Page 91 of What You left in Me

Goosebumps rise as he presses ever so gently. The blade puckers my skin but doesn’t pierce. The delicate balance of trusting and fearing him makes my heart buck out of control.

Finn seems lost in contemplation, twisting the scissors in a slow circle around my belly button. He told me not to leave, to remain rather than disappear in my mind, but he leaves. His face shadows with thoughts and recollections. Things that don’t seem pleasurable. What is he thinking about? My mind goes back to the animosity within the exchange he had with Mom earlier. I want to ask him about it but I, at the same time, I don’t want to ruin the moment.

It would kill me if he left.

So I stay quiet, and I squirm beneath the blade until his eyes snap to mine.

He blinks, casting shadows away.

Palming the scissors, he leans closer, wrapping fingers around my wrists as his cock bites my belly. His clothed chest teases my nipples, making them harden to painful nubs. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you.”

Oh, God. His voice activates every part of me. I pant breathlessly, “Why don’t you, then? Or do you enjoy playing with your food before you finallyeat it? Why torture us both?”

He rears back, jaw working. “Do you think this is torture? I could do so much worse, my slave.” He rubs his groin against mine, pressing my ass hard against the bedpost with his cock. “I want to do so much worse.” His voice thickens, muttering,“I want to make you scream, beg, cry…” He doesn’t say it in a kinky, playful way; he says it with passion so nightmarish I can’t see anything but whips and pain.

That does it.

I moan again, and this time it’s a plea because the teasing is getting out of hand. I want him inside me. I want to feel him, his touch, his penetration. “Please... you don’t have to make me scream. You can take me. I’m yours.”

He laughs darkly. “You don’t get it do you, slave? I want to take from you when you least expect it.” He twists a nipple with angry fingers. I yelp.

Pain courses to pleasure, warming me, making me wet. If Finn is hardwired, needing pain to enjoy sex, so am I. I might’ve gone through my entire life never knowing the key to my pleasure was pain.

Finn, in his brutality, shows me something taboo... shows me I like to be dominated, and not just light role-playing. No, I need the real thing.

Light shines through my brain at the realization. I’m not a sweet, innocent girl who wants cotton candy and sonnets. I’m a filthy slut, a woman who needs to be taught her own body.

As I stand, tied to a bed with Finn smirking with sin in his eyes and promise of hurt on his lips, I realize - I want Finn to hurt me.

Fire blazes in my belly; I bare my teeth, snarling. “I won’t let you fuck me.”

Everything slams to a halt. Finn. Me. Time.

The world teeters while he tries to read me. We glare into each other’s eyes, reflecting the same fucked-upness, recognizing the same in the other. The bond between us flares tight, reaching with glowing shackles, binding us together. I relish the binds, accepting my true identity before he even realizes what I’m offering.

Slowly, Finn moves, his entire body predatory, smooth, shark-like. “You won’tlet mefuck you, huh?” Delight shimmers in his gaze, etched with black smoldering lust. “I’ve already fucked you. What makes you think I want to again?”

I thrust my hips forward, bumping an overheated core against his straining erection. The moment I slip into unwilling victim, Finn rages with hardness. His cock verges on iron, hard and unyielding.

“I don’t care if you do or don’t. You won’t because I say you’re not…”

He smothers me with his body, the post digging into my back as his mouth captures mine. A tongue spears between my lips.

I whimper, melt, wanting so badly to kiss him back. But that isn’t allowed in the role I’m playing.

His lips brand me, tearing another moan from me rather than a curse. His tongue possesses my senses, forcing me to duel, to parry, to taste and savor. Am I returning his kiss? No, I’m not. I’m fighting to breathe, in every sense of the word.

I buck, breaking the kiss, breathing ragged.

He turns the scissors on me again, hands deathly still as he snips the waistband of my shorts. He murmurs, “Do you want me to stop?”

God, no. Never.

“Yes, you bastard. I won’t let you do this. It’s twisted. Wrong. Let me go.”

His body quivers with some unreadable emotion, locking his eyes on mine, he makes another sudden cut.

I squirm as the cold metal drifts lower, brushing near my core. “You don’t have my consent.Stop.”