This much I understand.
He flicks his gaze up to mine as he works me with slick fingers. The sight of my wet heat coating his digits sets my blood on fire. “Je gagnerai.” I will win.
Lust overtakes me as he drags me down to the carpet spreading my thighs wide while he hovers above. Silent, he commands my eyes as he lowers his head and begins a second round of assault. With the beckoning of skilled fingers and one more long pull on my clit, I detonate in his mouth. He rims my pulsing core as he draws out every bit of my orgasm with the lap of his tongue.
Chest heaving, he releases me to pull off his jacket before he slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. Eyes piercing, he reaches back to pluck a condom from his wallet before he tosses it next to where my head lay on the carpet. I flick my gaze to where it sits, a clear threat of where this is going if I don’t stop it.
With this one act, it will break all ties, destroy us, and any lingering hopes I have left. From his side, I’m a threat and he wants me gone, and this is the way of ensuring I have no place, no future amongst them. It’s up to me to stop it from going any further.
But I don’t. And I won’t. Because I no longer have a reason to hold on.
And because I am an addict.
A destitute product of my own imagination, of my own making.
Needy.
Sick.
Insatiable.
And with Tobias, it’s like inhaling energy, each breath I draw grows heavy with it, pulling me further into him, into a place I’ve never been.
He unzips his slacks unleashing his engorged cock, stroking it as I look on before he starts the slow roll of a condom. I catalog him, consuming every naked inch that my gluttonous mind is demanding I memorize. Dark olive skin stretches over his expansive and fully defined chest, a light smattering of hair is dusted between his pecs, and ribbed muscles line his taut abdomen and trim waist. An insanely deep V encases a trail of hair down his pelvis. Once fitted in latex, he lifts my neck in his palm, tilting my head to give me a clear view. He wants me to bear witness to the end, to his assumed victory.
And this, I refuse to deny myself, but for an entirely different reason.
He pauses briefly, a few seconds for any objection before he begins to press into me. Inch by thick inch, he takes up the whole of me and I lose my breath due to the stretch, the size of him. Cursing, he drives in further, watching intently as my mouth parts and a barely audible hiss escapes him. His features twist with restraint as his body vibrates with residual anger. And there’s no mistaking it.
This is his revenge, on my father, on the brothers who disobeyed and purposely deceived him. On me for having an unknowing hand in it. And I’m letting him have it. I’m allowing my own degradation.
Once again, I give myself over to my devil, but this time, this time is different because this time, I’ve already made peace with it on my terms. I allow him this purposefully, with every intention to see it through. And if I’m damning myself, I’m going to enjoy the burn.
He inches in and I cry out at the intrusion, the unimaginable stretch as he rolls his hips, slowly working himself into me. “Putain de merde.” Mother Fucker. “Tellement serrée,” So tight.
“Brûles en enfer.” Burn in hell. The words pour from my mouth in perfect pronunciation, and my enemy’s eyes widen a fraction before he drives into me fully.
It’s then I feel the snap…and get consumed by the afterburn.
We collectively groan before he curses in a mix of English and French pulling back entirely and thrusting in again, burying himself. Connected fully, his hot exhale hits my neck as I claw at his shoulders, breathing through the discomfort, reveling in the stretch, and indescribable pleasure.
He palms my thighs, spreading them further before he drives in again, his eyes dropping to where we connect. I bellow, my body shaking, as he drags himself along every sacred place inside of me, drawing me out. Within a few more thrusts, I spasm, fighting it, but all it takes is a shot of amber flames and the press of his finger and I topple over the edge.
I revel in the descent, my orgasm taking over, my release streaming between my legs as an ecstasy-filled cry leaves my lips. Back arching, I convulse, cleansing in a white-hot fire that unfurls throughout my limbs as my body trembles in the aftermath.
His eyes slam shut, and he throws his head back, mouth going slack as I milk his cock, the resulting turbulence shaking us both. It’s when his hooded eyes open and latch onto mine, that he loses control.
And then we’re fucking—hands clutching, gasps and groans mingling, sweat glistening off our slicked skin as he tears through me lust-crazed, possessed. Pain subsiding, I meet him thrust for thrust fucking him with fervor until a second orgasm hits, taking me by surprise. I tighten around him as his eyes go molten.
“Putain, putain,” Fuck, fuck, he curses, his hands covering my body, his touch pure electricity, as I begin to build again with every powerful drive of his hips. Sparks fire and ignite from cell to flesh as he pistons into me, the slapping sound tipping me over as another orgasm threatens. With its arrival, I bang on his chest, the friction too much. Jaw trembling, I come undone pulsing around him as he picks up speed, his fucking unforgiving while he claims my body wholly. My hate fuels me as I scratch at his chest, determined to collect some of his flesh beneath my fingernails.
And with every sure and damning thrust of his hips, adversary or not, I know I’ll never again crave the touch of another like I will his.
Trembling with this knowledge my back arches again as he swells inside me on the verge. His hand tenses on my breast with the first pulse of his orgasm. His body tremulous as his eyes open with the onslaught. He stares down at me, gasping out his release, unmistakable terror in his eyes.
And I’m thankful for it.
I’m thankful for every vulnerable second of it because I see the recognition when he realizes what I already know.
He didn’t want to feel anything, and instead, he felt everything.
We’ve just ruined ourselves with our hate for the other.
He palms the sides of my head as he stares down at me with something akin to astonishment. It’s only a flicker of revelation, but it’s there. His eyes drop as he pulls out of me and wordlessly grabs the towel nearby in an attempt to cover me. I bat it away, disgusted by his cowardice. If I have to bear witness to this, so does he. There will be no mercy on either of our parts.
“You have to live with it, too.”
My words strike him exactly where intended as his face draws tight, all fear quickly becoming replaced by fury. But I’m not the one he’s angry at.
He snaps to his feet, tossing the condom in my vanity trash before gathering himself in his boxers, his expression turns to stone as he begins slowly buttoning his shirt.
Flames fading, he eyes me, securing his collar when he speaks. “You should know better than to read into this. It’s sex. And it was business. Don’t take it personally.”
I roll my head back and forth on the carpet unbelieving of his quick denial. “You really need to get over yourself.”
He pauses dressing briefly, staring down at me. “I don’t blame you, Cecelia. You were taught from an early age to be a fixer. To crave affection unreturned and somehow believe it will be rewarding.”
He nods toward the battered library copy of The Thorn Birds sitting on my nightstand. “But that’s the difference between a boy in a book or a movie and a man in the real fucking world. Some of us don’t want to know the inner workings of your mind and heart, or throw away our pride, or tell you our secrets and confess our love. Some of us just want to fuck you until we tire of you and move on.”