Page 54 of Fragile Lives

“No fuckin’ way.” I push my hand back in her pants. “You’re only coming with part of me inside you.”

My finger dips inside her wet center. I pump inside her a couple of times before adding another, but she instantly pulls her body up.

I freeze. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Don’t stop.” She pushes herself back on my hand, and I start again while pressing my thumb to her throbbing, swollen clit. My free hand wraps around her lower back and pulls her to me so I can control her movement. When she whimpers again, I lunge at her neck. And I bite. And suck. And bite. Not caring if I leave bruises.

In fact, I want bruises on her; I want evidence of my lips and teeth on her skin so everyone will know to stay the fuck away.

When she starts pushing onto my hand harder, I increase the tempo, and she falls apart on my fingers. I feel a gush of liquid in my palm, and I keep pumping my fingers. She pushes away, clearly too sensitive, but I know that right behind this moment of increased sensitivity, there’s a moment of intense pleasure, so I pull her to me, press on her clit harder, and continue for a few more moments.

And I’m rewarded with the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard and another gush of liquid onto my lap.

Feeling like a fuckin’ king, I pull my hand away and lick it clean again. It tastes so fuckin’ good, I swear.

When she stops shaking, she falls onto me. Her skin is wet and flushed. She looks satisfied, and I pray to anyone who will listen that she will stand up and go to the bathroom so I can finish here by myself. This situation in my pants won’t let me think straight.

But no one listens to my prayers as usual, and Leila leans back on my lap and looks down.

“What are we going to do about that?” Her eyes are flirtatious.

I let out a tortured laugh, “I need to take care of it. I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I say.

“Why?” Her brows draw together, her head tilting to the side.

“Because this kind of wood doesn’t disappear on its own,” I say with a chuckle, getting uncomfortable. “Not after the most gorgeous redhead just squirted in my hand.”

Her cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink. “But I’m here. Why would you need to take care of it yourself?”

I cover my face with my hands and think about how I got myself into this hell of my own creation.

“Because I need to come, Leila,” I muffle into my palms. “So my blood can go back to my brain.”

“I can help you,” she says with a smile and scoots to the side a little. Her hand goes to the waistband of my sweats, and my hand shoots out to stop her.

“No.” I hold her hand firmly.

“Why?” she asks, looking even more confused.

“Leila,” I hold her gaze, “you’ve heard about me, right?”

“That you have kinks?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Alright,” she replies carefully. “What’s your kink?”

“I like pain, Leila.” The confession brings me shame, even though it shouldn’t. “And I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

Her voice takes a questioning tone. “You like causing pain?”

“No. I like to feel pain.”

She watches my face intently. “But you like normal stuff too, right? You know, boring stuff.”

I shake my head.

“Never?” she asks, her eyes wide.