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I writhe with pleasure, my core clenching when I’m too overcome by the visual not to respond. As my back arches, heat throbs through me, and my lungs saw in and out.
Every part of me is pulsating, but I can’t get enough.
Neither can Ark.
He draws out the length of my pleasure with timed thrusts and body-quaking moans.
We groan together when my orgasm refuses to relent. It lasts forever, its roll through my body so violent that the wall I erected to keep my emotions at bay shatters.
I try to force my sobs to sound like moans, not wanting our connection altered by a pocket of emotions I’d rather work through alone than with company.
My efforts are woeful.
The first tear only careens halfway down my cheek when Ark notices it.
“Fuck.”
30
ARKADIY
Pain spreads across my chest when I dab at a blob on Mara’s cheek. I’m hopeful it is sweat, even with my heart knowing that isn’t the case. I pushed her too hard, too fast, and now I’ll regret it for the rest of my days.
Remorse clings to my skin when my pointer finger and thumb absorb the salty droplet. Sweat and tears are of similar denseness, so I can’t confirm its origin by touch, but I don’t need confirmation to authenticate its derivation. The horror in Mara’s eyes tells me everything I need to know.
I fucked up.
“No,” Mara pleads when I remove my semi-erect cock from her snug pussy in one quick maneuver.
It should be fully deflated. The thought of hurting anyone usually has it shrinking like a punctured tire, a slow yet controlled deflation. But this is Mara, a woman who has been hurt in unimaginable ways. It shouldn’t be close to erect.
“Ark…”
Mara’s wet eyes bounce between mine when I arch over her to free her hands.
That’s where I fucked up. It wasn’t the first mistake I’ve made, and it most likely won’t be the last, but there’s no doubt in my mind that I should have never restrained her.
You can’t encounter what she did and not have phobias.
Limited control is probably a massive trigger for her.
Probably? She was raped, dickhead. Of course she’d be fearful of being pinned down.
“I shouldn’t have… I…” I cuss again before unknotting my shirt in a hurry, needing to untie her and cover up the reasons I know how horrific the repercussions of abuse can be. “I shouldn’t have bound you.”
“It’s okay,” Mara assures me, confident and without quivering.
When she tries to secure my wandering gaze and fails, she tries with words. “Look at me.”
I can’t. I’m too ashamed.
My sister would roll in her grave if she learned how I treated a victim of sexual assault.
“Ark…please,” Mara tries again.
When her plea doesn’t reward her my attention, she touches my face.
That gains her my utmost devotion, but this time, it isn’t with a viciousness founded on hate. Astonishment is the main instigator, followed by need. I can smell myself on her skin, and it is as intoxicating as the delicious palette of her pussy.