Page 9 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

I pant with every inch he slides inside. He’s relentless, yet slow, taking his time to wedge his cock into me. The patient speed is a good idea—he’s thick enough that I have to catch my breath, and when I think I’ve adjusted, he gets bigger. Impossibly bigger.

“Fuck,” I groan.

“Is it too much?” he teases.

His smugness gets under my skin. I slam my hips backwards, sinking the last length of him into my clenching walls. My pussy thrums around him until I see spots of color, but my ego keeps me from crying out. “I’m fine,” I grunt. “I can handle it.”

“Good.” Jamison wraps his hand on my jaw, turning me towards him.

His lips and tongue taste wonderful. “That’s what I want to hear.

” His other palm claps onto my left hip, mauling my tender muscles.

It’s leverage—he draws his cock out of me until only the tip is inside.

The ridge of his fat cock-head fills my pussy, threatening to exit, making tingles in my blood.

“Scream all you want,” he whispers in my ear. “My walls are soundproof.”

He slams into me with his full force; the wet thud comes first, my shout comes second. “Oh my god!’ I groan, biting into the pillow. My fingers cramp on the fabric as I try to survive Jamison’s powerful thrusts.

He’s strong—that's a given. But he’s more than muscles and bone. There’s a precision in how he holds me, an intention in the settling of his weight, the angle of his hips, as if the man was built for the pure act of bringing me pleasure.

Jamison is a murderer...

And a perfect lover.

If demons walk the Earth, he must be one of them.

His hand claps onto my ass with a crack like breaking glass.

I shout in surprise—and in dizzy delight.

“You’re too quiet,” he says in my ear. “Yell more. Scream more. Prove you’re alive, darling girl.

Celebrate life...” He traces the place he spanked, the tender area burning and tingling.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to be breathing.”

I’m too far gone to play philosopher with him. The liquid rolling down my inner thighs forces me to think about how close I am to another orgasm.

I want to come! This time... with him inside of me.

Jamison reaches under, fondling my breasts, tugging my sensitive nipples until I squirm and moan. “I said—”

“Fuck me!” I wail, slamming my hips back onto his cock. “Fuck me, god, make me come. I need to come again!” He wants me to be loud. Fine. I can be loud.

His cock thickens inside of me. Jamison breathes out with his whole chest. “Even like this, you try to find ways to win.” Lifting himself onto his elbows, he uses his whole body to drive into my pussy.

The impact steals the shout from my lips.

A ripple of pleasure as deep as the sea moves from my belly to my thighs.

“You don’t know—really know—the position you’re in. ”

“I’m... under you...” I groan, trying to alleviate the tension from the moment.

He doesn’t take the bait; his voice is sleet on my naked skin. “I could make you beg for hours. I could drive you insane, I could destroy you, all without breaking a sweat.” He wraps his fingers on the base of my neck. “The last thing you’d ever say would be my name.”

This side of him is petrifying. Yet... as frightening as he is.

.. he can’t cool the heat in my body. My clit is throbbing painfully; each stroke of his cock drags me nearer to coming.

I’m there, right fucking there, and none of his cruelty will hold it at bay.

“You said you wouldn’t kill me,” I remind him.

“Did I?” he whispers. His fingers grip harder.

His other hand slinks under my hips, seeking my swollen clit, rubbing it expertly.

I whimper, vibrating with a fresh gush of wetness.

“We only have one contract, sweet Selena.” He rubs faster.

.. pushing me to the peak. Sweat sticks to my throat under his choking hand.

“I only obey that paper. Not your wishes.”

There’s a hard truth to what he says. In a better moment, I’d dissect it, find an argument, a way to counter. But right now, the only thing I can do is come.

“Fuck!” I sob, my toes curling from the blinding shock of my orgasm. My pussy flutters over his length, struggling to contain his cock as it jerks. He pulses through the condom, coming simultaneously with me.

The power in his grip increases—I can’t breathe. For a frightening moment my head goes stuffed and fuzzy. Violet walls close in around my eye sockets. I’m going unconscious...

Jamison releases me, as if the strength has left his bones. I rattle in a choking mouthful of air. He collapses on top of me, face in my hair, arms stretched over the pillow. He’s still twitching... still trembling... a man who’s touched a live wire and lived to tell the tale.

That’s wrong. I’m the one who barely survived, not him.

Yet, he’s the one breathing shakily, and I’m recovering quickly, refreshed, stronger than ever. Somehow, I took the life from him. The concept makes me surge with delusional giddiness. Me? Take him down? The great Silencer himself, brought to his knees by me.

“Hey,” I whisper.

He stirs, both inside and out. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Of course. I’m not made of glass.”

Chuckling dryly, Jamison withdraws his still firm cock with a grunt. I wince with the brief pulse of pleasure. Then he’s gone, leaving the bed. He’s moving away in the darkness, and I have no clue what he’s up to.

I roll onto my back in the sticky sweat we’ve created. There’s a ringing in my ears broken up only by the rustling of his movements. “What are you doing?” I call out.

“Cleaning up.”

A singular streak of light parts the black room; he’s entered his Master bathroom. Through the gap I hear something crinkling. Water runs for some seconds. Oh, he’s throwing out the condom.

The thought of something so normal makes me sit up. I search for my clothes, making out vague shapes on the bed thanks to the beam of light from the bathroom. My shorts and panties are in a tangled pile—I yank them over my legs, straightening my shirt over my belly.

Did we really have sex?

It’s weird, but I feel... uncomfortable. What we did in the dark could be associated with two different people. Thinking about the evidence—condom, sweat, sticky thighs, tossed clothes—has shame spiking up my back.

Pushing the covers to my throat I cover my face with a scowl. Oh my god, and I told him I wanted to be like him. Fuck. That’s humiliating. He’ll never let me live that down. It’s the worst blackmail I could come up with.

The bathroom door closes, draining away the fragment of light. My eyes don’t adjust to the void, but even if they did, I’d still see nothing. I don’t hear him approach, just feel the bed sink from his weight. I tense up, expecting him to reach for me.

He doesn’t.

There’s no hands... no lips... not a whisper. Even my worst encounters with past partners involved some conversation afterward. I remember wishing one guy would shut up and go to sleep. I didn’t want him to spend the night. I itched to be alone.

Jamison’s constant silence is far worse.

I crave the comfort of a light touch of our hands. Even a small insult would be better. As my body breaks down, exhaustion slipping into every crevice of my body, I drift off with a singular, but very certain, thought:

He regrets what we’ve done.