mammogram had nothing on this.
“You’re hurting…”
He pressed his calloused thumbs against the inside of her breasts and forced them apart. At the same time, he brought the heel of his hands into play so her breasts were being lifted at the same time. “No, I’m not,” he said.
He was right. Damn him. Another of her frequent fantasies had been to find herself bound and helpless while a man—always a faceless, voiceless man—roughly claimed her body. In her hallucination, she fought ropes and gag in a not-quite-desperate attempt to retain some measure of dignity, but there was no freedom from the man’s mastery over her, or her carnal reaction, the powerful climax ending in unconsciousness. She tried to tell herself that today her damn imagination had gotten away from her.
But it wasn’t that.
She knew it.
At least wise enough not to risk actually feeling the pain he’d called her on, she concentrated on trying to regain self-control through a series of quick, deep breaths. She succeeded only in nearly passing out from hyperventilating.
Or something else.
“You want this. Don’t tell either of us that you don’t,” he said.
“What about you?” she challenged. He slackened his hold a little. She still felt a world away from being free, or desiring freedom. “What do you want?”
He sighed. The sound came from low in his throat, maybe as low as his belly. She looked down at him. His penis hadn’t stirred.
“Want and need are two very different things,” he told her. “And I’m not sure they parallel anything either of us has ever felt before. What drives me.”
“That—doesn’t make sense.” Her words were running together. Her muscles were turning into butter. And her breasts—
“It isn’t the only thing that doesn’t make sense,” he mused. “I think…”
“What?”
Instead of answering, he slid his fingers to her breasts’ underside and lifted until her cleavage equaled the finest cosmetic surgery. His shadow-lips brushed and covered first one and then the other nipple. He sucked, drawing her nubs between his teeth.
She gasped. Molten heat flooded her. She couldn’t have felt more helpless if her arms had been staked above her, legs forced apart by knotted rope. Her cunt throbbed, begged to be filled.
“I’m learning,” he whispered, “that control comes in many forms. You’re my link to…to freedom. I don’t dare lose that.”
“By—” She was shaking. He sounded far away, as if he was speaking from the other side of a tunnel. Her thighs quivered, and her cheeks felt flushed. In her mind, she saw her labial lips swell and redden. The message was clear: I’m ready. Take me any way and any time you want. I’m too far gone to want anything else.“By taking—advantage of me?”
In her mind—damn it, just in her mind—he released her breasts only to slide his hands between her legs with enough strength that she was forced to spread them. The quivering intensified, and she couldn’t have drawn away if her life depended on it. Her shorts—who knew what happened to them? He probed between her cunt’s swollen lips and feathered his nails over her hot, wet clit. She gasped and panted.
“Call it what you want.” His voice held at a hypnotic whisper. “I know what you need, Mala. And what I believe I must do. I just hope you can understand.”
She couldn’t think anymore. Nothing existed beyond his smooth, short nails and what they were doing to her. She threw back her head and raked in as much air as possible. Lifting her too-heavy arms, she flailed about until she managed to clamp them over his powerful shoulders. Gripping them for support, she widened her stance and arched her back to increase his access to her.
He toyed with her, played her like a tightly strung guitar. Or she would have called it that if she hadn’t heard his own deep and none-too-steady breathing. With nails and the pads of his fingers, the base of his palms even, he left his
Learning to Kill: Stories