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Tormentor Mine(94)

By:Anna Zaires

My breath hisses raggedly through my teeth as his thumb circles my clit, the heat thrumming under my skin making it hard to think. My inner muscles tighten around those rough, invading fingers, and I don’t understand what he’s asking, what he wants from me. I need more of that pain-edged pleasure, and at the same time, I need relief from the tension winding me tighter and tighter.

“Peter, please…” My heart is racing much too fast. “Oh God, please…”

His grip on my neck tightens as his fingers curl inside me, pressing against my G-spot again. “Tell me, and I’ll fuck you.” His teeth scrape across my neck, making me shudder from the sensation. “I’ll give it to you exactly how you want it, fill your tight little pussy until you’re begging for more. Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll give it to you, Sara. I’ll give you everything and more.”

“Hard,” I gasp out, my hands slipping off the countertop edge to grip the steely columns of his jean-clad thighs. My sex clenches around his fingers as I press my pelvis against his hand, desperate for firmer pressure on my clit. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I do know what I need. “Fuck me hard, Peter. Please…”

His jaw tightens, and I catch a glimpse of the darkness in the gray shimmer of his eyes. Abruptly, he releases me and sweeps his hand over the countertop, knocking off the toiletries. Spinning me around, he picks me up and sets me down on the cold granite, thighs spread wide. I blink at him, startled, but he’s already unzipping his jeans and pulling me forward until my ass nearly hangs off the edge.

“Peter—oh God.” I gasp as he spears into me, so thick and hard it feels like he’s bruising my insides. He hasn’t been this rough since our first time, but I’m so wet today the violent claiming doesn’t scare me, the threat of pain only adding to the pleasure. Instead of clamping up, I remain pliant and soft around his cock, and as he sets a hard, driving rhythm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass, I wrap my legs around his hips and wind my arms around his neck, clinging to him like he’s my anchor in a storm. And he might as well be. He fucks me with such fury I feel like a sliver in a hurricane, overwhelmed by his violence, tossed about by the waves of his lust. It’s too much, too intense, but the helpless feeling only adds to the tension twisting inside me. With a scream, I come, clenching around him, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going until I come again, and then once more.

It’s only when I’m slumped against him, panting and dazed from my third orgasm, that he lets himself go. With one final hard thrust, he comes, his pelvis grinding against mine as a deep groan rumbles up his throat. I feel his cock pulse inside me as I cling to him, trembling, and my sex clenches one last time, squeezing one last shudder of pleasure from my over-sensitized flesh.

Afterward, I’m so out of it I’m barely able to stand as he lifts me off the counter and sets me on my feet. Dimly, I realize I feel unusually wet between my legs—drenched, really—but it’s not until Peter steps back and I feel the wetness slide down my thigh that I understand where it’s coming from.

“Oh God.” My eyes drop to his cock—still semi-hard and glistening with our combined moisture. “Peter, we—”

“Forgot to use a condom? Yes.”

He doesn’t sound particularly concerned. Instead, as I watch in horrified shock, he casually washes himself, tucks his cock back into his jeans, and zips up the fly. Then he wets a washcloth and gently wipes the semen off my thighs.

“There, all set.” He drops the washcloth in the sink, his eyes gleaming as he turns toward me. “Don’t worry. You just had your period, so we shouldn’t be in the danger zone yet. And I’m clean; I always use condoms and get tested regularly. I assume the same is true for you?”

“Right.” I stare back at him, shaken both by the occurrence and his attitude. Theoretically, we should be safe, but the mere fact that it happened, with him… My head resumes its painful throbbing, and my exhaustion returns, multiplied tenfold. How could I have been so negligent? With George, I’d always gone out of my way to remind him to use condoms, and during the so-called danger zones, we often skipped intercourse altogether, not wanting to chance the fifteen-percent condom failure rate until we were ready to have a baby. However, with my husband’s killer, I haven’t been nearly as careful, having sex at all times of the month. And now this…

It’s like some sick part of me wants me to be tied to him, to perpetuate this mockery of a relationship.