The moment my eyes opened, the weight of the world sat on my chest. What I had done the night that brought me here still plagued me, even though who did that wasn’t me. It was my body but it wasn’t my mind, and it was definitely not my heart. It just wasn’t who I was.
My eyes were still heavy with sleep, and I kept them closed as I thought about last night, wondering if it’d been a dream. I kicked off a blanket that wasn’t there when I went to sleep, my skin becoming increasingly warm the more my thoughts wandered to Vanessa. I loved making her come. Loved how much she hated that I made her come.
I got out of bed and walked toward her bedroom. Her door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I peered at her soft form beneath a blanket. The fabric of her purple sheets wrapped around her, but as she turned onto her belly in her sleep, it twisted, exposing her pale thigh and the cuffs of her ass.
Fuck me.
The red locks of her hair draped over the pillow, and my mind wandered to how it felt wrapped around my hand. I wanted to go into her room, yank down her panties, and spread her thighs as I drew her hips to mine. My cock twitched.
I went into the room and closed the door behind me. My breath hitched as I tried to stop myself from doing something incredibly fucking stupid. But I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t sure how she’d react. I anticipated her struggle, but I hoped to feel her pleasure.
I crawled into bed with her, pinning her body with mine. The weight of me straddling her hips woke her up, a horrified yelp leaving her lips before I silenced her with my hand around her mouth.
There was fear. True fear.
When she got a glimpse of me, her screams became whimpers and her body relaxed a bit beneath me. The intensity of her fear washed away in front of me.
“Don’t stop fighting me, little girl,” I whispered against her ear.
She writhed beneath me. Her nostrils flared above my hand, and she flashed her green eyes at me. I reached down and unzipped my jeans, pulling my cock through the slit. I ripped her panties, and the tearing sound went right to my dick. More whimpers escaped through my fingers. She kept squirming beneath me, rubbing my warm cock against her ass. I reached down and pushed my cock inside her, and her warmth and wetness welcomed me.
I spread her open as I sat up on my knees and pulled her hips toward me. I fucked her mercilessly, with a hunger I should have stifled. But her soft, thick thighs were too inviting. The curves of her lower stomach were warm against my hand as I held her, and I squeezed the flesh as I thrust deep inside her, pulling out only to plunge further into her.
I dropped my hand from her mouth and ran it along the curve of her neck. I expected her to scream out obscenities and hatred toward me. But she was silent. Not even whimpers of pleasure escaped her throat, which was almost more eerie than if she had screamed out in anger.
I fucked her harder, until whimpers left her freed lips. I fisted her hair and pulled back, noticing the bite of her lip as I did.
I’m not a rapist. I’m not. She wanted me, but she couldn’t get past her own morals to allow herself to welcome me inside her. I was a monster, and she wasn’t willing to allow herself to play with one. The only way she could accept me was by force. But the desire beneath her objections let her subtle consent pass between us. As she leaned her chest deeper into the bed and lifted her hips for me, she told me all she needed to without a single word.
I slipped my hand between her legs and rubbed her swollen clit.
“Cole, don’t,” she whispered. I throbbed at her words. The moment I started to touch her, to please her, that was when guilt poured from her mouth. The guilt caused by making her come.
“Come,” I growled. “You know how this works. Come, and I’ll be quicker. I won’t use you longer, no matter how fucking good you feel.”
She jolted from my words. I went from circles around her clit to rubbing along the wet, slick hood of it. She buried her face in the pillow, trying to hide the sounds of her pleasure. She couldn’t hide it, though, not as her thighs trembled when I leaned over her or as her pussy clenched around me.
“Good girl,” I whispered. “Mouth or pussy?” I asked. She knew I wanted to fill one or the other. She knew the very first night I fucked her that I would come inside her, but it was her choice if she wanted me to spill it down her throat or push it deep into her pussy.
She didn’t answer me with words, only backed her ass into me, pushing against my pelvis where the pleasure was too difficult to hold back. I kept a palm on her spasming clit as I fucked her, finishing deep inside her. I released a gravelly groan that made her sigh into the bedding.
I pulled out of her, my come dripping between her legs and falling onto the sheet. I rubbed my sensitive head along her equally sensitive clit before bringing her face to mine. She looked like she’d been crying. I never noticed.
I kissed her, pulling her into me. My come dripped down her thighs as she sat on her knees on the bed. “What are you feeling, little girl?” I asked as I held her away from my mouth, our chests heaving against each other.
She shook her head but leaned into me for another kiss. “Please don’t ask me that,” she said against my lips. Her forehead pressed against mine.
She knew all of this was wrong. I knew it was wrong. But fuck if it didn’t feel like the rightest goddamn thing in the world. It felt right among all the wrong that we were hiding from.
I swiveled and sat on the bed, tugging her onto my lap. I didn't care if our come stained my pants. I just needed to feel her in my arms. She melted into me, which I didn't expect.
“I'm sorry, little girl,” I whispered as I kissed the top of her head. She felt so small on my lap. So vulnerable.
I was sorry. I felt guilt for how I took her just then, mostly because she couldn't hint at me like she had before, not until I had already pushed inside her. When it would have been too late.
She stirred something primal inside me. I wanted nothing more than to please her and make her come as I selfishly took her. I’d never felt such things in my life, and I was almost certain she hadn't either.
We were living in some kind of dystopian reality where consent wasn't explicit; it was implied. I had to watch for her subtlest cues telling me she wanted more when her mouth said otherwise. It was a game of risk, teetering on the fine line between loving and hating what I did to her. And loving and hating me. But I had to push further and test the trust she had in me.
She was a new addiction, and I'd do more than murder to satiate the craving.