Page 31

"Fucking bastard," I curse, trembling with unsatisfied need.
"Such a filthy mouth," Araton taunts, his own breathing ragged. "Tell me what you want, Ronnie. Say it."
Pride wages war with desire, a battle that's all too familiar when it comes to this man. Three years of distance, and we're right back where we started—me fighting myself more than him.
Because I know when it comes to Araton, if I really did ask him to stop, he would. But he knows I want this. He knows I want the fight just as much as the fuck.
"Fine," I finally snap, my resistance crumbling under the weight of my own body's demands. "I want you. Satisfied?"
His laugh is triumphant in the darkness. "Not yet," he purrs. "But I will be. And so will you, pretty little slut. So will you."
My body trembles as I sag against the wall of my cottage. I don't know how to react because Idowant him. I just shouldn't.
"Maybe I'm not even him," Araton whispers against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. "Maybe I'm just a stranger who saw a pretty little whore alone in her garden."
The suggestion sends an unwelcome thrill through me. My body responds with a rush of wetness that I hate myself for. My hands press against the wall, useless as he keeps me pinned.
"Would you let just anyone fuck this sweet cunt?" The question comes with the unmistakable sound of him unlacing his pants with his free hand, fabric rustling in the darkness behind me. "Is that what you've been doing these past three years? Spreading your legs for every man who passes through?"
I try to protest, but his hand clamps over my mouth, reducing my words to muffled sounds that even I can't decipher.
"I don't think so," he continues, answering his own question. "This pussy remembers me. It's fucking dripping for me."
The head of his cock nudges against my entrance, thick and hot. My body trembles in anticipation, betraying every denial I've constructed over the years.
"Lift your ass up," he commands, the hand around my wrists dropping to grip my hip with bruising force. My hands drop to the wall, trying to hold myself up.
When I hesitate, he slides his hand from my hip to the back of my neck, pressing me more firmly against the wall. "Now."
I comply, arching my back and tilting my hips toward him, silently cursing my own weakness. His groan of approval vibrates through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, grateful for the darkness that hides my shame.
"Good girl," Araton praises, the words dripping with condescension that somehow still makes me clench with need. "Always so obedient when you're about to get filled with cock."
Without further warning, he thrusts inside me—one brutal, merciless stroke that seats him fully. The sudden intrusion forces a cry from my throat, muffled by his palm. The stretch burns in the most delicious way, my body accommodating his size inch by excruciating inch.
"Fuck," he hisses, his hips flush against my ass. "Still so fucking tight. Still perfect."
He doesn't give me time to adjust. His hips withdraw and slam forward again, setting a punishing pace that has my body rocking against the wall with each thrust. My fingers scrabble uselessly against the wood, seeking purchase, finding none.
"This what you needed?" Araton's voice is rough with exertion, each word punctuated by the slap of flesh against flesh. "Some stranger in the dark, using your pretty cunt?"
I shouldn't like the way he's talking to me. I shouldn't find it arousing when he degrades me this way. But my body doesn't care about shoulds—it responds with increasing wetness, with clenching muscles that grip him tighter with every thrust.
His hand leaves my mouth to reach around and roughly palm my breast through my dress. "Answer me," he demands, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me gasp.
"No," I pant, the denial more for myself than for him. "It's not—I don't?—"
"Liar," he snarls, driving into me harder. The force of it drives the air from my lungs. "Your cunt's gripping me like it's afraid I'll leave again. So fucking needy."
My forehead presses against the wall as pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each brutal thrust. His pace doesn't falter—relentless, merciless, exactly how I remember.
"I bet you touch yourself thinking about me," Araton continues, his words filthy and precisely aimed. "Fingers buried in this sweet pussy, pretending it's my cock stretching you open."
The truth of it burns through me. In the darkest hours, when loneliness threatened to consume me, I'd surrendered to memories of him—his touch, his taste, the fullness of him inside me. I'd hate myself afterward, but in those moments, I'd been desperate for even the ghost of him.
"I haven't—" I try to lie, but he cuts me off with a particularly deep thrust that hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
"Still lying," he growls, his voice darker now. "Even with my cock buried inside you, you can't be honest." His hand slides from my breast down between my legs, finding my clit with unerring accuracy. "Let's see if I can fuck the truth out of you."