his balls in my hands; he grunted and thrust harder into my mouth. By now I knew what he liked. And he knew exactly how to get me off.
We were a fucked-up dance of needs and pain and wants. And only we two knew the choreography.
Arthur pulled my head from his dick and threw me onto my back. I hit the mattress with a thud, and he threw my legs over his broad shoulders. I frowned as I saw a bandage on the back of his arm. I didn’t have time to think on it too long—Arthur swiped his tongue along my pussy, making my back arch off the bed and taking all thoughts from my mind.
He sucked on my clit until I saw stars. He worked me hard and fast, giving me no reprieve as he made me come. I screamed out in ecstasy, and before I even had a chance to come down from my high, he had flipped me over to my knees and held my hands on the bedframe.
As I was still feeling the throbbing of my orgasm, Arthur slammed inside me. He pounded into me harder and faster than ever before. I gasped at the aggression, at the maddening pace and the feel of him coming loose inside me. It was like he was fucking the demons out of his soul. But then his head fell to my shoulder and he laid a soft kiss there. Goosebumps broke out on my skin. The kiss was such a contrast to the violent thrust of his hips. Then his fingers squeezed mine. I couldn’t look away from our joined hands as he weaved his fingers through mine on the headboard.
He was holding my hands.
He was fucking me like a whore but cherishing me with his mouth and gentle touch. I didn’t know why, but tears built in my eyes. Arthur never held my hands. He was rarely affectionate. I had always accepted it as just who he was. But I had dreamed of the moment he would show me he cared. That I was more to him than just some posh bird he got his kicks out of by fucking once a week.
I couldn’t fight back the orgasm building inside me. I wanted to savour this moment, bask in it some more. I didn’t want this to end. Because this had to end. I was getting married. This, right now, was it.
Arthur kissed up my neck as he thrust inside me. I didn’t know where he began and I ended as I trembled, crying out his name. Then Arthur stilled and I felt his heat flood inside me. My arms and legs were numb in the aftermath, and I could barely breathe.
Arthur rested his forehead on my shoulder again. Only this time, I felt him shaking. At first I thought it was due to exertion, but then I felt the tears trickle down my back. My heart dropped.
He was crying.
I guided our still-joined hands off the headboard and turned my head. Arthur drew his head back, and I saw the track marks of tears on his cheeks. “Arthur,” I whispered, hearing my own voice quiver in empathy.
I lowered myself to the bed, bringing Arthur down with me. He let me guide him against me to rest in my arms. A burst of heat washed through me as he laid his head on my stomach. He had never let me hold him like this before. Never let me cherish him and care for him. And he had never done the same to me.
“It’s okay,” I soothed, feeling Arthur’s shoulders shake and his unrelenting tears pool on my stomach. He held me so tightly, as if I might disappear if he didn’t keep such fierce hold. A lump formed in my throat, and I knew that I didn’t want to hear what had happened to him. Because whatever it was had crippled him. Arthur, who had always been the most unbreakable, formidable man I had ever met, had been destroyed. I ran my hands through his hair, trying to make him feel safe, feel wanted, feel loved.
I wasn’t sure how long we lay like that. But Arthur’s shaking shoulders calmed, and his tears on my stomach all but dried. He was awake. I knew this because he was drawing lazy, hypnotic circles on my stomach. And he hadn’t pulled away. That affected me more than I was willing to admit.
“They’ve gone,” he finally rasped out, his tired voice sounding