
He followed her to the office. She could see him out of the corner of her eyes trying not to look at her nakedness.
She switched on her desk lamp and placed the sketch before him on the desk. Sebastian studied it a long time without touching it. She saw his pupils dilate and she knew the sketch excited him in a way that fucking her hadn’t nor ever could. He was the sort of man who wanted a woman to be a girl and if she was too carnal, too sexual, a woman who challenged his primacy, his lust would turn quickly to hate. And to think she’d once judged Malcolm for preferring whores over other women. Now she understood why he did. She’d rather spread her legs for the Minotaur again than this sanctimonious man-child.
"It’s a fake,” Sebastian said, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest, defiant.
"You’re certain?”
"I am. Dead certain.”
"I see.” She picked up the sketch and made as if to tear it into two pieces. Sebastian lunged and snatched it out of her hand.
"I thought so,” she said, then laughed at him.
He slapped her.
She stared at him in shock. It had barely hurt, barely stung. He seemed as surprised by the slap as she. Mona laughed again.
He reached for her and pushed her down onto the desk on her back. Mona spread her legs for him as he unzipped his trousers. He leaned over her and entered her. She came almost immediately. Her breasts bounced as he rammed her repeatedly, spearing her with his cock right into her core. This was hate, not lust, but it felt all the same to her. He fucked her to punish her, to shame her for being too much for him. He fucked her to punish her for having desires he could never satisfy, needs he could never meet, a hole he could never fill no matter how many times or how hard or how deeply he penetrated it. He gripped the back of her knees and spread her legs further, holding her splayed open on the desk before him. It seemed the entire office shook with the force of their fucking. A book fell off the shelves and landed on the floor. The desk drawers rattled. Even Sebastian lost control enough to grunt with each stabbing thrust into her. She grasped his shoulders to steady herself she came again. Her pussy clamped down on his shaft, tight as a hand, and his body bent like a bow when he felt it. He cried out and orgasmed with her.
When it passed, she released his shoulders and lay passively on the desk. He remained inside her, his head down as if weeping or praying or hiding his shame.
"Again?” she asked, lifting her hips to taunt him.
"You disgust me.” He wrenched himself out of her and straightened his clothes with his back to her. She wasn’t hurt by his words, only disappointed in him. He had desire but no passion. They would never suit and she’d been a fool to think they would.
"I wonder if I’ll have a bruise on my cheek tomorrow,” she said.
She sat up on the desk and crossed her legs to keep the semen from spilling onto the papers underneath her. Probably too late for that.
He turned around. "I shouldn’t have struck you. I’m sorry.”
"I hope you find a fine sweet young virgin someday to marry,” she said. "And I hope she opens her cunt for your brother and your father and your best friend the minute your back is turned.”
She thought he would hit her again, but he didn’t. He only picked up his coat and threw it over his arm.
"The sketch is real,” he said. "You have my word on that.”
"Here, you can have it.” She held it out to him. His eyes widened.