his finger into me, pumping me a few times as he circled my clit faster. “You swear it?”
I shook, groaning as it began to hit me.
“Charlotte, answer.”
“I swear it,” I gasped out just as the orgasm slammed full force into me. I collapsed in his arms, and he held me tight, kissing my neck as I rode it out. He didn’t let go until my senses returned, until I really stopped to go over his words.
But then I felt his cock between my legs, heard his heavy breaths behind me as he kicked my legs apart, driving himself into me suddenly. I gasped, a pained groan leaving my lips as he slid in all the way. Fuck, he was so big. And fuck, he stretched me unbearably, not bothering like most other times to wait for me to get used to his size. It was so fucking hot to be broken in by him.
His hand ran up my spine, gathering at a handful of my hair, keeping me positioned against the bookshelf as he thrust in and out of me. Sharp strokes that hurt, and sharp strokes that made me dizzy with pleasure. My scalp stung under his grip, tears sprang to my eyes, and yet I found myself rubbing my ass against him, begging him to keep going.
And he did.
He let go of my hair and gripped my hip and fucked me quickly, harshly, zero gentleness in his movements. His other hand was still buried in my underwear, still rubbing at my tender spot, forcing another wave of pleasure out of me. He groaned deep in his throat as I shook, coming apart under him, and he stilled right after, spilling himself into me, dropping his head against the back of mine as he rode the pleasure out.
I was sweating and hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. I felt deliciously used, though conflicted by his words earlier. It was bittersweet, to finally get fucked after two days, but not in a manner I would have expected. In fact, it was never in a manner that I craved. Conor hadn’t dropped those final walls yet. I missed how doting he used to be, staring me in the eyes as he took me. I craved that connection more than the orgasms he unleashed in me.
I didn’t like when he pulled himself out of me. I wanted him buried in me longer, wanted him to fuck me ruthlessly. He slid his hand out of my panties and pulled my skirt back down. His breaths were still heavy, his dick semi-hard against my back.
My hand went behind me, touching at his hip, but he was quick to take it and gently place it back against my side. A moment of panic on his part, maybe he thought I was going to touch his cock.
I turned around to look at him, surprised that, although his face had a sheen of sweat to it from our session, his expression was utterly flat. Not a single emotion shone in his eyes as he met my gaze.
“Why did you do that?” I whispered.
“Why did I do what?” he replied coolly. “Fuck you?”
“Ask me those things,” I corrected.
His jaw tightened. He looked all wrong to me then. All dark and scary. “Because I wanted to know,” he answered simply. “Because I should know, shouldn’t I?”
“We went over this.”
“You said no one fucked you. I wanted to know if anyone got to touch you.”
I didn’t answer straight away. Too busy studying him, trying to gauge his mood, I saw the darkness surrounding him, swallowing him whole, turning him…cold. I knew what this was. Self-preservation. He was protecting himself from emotional injury, turning into stone to lessen the blow of what he might be scared to discover.
There was also something else too.
Something…worse.
“Has anyone touched you?” The words fled my mouth before I could stop them.
The reaction in him was immediate. His eyes flickered to mine so quickly, the shock in them apparent. Shock and…yes, pain. He turned away, hiding from me as he walked to the window facing the backyard. My eyes trekked the fading bruises on his back, and I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t see them. I fought the tears brimming on the surface, horribly aware of what he might have endured.
I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have asked it. Maybe that was the real reason he was reserved. He was out, but he was still imprisoned in a way. And what right did