He chuckled into my warm flesh. “But I’ll break you.”
You already did. Today. I said nothing to that. My thighs began to shake uncontrollably and my mouth dropped into an O as I clutched tighter into his hair. I was sure it was painful for him, but he didn’t complain. He never complained. For all the jackass things he did outside of the bedroom, once the clothes were off, he made me feel comfortable. Comfortable to scream, to moan, and to demand. Comfortable to hungrily suck on his shaft and wipe the drool with the back of my hand at how incredibly aroused he’d made me by simply looking at me the way he had. Like touching each other would take all our troubles away.
I came hard on his tongue. He flipped me over, and before I had the chance to protest, mounted me, burying his cock between my ass cheeks—completely bare—and sliding up and down.
“Oh, fuck,” he said.
He loved doing things to me from behind. I think it was because he knew I could see everything on his face when we were together. The worry, and sadness, and fear. We weren’t having sex, not technically, but boy, was it getting harder and harder to tell myself I had red lines with this guy. I needed to just give in to him already. Give in to myself. Ask him to put a condom on and have sex with me. But not putting out made me feel like I was in control, and I craved that no less than I craved his body.
His cock pulsated between my cheeks, and I felt the warm pre-cum gathering at my tailbone. I didn’t know why I found it so stupid hot to have him masturbate on me this way, but I quickly pushed against him, taunting him, prompting him to smash into me from behind. I didn’t know what I was doing. Not fully. I was too delirious with lust and relieved at his reason for heartbreak. I shouldn’t have taken pleasure in knowing he was devastated about Tania breaking, but at least it wasn’t about Fallon.
“Why do you taunt me?” He fisted my hair and pulled me up, making me arch my back. Once my stomach rose from the mattress, he used his other hand to play with one of my tits, pinching my nipple on a hiss. “Why do you take so much pleasure in driving me mad?”
My skin prickled with goose bumps at his menacing tone.
“To get even.” My voice was hoarse, suffocated by the position we were in, my neck fully extended as he rubbed himself harder and harder into my ass, his thrusts almost punishing—both to him and to me—for not being able to penetrate me. “Just returning the favor, Mr. Rock Star.”
“I think we’re on a first-name basis now, Stardust.” His dick started twitching along my skin, and I knew he was about to burst. His teeth dragged over my neck. “Seeing as next time we do this, I’m going to be so balls deep inside you, I’ll be able to tickle your fucking lungs.”
With that, he came on my back. I felt the ribbons of hot cum on my skin. He then collapsed on the bed, disconnecting from me like I was nothing but a container to put his sperm in. My face was still buried inside the pillow, which was for the best, with the way I blushed.
I lay there, in the same position, waiting for him to say something. To clean me up, seeing as I couldn’t do it myself. Not unless I got into the shower.
I waited for many things, but a few minutes later, I heard the door open and shut, and knew he’d left me there, like the disposable fuck doll he’d wanted me to feel like.
Because when Alex was hurting, he wanted the entire world to hurt with him.
And in that moment in time, I was his world.
I should have felt disgusted by what he’d done. I should have wrapped myself up in a towel, stormed after him, and given him a piece of my mind.
But all I did was smile into the pillow like the stupid, lust-struck girl I was.
My Alex.
My little prince.
My fallen star in the dark, dark skies.
Excitement is like a contagious disease. It catches like fire, spreads, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t tame excitement, or piss on someone else’s parade when they’re truly enthusiastic about something. Which was why I was extra bitter when the cab picked us up from Heathrow Airport and drove us through London, up to Watford.
Everybody was just so jolly about seeing their families.
Blake was staying with his parents down the road from me. Alfie was crashing at a mate’s house in Kentish Town, and Lucas was going back to his perfect family in their perfect converted barn. Kent, not Watford. They’d moved somewhere with sheep and fresher air and inbred, posh neighbors when the eldest Rafferty graduated from university. All of Lucas’ siblings were already married to horsey-looking partners with great jobs. I’d once told him his family put the “promise” in “compromise.”