“Do you remember how it felt when I was eating your pussy, Mia? When you were clutching the bed sheets, crying out in pleasure, writhing as I fucked you with nothing more than my mouth?”
Another awful throb of arousal. “Stop talking like that,” I say.
“Why?” he asks, smiling as he enters me with a single finger. “Because you like it?”
I do my best to hold my body still while he touches me, first with one finger, then with two. I close my eyes, afraid of what he’ll see if he looks into them, knowing he will taunt me if he sees anything but loathing, and I can’t take that. Not when I’m feeling so uncertain about it myself.
Maybe I’m sick.
He brings the gun up my bare torso, and in a sickening twist, I feel relieved. Relieved at the reminder that I have no choice, that this terrible, terrible man is going to do what he wants to me no matter what I say, and that my body is just… experiencing physiological confusion. He has turned me on before, he has brought me to orgasm before, and he has been inside me, pounding into me until I cried out — even though I didn’t know it was him, it still happened. My body still knows he’s capable of bringing me physical pleasure.
I open my eyes and see him watching me. He withdraws his fingers from my body, bringing the gun down slowly, trailing lightly down my abdomen, and along the inside of my thigh. I hold my body still as goose bumps rise up, but I can’t keep from gasping when I feel the cool tip of the gun being pushed inside me.
“Mateo,” I say, gasping. Fear floods me, trying to remember if it’s still cocked. What if he accidentally fires it? “Please…”
“Mm, ask again.”
I hate that he’s enjoying this, but I can hardly breathe with the barrel of his gun pressing against my clit.
“Please. Please, Mateo. Please.”
Instead of removing it, he moves it in and out, in and out, mocking me.
“Please,” I say again, my breath hitching. “You’re scaring me.”
The gun is finally pulled out of me, and better, he deposits it on his night stand. I can’t help staring as he sets it down, wondering if I could get to it….
“Don’t even think about it,” he says coldly.
My gaze jerks to his.
“You’ll miss, for one thing. You don’t know how to fire a gun, and you damn sure won’t be able to fire it when I’m wresting it away from you. And when you miss, or even if your finger never makes it to the trigger, I will finish raping you, and then I’ll kill you and your entire family. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”
I think he’s probably right, but I sure would like to try.
I’m not fighting now like I was when he first got me in his bed, but he still pins my arms over my head before climbing between my legs. I think he just likes it.
“If you stop now… we can pretend this didn’t happen,” I say, even knowing it’s useless. There’s no consequence for him. He isn’t afraid to do this to me—he knows he’ll be fine.
Smiling, he drops a little kiss on my lips, as if I’ve amused him.
Then he thrusts his hips forward and his cock moves into my unwilling body, sealing the deal.
Caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob, I try to rear up, forgetting I’m pinned. Uselessly I plead, “Stop!”
But he doesn’t.
I watch him close his eyes, experiencing pleasure as he moves, thrusting deep inside my body, then pulling back, thrusting deep, then pulling back. It doesn’t hurt like I expect it to—there’s a fair amount of discomfort as he stretches me, but not outright pain. I give up fighting altogether. I turn my head to the side so I don’t have to watch, but I can feel him everywhere—his breath when he leans in to kiss my neck, his cock battering its way inside me, his hands, still nailing me to the bed. The weight on my arms hurts more than the actual act, but I don’t bother complaining.
He finally releases my arms, hiking my legs up and fucking me from a different angle. The friction starts to feel less awful and I close my eyes, praying he’ll finish before he notices my body reacting to him.
Remembering what started this whole mess, I do murmur, “Please don’t finish inside me.”
Then, out of spite, I guess, he groans against my mouth as he buries himself deep, coming as deep inside me as he possibly can.
He remains inside me afterward, but he’s spent, so he relaxes against me. I lay motionless, blessedly empty on an emotional level, but so aware of him still filling me physically.
It takes two to tango, I remember saying.