Page 36 of A Taste Of Truth

Good girl. The words land heavy, mean something, and I let him take over without trying to analyse it. Just him and his words – him and his body and breath. I can feel him all over me, in me. He turns me, shoves me down to the floor and starts running his teeth across the skin of my ass. Bites rain down on me, all of them filled with enough malice that I shout under the attack. It doesn’t stop. It increases in ferocity, to the point where I’m trying to get away.

I’m dragged back, my knees scraping the carpet, and pushed down to the ground. He lifts my ass, widens my legs, and rams his fingers back into me again. I pant under it, eyes wide as he shoves something in my ass as well. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. It should hurt – does hurt, but now, with him, it’s filled with greed and need.

Panting some more, I moan through the assault. I’m desperate to come, enough so that I shuffle backwards, or try to. His hand forces my shoulders back to the floor, hard hands holing me in place

“Stay still, Alice.” I don’t. I twist and turn, my pussy eager and needful for more. “Greedy,” he mutters. I am. I am filled with greed for him.

I try twisting again, trying to find that edge so I can fall off it. It isn’t until I feel something else join his hand that I real start falling off a cliff. He swipes it alongside his fingers, tries forcing it in at the same time. And then it’s gone and I’m moaning for more of it.

“Please,” stutters out of me.

“What do you want?”

“Fucking. Please.”

The fingers leave me, and his dick finally gets inside me. I groan at the feel of it, my whole body giving in as he feeds into me slowly. I can hear him, too. His moaning, his muttering, his groaning the deeper he gets. He’s so big inside me, so deep.

He stops – doesn’t move. He just holds us there, one hand on my back and the other on my hip to keep me still. “Sin and wildfire,” he murmurs, changing his weight on me. His mouth comes close to my neck, his tongue running the side of it. “You feel like a tease I could live inside, Alice.” He pulls out lazily, slowly glides back in. “Do you want that?” I’m nodding, writhing, trying so desperately to stay still and make this orgasm happen before he starts. “Are you sure?”

I whimper, moan a yes rather than say the word.

He groans again, pushes a little harder on my skin. I grunt at the feel of it, almost knowing what it means before he starts. “I’m going to hurt you now.” The sight of his hand putting my knife down on the floor in front of me makes me startle, but the feel of him getting deeper emboldens me. “I’m going to cut you, mark you, make you mine.” The blade folds into his hand, and he slices it over his own forearm to show the blood seeping out. “We’ll bleed together. You’ll be a good girl and let me take everything from you.” He rams his dick inside twice to punctuate his words. I cough and moan under the sensation, as I get shoved further into the floor. “I’m going to find empty space first, and then cover what was there before me. Understand?” I whimper again, physically shaking at the thought. “Trust, Alice.”

And then it starts.

And I bleed.

For hours.

~

I don’t know where I am when I wake up, but the dark outside shows me it’s night, and the arm wrapped around me, his slow steady breaths calm and relaxed, let me know I’m still with Malachi. No bed, though. Just this old couch in a room that, now I’m looking around it and less frantic about fucking, is covered with dust and age.

It’s perfect somehow. Or he is. Or this old castle in the snow that whisked me away from reality is. I’ve never felt safer, nor more protected than I do in this moment. He did that to me. He held me. Kept me close and didn’t let a seconds worth of time keep us apart in our joining. I can still feel him in me now, still feel his essence between my thighs, still feel the dried cum on my body, and still feel the cuts all over me. I’m almost broken, torn and shredded and so yet alive I can barely breathe without the sensation.

My fingers run lazily across his on my stomach, eyes staring at the window. Real or not after this is done, or continuing or not when I eventually leave, he has become something special to me – something consuming. I am consumed.

I push an old blanket off me and walk for the window, careful to not wake him and wincing with every step I take. Another blanket gets pulled from a chair, and I wrap it around me to gaze out at that moon that always seems so big here. It’s still not real, but every moment that passes by, and every part of time that seems to extend into an alternate reality makes the thought of the real real less appealing. Not that that’s real either, but it was my real until I could find a way to end it.

Rubbing my forehead, I sigh and glance back at the man that, for whatever reason, chose me for his fun, and then choose the moon again instead. This isn’t just fun. It’s more than that now, for me at least. He sliced me open last night – in more ways than one. I bleed for him, perhaps for me, too, and I watched on as he took me over the edge of rational. It’s past madness. I am now. I am lost in a myriad of alternate realities, unable to see sense or clarity near him.

Last night, apart from us fucking and the blood caused, is a blur of screwed up memories. There was shouting, running, hunting. I can feel it in me, as if I was part of something angry that I can’t grasp onto. It’s a mess, as is all this now. The only moderately clear thing is him in the water- finding him there. He tried to kill himself again. I can’t deal with that going forward and care. I don’t want to, and continuing to think I can affect it, or him, is beginning to feel like a fool’s errand.

It’s breaking what is already broken enough.

No matter how much I might be falling for him.

I open the blanket wearily, looking at the cuts on me. They’re not deep, they’re intricate, and, as screwed up as the thought might be, they mean something to me. They cover old wounds, masking the memories and creating new ones filled with passion rather than fear.

That’s fucked up. He is. I am. In fact, this whole freaky ass madness is and yet, somehow, I am right in the middle of it daring to think about love. I laugh lightly, lunacy in reality taking over. He licked me, almost sucked me dry of blood, and he fucked like a monster would. No care, no softness, but there were words. Good girl. Well done. More. Beautiful. They were on repeat, like a chant to keep me yielding and breathing and coming. I did, too. I begged, grasped. Screamed. And I came so much I can’t remember when one stopped and another began.

Arms wrap around my waist quietly after a while, light lips pressing into my collarbone. We just stand there like that – comfortable, joined, part of two. It’s all a lie, though. There isn’t any truth in it unless the reality of words become live in the air. And he’s not going to say anything that joins us any further than the drugs I’ve consumed. Such a head fuck. A freaky, fucking head screw with no reality attached to it.

“You should bathe,” he says.

“Probably.”

He squeezes my hipbone, making me flinch under the pain still radiating. “Definitely.”