Fuck me for one last time and be done with this.
Lies. You don’t want to be done with this. You want it to go on and on and on…
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps.
“Fuck me,” I tell him. “You know you want to.”
He approaches the bed, his expression impassive, his hands in the pockets of his joggers like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I want to sock him in the face.
“Nice,” he drawls, his gaze zeroed in on my pussy. “You think this is what it’ll take for me to give the journal back?”
“I don’t know,” I practically wail and I snap my lips shut, irritated with myself. I can’t show weakness, yet here I am, crying to him. Sacrificing myself to him. “Just get it over with.”
“What? Now you’re nothing but a fucking martyr,” he says, his voice hard. “You just want to lie there and take it? That’s not like you.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I taunt.
“No,” he says firmly. “When have I ever told you that?”
I think of our other interactions. Most of the time we end up together because of something I say or do. What’s so different about tonight?
“You want me.” I sit up and reach for him, cupping his erection. His cock jerks beneath my touch. “I can feel it.”
“Not like this. Not like a sacrifice.”
“You don’t want me willing? God, you’re such a sick fu—”
He grabs hold of me, so roughly I shriek. His hands grip my arms and his face is in mine. “Don’t you dare call me sick when you’re just as fucked up as I am. We’re both like this. You love it when I tell you what to do. And I like it when you fight against me.”
“I didn’t fight earlier,” I whisper. “When you told me to say I hate you.”
“You should hate me,” he says, his voice harsh. “All I can think about is how much I want you to resist.”
I struggle against his hold and squeeze his cock at the same time. “Like this?”
“Let go of my dick,” he whispers.
“No.” I smile. Slip my hand beneath his sweats and encounter nothing but bare flesh. I stroke him, loving the way his eyelids flutter. I smooth my finger over the head, smearing sticky pre-cum everywhere and I want to suck him into my mouth.
He’s right. I’m as sick, as fucked up as he is. I could accuse him of making me this way, but that would be a lie.
I was already like this. I just didn’t understand how. Or why.
“Summer.” His voice is a warning.
“Whit.” My voice is a tease.
He lets go of my arm and grips the back of my head, pushing me forward. “You want it? Suck it, then.”
I do as he asks, rearranging myself so I sit on the edge of the bed. He stands in front of me, his expression like stone. Like the beautiful angel statues in the campus gardens.
I shove his joggers down, exposing him completely, and I reach out to touch his erection. Warm, hard skin. Velvety soft.
He’s human, I remind myself. No matter how much he tries to convince me that he’s not.
Dipping my head, I let my hair fall forward as I wrap my lips around the head of his cock. He drips onto my tongue, and a surge of triumph runs through me. He wants this.
I lick him. Grip him tightly. Suck him. Glancing up, his cock filling my mouth, I find he’s watching me, his expression still blank, though I see something flicker in his eyes. Heat.
Want.
He wants me.
I take a deep breath and suck him even deeper into my mouth, until the head bumps the back of my throat. What’s funny is I’d only given exactly two blow jobs before I met Whit. Now I feel like an expert.
“Fuck.” His favorite word falls from his lips and I gag on his cock when he thrusts his hips forward. “Jesus.”
He pumps in and out of my mouth, again and again, until I pull away, a shuddering breath leaving me. “Stop.”
He stands there, his dick glistening from my mouth, his face one of pure shock. I’ve never refused him. I’ve never told him stop. Ever. He probably thinks something’s wrong with me. “What the fuck, Summer?”
I lie back on the bed, my hand going to my pussy, testing it. I’m so wet. My clit is throbbing. Closing my eyes, I begin to stroke myself, my thoughts filled with images of Whit. Earlier today, how much I enjoyed what he did to me. I always enjoy what he does to me. Too much. He sees my darkness, and he matches it. Exceeds it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks angrily.
His words fuel me and I stroke myself harder, pinching my swollen clit between my fingers. “I need to come,” I tell him and he laughs.
“You are unbelievable,” he utters.
There’s rustling, and then he’s right there, in front of my pussy, his hot breath wafting across my sensitive skin. He shoves my hand away and attacks me with his mouth, devouring me, licking me everywhere. I squeal in delight. In pain. In pleasure. It feels so good, his lips, his tongue. He thrusts a finger into my pussy and strokes. Tickles the skin between my pussy and my asshole, making me jump.
Making me lean into his touch.
“I want to fuck you here,” he says, his finger drawing closer and closer to my ass. “Taste you here.”
“Do it,” I tell him, closing my eyes in shame when he pushes me backward, my legs over my head, my ass completely exposed to his gaze.
His mouth.
He contemplates me, deathly quiet, and I want to squirm. He loves nothing more than to humiliate me, and he’s doing that right now, as he studies my body, not saying a word. I wait in anticipation, my heart thumping wildly, my throat dry as I try to swallow. Until finally, finally I feel his mouth there. His breath. His tongue.
He licks. A delicate flick that makes me jump. He licks again, bolder this time, exploring, his tongue teasing the ridged skin and a moan escapes me. Oh God, it feels so wrong. So fucking wrong.
So right.
He continues his gentle assault on my untouched flesh, working me into a panting, squirming mess, until suddenly his mouth is gone, and he’s pulling me into position so my back is pressed against the mattress, my legs sprawled.
I could’ve come if he kept that up. I’m desperate to.
“Does your ass hurt?” he asks, his fingers briefly skimming over my scrapes and bruises.
I forgot all about my wounds. “No.”
He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving, his dick standing straight out. Licking my ass must’ve made him impossibly hard. “I fucked you roughly earlier. You want it again?”
I nod, overcome. Unable to speak. I want it so badly.
He slides inside my body, no condom yet again, the asshole. Not that we’ve ever used them. He fucks me steadily, his gaze never straying from mine, his hair hanging around his beautiful face. I arch up into him, my hips meeting his, my entire body tingling, anticipating the orgasm he’s about to give me. I don’t think it’ll be as good as the one promised this afternoon. There was something so primal about doing it outside, among the ruins. Exposed and open to nature, the breeze bathing my skin, making me feel so alive. I want to do it again there someday.
Maybe tomorrow, if I’m lucky.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his gaze racing over me, as if he doesn’t know where to look first. “I hate you so goddamn much, Summer.”