You lie here in this incredibly soft, cushioned California King Bed, draped by navy blue silk sheets in a room illuminated only by the dim glow of scented candles.
The blended aroma of lavender and jasmine fills the warm air, but despite the pleasant, therapeutic scent, you are hardly relaxed.
The sound of your shallow breathing fills your ears, and it becomes even more audible as you feel it getting slightly labored, no doubt with sheer anticipation.
Your skin feels impossibly hot, your face flushed beyond belief, and your dark, curly hair is a tangled mess against the soft pillow underneath your head. You vaguely register the ticking sound of the large wall clock hanging high above the headboard.
You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your chest and between your breasts, tickling your skin as it moves further south to collect in your belly button.
You stare into the eyes of the gorgeous man on top of your naked body with uncertainty as he enters you for the fifth time tonight, wondering how it is exactly that you got into your current position.
Literally and figuratively.
You continue to behold his large, muscled body as it effortlessly covers yours.
God, you don’t think it’ll ever be possible for you to get tired of looking at its impeccable display, clothed, naked, covered in mud, or in a glowy sheen of sweat like it is now.
Your eyes travel upwards to find him staring hard at you, and you feel your sex clench and throb violently, as if it’s the first time his arresting gaze has covered you in goosebumps.
He remains silent as he pushes into you without warning or restraint, and you quickly feel yourself getting even more flushed at the squelching, sucking sounds that his entry causes.
You feel yourself gaping wide open as he quickly buries himself deep inside you, like he’s done many times before. His strong fingers dig into your skin as he grips your hips roughly and brings them hard against his pelvis in one quick motion.
You’re unable to stop the yelp—a throaty mesh of pain and ecstasy—that escapes from deep within your throat at the deliciously forceful invasion. You arch your back and push your head further into the pillow in surrender, because frankly, that’s all you can do.
This man owns you.
You’re certain of it now.
And you honestly can’t believe just how willing you are to be owned by him.
You instantly cream yourself on his now sheathed cock, still in utter disbelief at how much he fills you up. A moan escapes your quivering lips as your upper body is pressed further into the mattress by his incredible weight.
Your fingers instinctively reach out and dig into his forearms, feeling the magnificently corded muscles and veins in them as you wrap your legs tightly around his waist. Your feet are pressed against the taut skin of his firm ass. You feel his hips flex under your thighs, and you can’t subdue the pleasured smile that sneaks its way onto your lips.
You’re all too aware of how much he stretches you open, and despite the embarrassment that still lingers, you love feeling the incredible heat and thickness of his cock pressing almost desperately inside your pussy.
You crave it.
The soreness you still feel presents raw evidence of what he did to you just twenty minutes ago, as does the pool of sticky wetness between your thighs, and you can’t help but revel in the sweet pain. As twisted and obscene as it is, you always love reminders of how roughly and thoroughly he fucks you.
He pulls back and pushes forward again with even more force.
He does it again.
And all you can do is surrender yourself to his deliberate actions.
All you can do is take every inch of each powerful thrust and allow your body to feel each and every second of the raw ecstasy that’s running wildly through its veins.
The flickering flames of the candles cast shadows against the beige walls, and you watch your entwined silhouettes moving in sync to a frantic, sexual rhythm—like that of passionate, devoted lovers.
But that can’t be further from the truth. You aren’t lovers, and despite the romantic setting, this isn’t a romantic getaway or honeymoon. The gorgeous man inside you is not your boyfriend or your husband.
In fact, he’s someone else’s.
Husband, that is.
And you aren’t making love. Or even just having sex. This is good old-fashioned, raw, reckless, uninhibited fucking.
Just like he likes it.
And just like you’ve come to as well.
He looks at you with unapologetic lust, and his stare is unfaltering. He digs into your very soul with icy blue eyes that both terrify and captivate you. The same eyes that wouldn’t leave yours the moment you met. The same eyes that have blatantly refused to leave your mind ever since. And the same damn eyes that still haunt your every waking hour, and won’t leave your dreams alone when you sleep at night.
He moves faster and faster, pumping into you harder and harder with abandon. The sticky, slapping sounds of cock in pussy crack and echo through the stillness of the night, giving testimony to your raw and depraved coupling.
You want to kiss him, so much that it physically hurts. You want to press your lips to his full, pink mouth and suck on his tongue, like you’ve been dying to ever since you met him.
But you don’t.
Because you know he won’t let you.
He never lets you.
It’s the one thing he refuses to do with you; his number one rule for you to keep if you want…whatever this is between you, to continue—this arrangement of sorts. And as wrong as you know this is, you also know that you’re not ready to stop just yet.
Your tempo becomes even more hurried, more frantic, and each of his angry thrusts sends you deeper and deeper into an abyss of sheer ecstasy. Your moans are turning into a mesh of cries, whimpers, and pleas. Your skin is scorched, ablaze with lust and want, and all the pores on your body are screaming in emotional overdrive as you feel yourself becoming feverish and drenched in sweat.
You can’t believe how different things are now; how complicated your life has become in such a short amount of time.
It was never supposed to be like this. He’s off limits.
He’s always been off limits.
You keep telling yourself that; that being here with him is not supposed to feel this good.
God, he’s not supposed to feel this good.
You wonder what your life would have been like now if you had gone to the clinic on a different day, or if you had just insisted on going with the physician you were initially referred to.
Never in your life would you have thought that in the events that followed the beginning of a regular school week, a random check-up would end up spawning a highly angst-filled, incredibly confusing, and quickly-unfolding mess.