I can’t let him touch me. I can’t let him get me pregnant.
“Do you always have to use force or—”
My ankles are grabbed and I’m yanked down the bed before I get to finish. His mouth smashes against my mouth, devouring the scream that escapes my lips.
I push at him. My hands shoving into his shoulders then pounding at his chest.
He doesn’t budge an inch. If anything, my struggle only seems to spur him on, increasing the fervor of his kiss.
His tongue lashes at my tongue, attempting to whip me into submission.
I try to bring my knees up, aiming for that gigantic dick of his. Sensing the danger, he suddenly shifts. His massive legs move on top of my legs, weighing me down. Pinning me to the bed.
I feel tears of frustration stinging my eyes as the seconds tick by and my arms begin to tire from hitting him. My knuckles are bruising, and all this effort, all this violence, hasn’t made a lick of difference.
His kiss begins to soften as if he’s trying to soothe me. I fight him, hitting him until my arms are exhausted.
Then I just stop, giving up. Why keep fighting? He’s bigger. Stronger.
Meaner.
It’s all a waste of energy. Utterly useless.
His kiss deepens. His hands caress me, lulling me into compliance.
I feel drained. Empty.
Physically spent.
He shifts above me, removing some of the weight on top of my legs. His hands roam down then he pulls back just enough to pull my shirt over my head, breaking our kiss.
I stare up at him.
He looks down at me, and those dark, gleaming eyes of his soften. His hand comes back down, cupping my face.
“Why?” I ask, my voice sounding so small. Beneath him I feel so tiny.
“Don’t you feel it?” he asks.
Slowly, I shake my head, lying to myself. Lying to him. I feel something, like a warmth swelling inside of my chest, but I don’t know how to explain it, and certainly don’t know what it is.
“It’s destiny,” he says huskily, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip.
“Destiny?” I repeat with a little snort of derision.
“Fate,” he clarifies.
I roll my eyes up at him.
He just grins. “You can keep fighting it, Amy, but it always wins in the end.”
“You’re crazy,” I say as his hands slide down, slipping behind me, unsnapping my bra.
“I’m not the one fighting battles I can’t win.”
Tensing up, I try to cross my arms to keep him from removing my bra but he just pries them apart. He slides the straps down my hands, tosses the bra to the side, then stares hungrily at breasts.
Under his gaze, my breasts begin to feel warm and heavy. My nipples tingle and tighten.
God, I hate my reaction to him.
Once more I attempt to cover myself but he just pries my arms open again.
“See,” he says with some amusement. “Still fighting.”
“I can’t help it,” I groan as his hands let go of my arms so he can fondle and caress my breasts.
“I know,” he says, his fingers wrapping around me, deliciously squeezing me. “But you’re only fighting yourself…”
I open my mouth to explain I’m not fighting myself, I’m fighting him, but then his mouth covers me. Sucking my nipple into his wet, hot mouth.
All thoughts go flying out of my head.
He moves side to side, cupping me, suckling on me. Worshipping each breast equally with his hands and tongue.
At first I try to ignore it. I try to shut down my senses but it just feels too damn good. Each suck, each pull, echoes in my core.
I start to squirm beneath him and grab the back of his head. I try to direct him, to show him what I want, but he won’t be rushed.
He takes his time. Sucking me into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around and around then pulling back with a hard suckle.
The more and more he sucks and licks on me, the more and more I pulse and throb. I suffer it for what feels like a torturous eternity before I can take no more.
“Andrew,” I groan.
I rub my legs against his legs, feeling hollow and empty.
“Mmm?” he hums, his lips vibrating against me.
I need to be filled.
“What are you doing?”
“Sucking on my tits,” he murmurs.
“Your tits?!” I repeat incredulously and try to push up.
He pushes me back down and growls. “Yes, these are my tits and I’m enjoying them.”
I shake my head, even now clenching down on emptiness. “They’re not your breasts, they’re mine,” I moan.
He ignores me, suckling hard.
I cry out at the hard pull on my nipple and start to panic when he doesn’t stop.
“Andrew,” I gasp, tugging on his hair, trying to pull him off.
He just keeps sucking and sucking, until it starts to hurt. He doesn’t let up until I whimper and try to shove him off.
My breast comes out of his mouth with a wet pop. His eyes roll up to stare at me as his tongue laps at me, soothing the hurt.