I line my dick up with her hot opening and slam into her. Her tight walls force a rough grunt from my lips as I pound into her mercilessly over and over again.
I push her face down into the cushions and fuck her at an angle that goes deeper than I ever have before. The sofa muffles her screams as I drill into her tight cunt, throwing my head back and groaning at how fucking good she feels.
My toes curl into the carpet as I thrust my hips harder and harder. The sofa shudders each time, and I have to lean forward to keep the heavy furniture from moving too much. Her hips dig into the sofa and her toes come off the floor as I lose control, slamming recklessly into her, loving how her nails scratch against the leather sofa.
Her body tenses and I know she’s close, and that’s when I lose focus. Thinking about her. About her pleasure. About her pain. I try to shake the thoughts away, rutting between her legs with a primal need, but I can’t shut them out.
Her pussy spasms on my dick and she feels so fucking good, but my mind is racing with the knowledge of why she’s just gotten off. Her past and her struggles corrupt every bit of pleasure in my being as she screams out my name.
I can’t. I can’t get off on this.
I pull away from her, still hard and slipping out, letting her fall limp and sated on the couch, her orgasm still running through her body and making her thighs tremble. She pulls her knees into her chest and tries to calm her breathing as I walk away.
I breathe in deep, running my hand over my face and trying to think. My head is fucked up, and I feel lost. I question taking her like that.
I pace the floor, not knowing how to handle what I’ve just done. I don’t know what’s best for her.
The moment she realizes I’m still hard and that I’m not able to cum this way, not knowing why she needs this, her face crumples and she covers her mouth as she’s wracked with sobs.
“Treasure,” I whisper her name, my heart sinking into my hollow chest. She shakes her head and tries to push me away.
“You don’t want me,” she says.
I grip her chin firmly and wait for her to look me in the eyes. “I want you. Don’t you ever think or say anything differently.”
She swallows the lump in her throat. “You couldn’t cum,” she says just above a murmur.
I don’t know how to answer her. “You don’t want me like that anymore.”
“I fucking love you like that. I love fucking you raw and hard and forcing your pleasure.” Her bright eyes finally meet mine again. “Don’t think that I don’t. I want you every way I can have you. I just… couldn’t, knowing.”
Her eyes fall, and I hate that I did this to her. I wish I was a stronger man. I wish I had all the answers.
I hook her chin with my finger and bring her lips to mine for a sweet, chaste kiss. But she doesn’t return it. Her lips are hard, and her heart’s not in it.
“I want you, treasure. I still want you.” She needs to believe me. I had a single moment of weakness and doubt. I shouldn’t have. But I did.
I brush her tears away with the rough pad of my thumb, hating that I hurt her this way. I can see the regret in her eyes as she takes in a staggering breath and pushes the hair away from her hot face. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are glassed over, and she won’t look at me.
I fucking hate it.
I grab her chin in my hand and I force her to kiss me. I crush my lips to hers, my tongue diving into her mouth and massaging against hers. Her small hands grab my shoulders and she kisses me back with just as much force and just as much passion.
I lie on the sofa, pulling her on top of me and gently sliding inside of her hot pussy, still slick with her arousal and cum. I grip her hips tightly and thrust my hips to fuck her with a slow pace. Each thrust is hard and deep, forcing small gasps from her. She places her hands on my chest as I slowly lie flat and continue to fuck her, while she meets me thrust for thrust.
Her tight walls stroke my dick causing a numbing pleasure to grow in the tips of my fingers and toes. I hold my breath as I pick up my pace and pull her down closer to me. Kissing her quickly with a bruising force as I fuck her harder and faster. All the while holding her close to me, where she belongs.
As I close my eyes, letting the pleasure wrack through me, I roughly rub her clit over and over, trying to force her over the edge with me. Hot thick streams of cum fill her and leak between us. Her body is tense and on edge, but when I open my eyes, I can see why she hadn’t cum.
She’s crying. Her face is buried in the crook of my neck.
My heart shatters as I pull her away enough to see her face and kiss her sweetly.
“Treasure?” I can barely breathe, “Did I hurt you?” My heart thumps slowly as I wait for her to answer. She shakes her head, but she won’t look at me. Her inhale is long and shaky.
“I couldn’t. I started to think-” a sob is ripped from her throat and she falls into my chest. “I’m sorry, Lucian.”
“Shh,” I kiss her hair and hold her close.
“I don’t want to have to think like that anymore.” Her tears fall into my shoulder as I rub her back.
“It’s alright, treasure. It’s going to be alright.”
I hold her as she calms herself, rocking her back and forth and kissing her over and over. My heart clenches with each small sob, but I’m here for her.
I kiss her forehead, breathless and consumed with conflicting emotions. The overriding thought being whether or not I deserve her, whether I’m even worthy of being her Dom. But I want to be. I want to heal her. I will heal her. I’ll find a way. I lift her small body in my arms, cradling her to my chest. She lays her cheek on my shoulder, neither of us saying anything as I carry her to bed.
Chapter 24
Dahlia
Placing a hand over my eyes, I wince as I lower myself down on the pure white sofa, a throbbing pain pulsing my ass. It hurts like hell. But I still love it. It always reminds me of Lucian, of his dominance. It gives me something to cling to, allows me to momentarily ignore my confused emotions. Yet that lost feeling returns as I sink into the couch.
Which is why I’ve come to see my therapist. Doctor Sandra Andrews.
She’s seated cross-legged across from me, in an oversized tufted leather chair, dressed in a white blouse and blue silk slacks, the outfit complementing the room's pale blue carpet and cream-colored walls, a notepad and pen in her hand. For a therapist, she seems young, but that’s one of the reasons I like her so much. She possesses a wisdom that’s beyond her years, and through the year she’s given me sound advice that I’ve found to always be on point.
Sandra’s gazing at me with concern. Her gentle eyes regard me from behind eyeglasses with thin metal frames. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve checked in, Dahlia,” Sandra remarks softly, her smooth voice soothing my ears and calming my anxiety.
“I know,” I reply in a soft sigh, my voice sounding small. I clear my throat, feeling slightly nervous, pulling my knees into my chest, wincing slightly as pain pulses my ass. My bare feet sit on the sofa, brushing against the chenille fabric. No shoes is a rule Dr. Andrews has. I guess it keeps the area cleaner, but even more than that, it’s supposed to make you more relaxed. I pick at the bit of nail polish on my toenails as a sigh leaves me.