He gives me another slap on the ass, this one a bit softer than the previous ones. He opens the medicine cabinet.
I just stand there waiting for him. My pussy feels thoroughly used from his fingers in it before, and it also feels like it wants more. As much as it can get. Everything.
I hear rustling. He’s taking his clothes off, I can tell. I look up into the mirror again just as he shucks off his shirt. The tats on his chest and arms are bright in the light of the bathroom. He reaches for his jeans. They’re unzipped and open, but not off him yet. He pushes them off along with his underwear and I let my gaze drag down his body, over that tight, cobbled abdomen, the line of hair that wanders down the middle of it, widening to a triangle-shaped nest around his hard, bobbing cock.
“Like what you see?” he asks me, smirking. He strikes a little pose. He’s got a tube in his hand—lube, I realize and shiver a little. He’s really going to do it.
“I have to say that, yes, I do believe I do.” I try to sound offhand, flip, but my stomach is doing somersaults. I’m having a hard time separating excitement from anxiety. I look at the tube of lube again and swallow.
He sees what I’m doing and holds the lube out, displaying it like he’s on a game show. “This is the secret to everything,” he tells me. “Now, I want you to watch us in the mirror. Spread your legs.” His voice is quiet but brooks no argument. I do exactly what he says.
And I wait.
Not long though. A moment later his chest is against my back and he’s kissing my shoulders, using his teeth on me again, biting along the expanse of my back, and nipping my nape. I lock my eyes to my own reflection, watching his head move as he helps himself to me. His hand touches me, cool and slick with lube, and a finger slips inside.
I jump a little. It’s more from the chilliness of the lube, though, than from the still only slight penetration. It’s tight and feels a little strange, but I’m okay with it. He pushes in a bit deeper, and then slides out, then back in. Slow, easy, like he said.
“There,” he murmurs against the back of my neck. “See? Not so bad, right?”
I have to nod, because he’s right. Not only is it not so bad, I’m realizing I like it. There’s a deep, burning sensation that’s nothing like having his fingers in my pussy. What will his dick feel like in there? I start to cream up just thinking about it. In the mirror, I see my cheeks flushing darker again, my pupils widening.
“There we go.” His words are still soft, encouraging, but his hand moves a little faster, the movement a little rougher, and he bites at my shoulders again. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I can see he’s smiling a little. He keeps riding that line, holding me on a knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, making sure that when I fall, I always land on the side of pleasure. I can trust him with this, too, can’t I?
Whether I can or not, I’m going to. I have no choice at this point. He’s drawn me into a dark, deep spiral of need, of want, and I’ve reached a point where I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember how to breathe if I don’t have his hands on me, his fingers inside me. His cock.
He adds another finger, pressing deep, and I gasp again at the moment of stretching pain as my body adjusts. No, not really pain. Pressure. A raw, dark feeling of being utterly possessed. Redness starts to blink into my vision, then black. He starts to thrust with his fingers. I ride with it, and when he finally withdraws, I can’t help a soft noise of protest.
“Shhh,” he says, and then he reaches around me and clasps both of my breasts in his hands as he presses his cock inside me.
There’s a split second where I wish I hadn’t said okay. It’s a spear of near-pain, and I choke a little on a cry, but then he’s in, then in deeper, and then he’s thrusting and I do cry out, but it’s for an entirely different reason.
His fingers play with my nipples as he thrusts. His eyes are holding mine in the mirror, and there’s no way I can move, no way I can get away from him. I tip my hips back, and he takes this as the invitation it is. And moves faster.
Within seconds he’s pounding me hard. I feel so full and so empty at the same time, and he’s thrusting harder and faster, deeper, and I feel like I’m on fire.
Suddenly he pinches one nipple hard, then lets go of it and reaches around me. The second his fingers touch my clit, fireworks explode, and I scream. I’m nothing but the pulsing, clutching, demanding sensation pouring through my body, the orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And I thought the last climax was as much as I could take. This one doubles, triples it, riding waves of pain, pleasure, pressure, and sheer ecstasy.
Cain bites my shoulder. I feel his body go taut, and in the mirror I see his eyes close. Suddenly he’s pulsing inside me, his come spurting hot. A low growl comes from him, and his fingers holding my breast clutch so tight it hurts.
We’re bound together there for a long moment, unable to escape from the wrenching pleasure. Finally I start to feel myself breathing again, and his body loosens a little, easing away from me. He’s still for a long few seconds, then he drags in a slow breath.
“Jess,” he says, and nothing else.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. We’re both quiet for a long time, and then I remember why we’re here together in the first place. Because my father sent his men to teach Cain a lesson.
Shit.
“Cain…” I start, but he shakes his head as if he can tell I’m about to say something serious and he doesn’t want to hear it.
“Shower,” he says, and draws me away from the sink.
I let him lead me into the shower and watch while he adjusts the water. I feel wobbly, like my legs might not hold me, but they don’t give out. When the water starts to fall on us, it feels so good I move into Cain’s arms, letting him hold me while the steam rises.
After a few long seconds with water running down over us both, I lift my head from his chest and lick a rivulet from his tattooed pec—right off the lion’s scowling face. Then I reach behind him and take a bar of soap off the little shelf in the corner.
He watches, curious but not trying to stop me. I run the soap over his chest, down his belly, to the root of his cock. Gently I lather him up, cleaning his shaft. Then I remember he’s not so much into gentle. So I let my nails move over his delicate skin, scratching lightly at the protruding veins.
His head goes back and he lets out a satisfied rumble. I scrub him clean, squeeze him until he’s semi-hard, then go to my knees.
“Ah, Jess,” he says, the words so quiet I can barely hear them. As I take him into my mouth, he slides a hand into my hair.
I have no idea if he can come again so soon, but his cock sure seems up to it, hardening quickly in my mouth. I take him in as deep as I can, teeth scraping but not too hard. I know he likes it rough, but men can be fussy about their dicks. For good reason, I suppose. I roll my tongue around the head, feeling the heat grow there, then I open my mouth, letting some of the shower water come in, then closing my lips again around his rock-hard shaft.
He seems to be holding back, so I reach around him and clasp his buttocks, pulling him a little closer and urging him to thrust. He does, carefully, but then quickens the pace as I pull him deeper and deeper into my throat. I swallow around the head and then let him slide out, back in again. It becomes a steady rhythm, and I start to lose myself in it.
“Jess, Jess,” he says suddenly, his fingers pulling at my hair like he wants me to pull off. But I keep him where he is, cock head at the very back of my throat, and I swallow as he comes.
#
We finish showering and dry off then slide naked into bed together. It’s nice there, just lying there under the blankets, his arms around me. The heat of his body dispels the chill of the after-shower coolness of my skin.
Exhausted, I try to pull myself back together, but it’s hard to breathe, and I literally hurt from his relentless pounding, from his hands digging into me. Not that I’m complaining. I’m riding a wave of post-climax adrenaline and anger. Not at Cain. At everything else. Everything that closes us both in.
I press my face against the hard slope of his chest. With my ear against him, I can hear his heart beating in a content, even rhythm. The soft hair between his pecs, and his skin, with its lines and patterns of ink, is still damp. He smells of soap.
“Cain… We can’t go on like this.” The words are soft, and I’m not sure when I decided to say them. As they come out of my mouth, I wonder what I’m going to say next.
He makes a low noise, sort of an acknowledging grunt. I can’t tell from the sound of it if he’s agreeing with me or not. His hand comes up and tangles in my hair, then his fingers slip down my bare back. I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s not looking at me; his attention is somewhere else.
“He’s going to kill you,” I go on. The prospect makes my throat thicken. “He’s already shown you what happens when you cross him. And now you’ve crossed him again.”
His head moves now, rolling toward me so he’s looking me in the face. I think maybe he’s listening now. I’d give every penny I own to know what’s going on inside that head of his right now.
“Do you get what I’m telling you, Cain? He’s going to kill you. This was just a warning.”