He gets to his knees and starts to pull down his slacks.
I bite my lip, still feeling the aftershocks of my climax passing through my body. He pulls his length free and my eyes widen. I didn’t realize it was quite that big the other night, and now I’m not surprised I was still feeling it the next day. He rips his shirt off all the way and kicks off his slacks. His body is amazing—all hard lines and muscle. He reaches down and pulls my hips toward him, lifting my ass up so that he can use his other hand to spread my wetness with the tip of his cock.
Before he plunges inside me, he leans down over me and cups my face between his fingers, looking straight into my eyes. I see that hint of the danger and violence in him again. A thrill of fear creeps through me.
“Tell me how badly you want it.”
“I want it.”
He slaps my cheek just hard enough to sting. “Make me believe you.”
“Please,” I moan. “Fuck me,” I say quietly, face burning with embarrassment. I’ve never done anything like this, not even close. The most talking I’ve ever done in bed was passionless discussion over which position to switch into.
He slaps me again, harder this time. It pisses me off and I clench my teeth, hissing the words. “Fuck me.” I mean it, too. I don’t know how or why he has so much power over me, but my body sure as hell responds to it. I’ve never been this responsive to touch before. Even just feeling his hand on my face and my hips is enough to make me shudder. In some distant part of my mind, I’m pissed that he treats me like this, that he can make me degrade myself so much and enjoy it.
I don’t have time to dwell on it because he takes his hand off my face, pins my hands above my head, and then thrusts into me with a grunt. His face is flushed now, and even as I whimper with the slight pain of his entry, I feel glorious waves of ecstasy flowing through me. He begins working himself into me at a slow pace, maddeningly slow. I try reaching for him to pull him into me faster. My clit is already throbbing again with a need to cum, begging for friction. I try to rock myself against him, but his strong, possessive hands steady me, forcing me to endure his agonizingly slow pace and the things it’s doing to me.
I squirm beneath his powerful grip, every fiber of my consciousness focused on his cock inside me.
I moan. “You feel so good, Vince.”
His mouth opens slightly and he looks at me with a gaze full of lust and unapologetic hunger. His pace increases, and I know I’ve broken through his game. He wanted to do this his way, to fuck me at his pace and watch me as I slowly lost control, but now it’s him who has lost control. The thought that I’m pushing him over the edge and making him lose focus on his little game makes me cum. My core clenches against him. He groans, tightening his grip on me and thrusting himself deeper. Then he pulls himself free and lets his hot cum spray up my belly.
“Fuck,” he says quietly.
He surprises me by leaning forward to kiss me softly, running a gentle hand along the side of my face. The look he gives me says he owns me, but there’s none of the violent darkness in his eyes now, only warmth. My stomach turns over and I’m suddenly overcome by a need to get out of this. Out of here, out of his embrace—it’s too much, too tempting. It was easier when I could think of this as a dirty secret, a no-strings-attached release of pent up emotion. Seeing him look at me like that makes me think he wants more. It makes me think I might want more.
I don’t know if I’m more scared by the idea of a man like him wanting me for more than just a good fuck or by how much the idea of being his girlfriend appeals to me. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I push at his chest to free myself. He rolls off me, leaning on one elbow and actually looking slightly hurt. “What is it, doll?” he asks, reaching for my face.
“Don’t,” I say shakily. I suddenly can’t meet his gaze. I feel ashamed of my nakedness so I grab my torn panties and use them to wipe the cum off my stomach. Then I snatch my blouse and clutch it to my chest, using my other hand to cover my ass as I kneel to pick up my skirt. My eyes fill with tears. What am I letting happen to my life?
When I turn, he has managed to put his slacks and his shirt back on. I gather the rest of his clothes and push them into his chest, shoving him out my door. He says nothing. When I do look into his face, I see only hurt and pain there, but I must be reading it wrong. He’s just using me like a sex toy. He doesn’t give a shit if I care about him or not. I’m such an idiot.
“Please,” I say. “Just go.”
He shakes his head and turns to walk down the hallway outside my apartment, looking over his shoulder once as he leaves. I close the door and press my back to it, sinking to the ground and sobbing uncontrollably.