He had an arm tight around my waist, fastening my squirming body to his. His other hand was working between our bodies but I was too much in a state to notice what he was doing. Every centimeter of my skin was sensitized beyond being bearable. I could even feel the air around us causing agonizing pleasure.
His hands went to the backs of my knees and jerked them up. I was straddling him and for one beautiful moment I felt the hard, hot tip of him enter me.
In triumph, I ground my h*ps down but he was faster than me. He caught me at my waist before I gained half an inch.
My head snapped up and my eyes flew to his.
“You want my c**k inside you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
I did. I wanted it more than oxygen.
I remained silent.
He inched up what felt like a millimeter and I felt my lids slowly close in rapture. Then he stopped and my eyes shot open.
“Beg me, pet,” he whispered, his voice now tortured.
I had no voice so I shook my head.
“Beg me,” he ordered harshly.
“No,” I breathed.
“You want me,” he stated.
I stared at him then I nodded.
“Then beg me.”
Finding a strength inside me that I didn’t even know was there, I pulled up against his hands, my body straining against my brain’s demands and I couldn’t believe it, he let me.
I felt the small but hard and thick and unbelievably magnificent piece of him that I had slide out of me.
It felt like I’d lost a piece of me, not him, when I pulled free.
Regardless, stubborn to the last (and now hating myself for it), my eyes locked on his and I declared, “You won’t break me.”
His arms wrapped around me, crushing me to him, I was hoping in defeat so he’d give me what my body was aching for.
Instead, he rolled us to our sides, his arms still holding me close and into the top of my hair, he said, “You’ve forced my hand, Leah.”
Fear pierced through me because, without any attempt to hide it, his voice was filled with regret and I didn’t know why. What was worse, even though I didn’t know what he regretted, I had a feeling whatever it was, was something I’d regret more.
He kept talking. “I’m leaving and when I return, if I find you’ve touched yourself, you’ll have a week of what you just had and you can beg me until you’re hoarse to make me let you come but I won’t do it. Am I understood?”
“You’re understood,” I mumbled into his chest where he’d pressed my face.
He tensed as if to move and I didn’t want him to go. Not because I forgot he disgusted and terrified me and I detested him, I only could forget those when his mouth was between my legs and other times besides, but because any movement made my body feel like it was going to shatter.
I felt his body relax right before he sighed.
Then he asked, “Why do you fight me, sweetheart?”
I didn’t answer. To answer was to trust him with a piece of me and after all that he’d done to me and what he’d done to his f**king wife, I knew he was not someone I could trust.
Ever.
No matter how gentle he could seem.