Raw

by Belle Aurora

  Breathing heavily, I steady myself as much as I can, slide off my bed, and stand in front of him. Twitch taunts, “Move and I fuckin’ kill you, bitch,” then pulls the belt slowly but firmly closer towards his body. The move makes us impossibly close.

  Right now, I believe him; he could hurt me, even though I know this is a game. Right now, Twitch is the most alluring man on earth, as well as the most terrifying.

  It all happens so quickly.

  His silky boxers are gone. I tremble as he grips the front of my dress, fisting it tight. He looks me in the eye as he pulls with all his might in opposite directions. The sound of material tearing fills the room before it falls at my feet in a heap. I openly gape at him.

  I liked that dress.

  Now dressed in only a strapless bra and a lace thong, my mind swims in an ocean of bliss as he yanks my bra down below my breasts. The move pushes them high up on my chest, and in the slither of moonlight through the closed curtains, I see his eyes fixed on them. Looking like a starving man eyeing his first meal in months, he steps out of character only a moment to run his thumb down the swell of my breast and mutter, “Perfect. So perfect.”

  Shaking his head as if to clear it, he looks down at me through hooded eyes and whispers roughly, “I’m gonna fuck you bare.” My heart stutters. In a good way. He smirks. “Gonna blow inside of you. And you’re going to like it.”

  Cue my first line. “No. Don’t. Please don’t. I’ll get pregnant.”

  He barks a laugh. “Perfect.” Crushing his lips to my cheek, he utters against it, “Every time you looked at him, you’d see me.” Biting my cheek none too gently, he hisses, “You don’t stop shaking and I’ll make you choke on my cock.”

  It’s almost worrying that he can do this so well.

  Almost.

  Lowering my voice to a whisper, I beg, “Please let me go. I’ll never tell anyone about this. Just let me go.”

  Grinding his impressive length against my stomach, he reaches down to rub my mound through the lacey material. He tuts, “Bitches like you don’t wear shit like this if you don’t want a man to fuck you. I’m a man, baby. I’m going to fuck you. Whether you want it or not.”

  The fear in my voice suddenly feeling real, I tell him, “If you try, I’ll scream.”

  I hear the smile in his voice. “Scream all you like.” His lips touch the shell of my ear. “It turns me on when they fight.” Pulling the material to the side, his finger comes into contact with the wet warmth of my extreme arousal and he whispers, “See? You want this. Your body doesn’t lie. Don’t fight me.”

  We both know he really means, ‘Fight me, baby. I love it.’

  So I do. Pulling away from him, I lift my foot to his stomach and try to gain some distance between us by pushing away. He pulls on the belt, choking me a moment. I gasp then pant heavily, while my heart races and my head pounds. I push at his shoulders. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his body, constricting me. I whimper. He snarls and bites my shoulder. I yelp and cry out in both pleasure and pain. My core pulses. I’m already close to orgasm.

  I cry out, “Please don’t hurt me.”

  He stills a moment before he utters all too quietly, “I have to.”

  Lowering his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, then biting the tender flesh. A moan escapes me as my hands grip the back of his head. Running my fingers through his hair, I realize I’m losing myself, and swiftly grasp then tug on his hair. He growls, “You’re gonna regret that.”

  I don’t know what comes over me, but I do something really damn stupid.

  Lifting my knee, I take him by surprise when it connects with his thigh. His breath stutters and his arms fall to his sides. This is it. The moment of stupidity.

  This is the part where I turn.

  And run.

  Making it half way down the hall, I hear his trailing footfalls pounding behind me, my heart also pounding in time. I’m truly petrified. Tears blur my vision, and when an arm wraps around my ribs from behind, I cry out. My distress at this point feels very real, even though my mind is very much enjoying what is happening here. Tears slide out of the corners of my eyes and my lips quiver. His other arm comes around my chest and he nips my ear. “Running was a bad choice.”

  The fight ensues.

  My hands fist and connect with his muscular arms as I try to escape. My body twists fitfully against his. My struggle is very real. Heart racing, I turn and fight to get away. Wriggling, I manage to face him. His hand regains the end of the belt, and he pulls hard to get my attention. But I don’t still. Instead, I lower my head to his collar and bite. Hard. I bite so hard that he lets out a feral growl through gritted teeth and pushes me into the hallway wall. The back of my head connects with that wall with a dull thud.

  The dim light from the kitchen makes enough light to see his silhouette.

  Panting, his hand touches the place on his collar that I sunk my teeth into. He brings a finger to his mouth. Licking my lips, I taste metallic rust. I marked him hard enough to draw blood. My gut sinks. Stepping forward, he breathes a hostile, “Oh baby. You fucked up.”

  Stalking towards me threateningly, and as soon as we’re foot-to-foot, I lean up into his face, and spit.

  I watch in slow motion as he flinches, clearly not expecting it. Panting, I grunt, “Fuck you, motherfucker.”

  The second he touches me, I know this role play borderlines real life. Twitch fumes. I feel the anger coming off of him like electric sparks. Reaching forward, he throws my body down by his side. My palms connect with the floor, knees throbbing. Suddenly, his body covers mine, pushing me into the ground. I struggle and whisper repeatedly, “Please, don’t. Please, don’t.” But Twitch isn’t acting anymore. He’s done with acting.

  His arm circles my waist and he lifts me until I’m on all fours, like a dog. His hand reaches down to find my sopping wet core. He groans, moving the material of my thong aside, I feel the head of him meet my entrance. But I fight.

  Struggling, I push my body away from him. On his knees behind me, he shuffles forward, but I escape him once more. His hand shoots out and circles my throat, squeezing. The fight in me fades when I realize it’s about to happen. I have nowhere left to go.

  Gritting my teeth, my chest heaves and my eyes water. The head of him touches my entrance once more; I feel the balls of his piercing as he runs the head up and down my slit. He pushes in. Just the tip. Lips softly kiss my shoulder blade. “I win.”

  My arousal makes light work of him pushing into me, all the way in.

  Simultaneously, we cry out in ecstasy.

  Placed in a position that demands submission, I know I should be furious, but I’m not. My eyes flutter as he loosens his hold on my throat. I’m ecstatic when he keeps his hand on my neck while he grinds his cock into me. Seated deeply on him, I sigh silently. It feels amazing. So deep it feels like it’s found a home in my stomach.

  No one loses here. We both win.

  And yet, I fight still. Struggling weakly, he begins to thrust, and from this angle, my arousal spikes. The balls of his piercing rub all the right spots, and in mere moments, I’m panting, “No. No. No.”

  I’m going to come.

  Tightening around him, bright light blurs my vision and my entire body trembles with a pleasure high. Tipping my head back, mouth parted in a silent moan, I hear Twitch pant heavily. “That’s it, Angel. Let go. Come on my cock. All over my cock.”

  The dam breaks. My face bunches in both pleasure and pain. I convulse around him. Moaning, my head thrashes from side to side in what is the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had in my life. With every pulse of my release, my body warms in complete bliss.

  I’m suddenly exhausted.

  Holding my throat with a gentle firmness, he pounds into my now limp body. I couldn’t participate even if I wanted to. I’m spent both emotionally and physically. Holding an arm under my belly, he pulls me back into every thrust. A full minute of thrusting like a madman
, he groans and holds himself deep inside of me for a long moment before he thrusts again and again. Wet warmth trickles down my thighs. His thrusts slowly. His panting follows suit. He finally stills inside of me.

  Standing, he pulls me up and into him.

  I feel dirty, used, and abused.

  And I’ve never felt better.

  So many thoughts rush through my head.

  What have I done?

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, he lifts me. My legs circle him as he slowly walks me over to my bed. He lays me down and slides in next to me. We don’t bother to clean up. Something needs to be said.

  Allowing another minute of awkward silence as we lie side-by-side, I ask quietly, “What just happened?”

  Turning to me, I hear the smile in the darkness. “You just got fucked. Properly fucked.”

  A bubble of hysterical laughter climbs my throat. I can’t hold it down. I chuckle. I feel the bed shake as he silently laughs with me. My throat thickens and my eyes sting. My body shakes for a different reason as I begin to sob.

  I don’t like myself right now.

  Twitch pulls me into him and cradles my head, placing kisses on my eyes and cheeks. He doesn’t say anything. He knows me enough to know I just need him to hold me right now.

  My mind wanders.

  This is probably a bad time to mention I haven’t taken the pill in two weeks.

  Walking into my unit with a huge smile on my face, I think back on my impromptu sharing session this morning.

  Having made an appointment with the office psychologist, Emeline, I squared myself for the fact that I was about to be told that I just wasn’t right. I had been thinking that very same thought all night, so it wasn’t exactly unexpected. I couldn’t sleep. It was eating away at me. So when I walked into her office and sat with her, I expected to be interrogated. I soon realized I was wrong.

  Really wrong.

  Emmy had made us both a cappuccino on her fancy machine, and we both took a seat on the sofa in her office. The meeting I had dreaded somehow turned into a coffee meet between friends.

  She asked, “So, I have to say I’m a little surprised to see you here, Lexi. Is everything okay?”

  Well, I begged my drug dealer boyfriend to force fuck me last night. Oh, and I liked it. So, no. Not really.

  Wringing my hands together, I looked down at my feet and started, “Well, it’s not really about me. It’s about a friend. I’m worried about her and wanted a professional opinion before I tried to help in a situation that is completely alien to me.”

  Lies. All lies.

  Nodding, she looked sympathetic when she explained, “Sure. I know it can be hard watching your friends go through things. Humans do not like to feel helpless. It’s a very admirable thing you’re doing.”

  Blinking, I swallowed hard and clarified, “She’s a close friend. I know her well, and she’s been through a lot in her life. More recently, she was close to being raped and was saved before her attacker could penetrate her.” Shaking my head, I exhaled, “Sorry. I’m not making much sense here.” Clearing my throat, I tried again, “A few nights ago, she called me devastated. She and her boyfriend had been having sex and things turned a little rough.”

  Emmy’s brows furrowed, but she nodded for me to continue my story about my friend. So I did. “And…and…she liked it. Soon the sex turned rougher and rougher, and before she knew it, they were acting out a rape fantasy. And she enjoyed it. Immensely.” Allowing that to sink in a moment, I got to the point, “Now she thinks there’s something wrong with her, and I had no idea what to say to her.”

  I looked up at my friend who watched me through worried eyes. I looked back at her with a pleading look. I needed help. Emmy, being the professional she is, leaned back on the sofa and sighed, “Well, you can tell your friend that there’s nothing wrong with her. Nothing at all. In fact, this isn’t unheard of in people who have been sexually assaulted. The thing is, the reaction can go from one extreme to the other. On one hand, you have people who can’t cope, and the thought of another person touching them can make them ill; on the other hand, you have people like your friend, itching to take control of a situation that they originally had no control over.”

  What the what what?

  Not hiding my confusion, I edged, “So, what you’re saying is…?”

  Sipping her coffee, she explained, “Your friend is fine. There’s nothing wrong with role-play in the bedroom. It’s quite healthy as long as its legal and both parties consent; I don’t see an issue here. Your friend was almost raped, you say. Perhaps that sparked something inside of her, something primal and fierce. The thought of being attacked is horrifying. However, your friend’s primal instinct has kicked in and her mind – which is trying to make sense of what happened – has decided to try to turn the memory from something terrifying and frightening, into something…” Lifting her head in thought, she searched for a word. “…let’s say, something pleasurable. Enjoyable. Your friend is stronger than she thinks.” She ended this with a sad smile and I knew, I just knew, that she knew.

  She confirmed my thoughts when she uttered, “You know, your friend is welcome to talk to me anytime. Anytime at all.”

  Reaching over and squeezing her hand, I whispered, “Thank you. It’ll mean so much to her to hear that.”

  And so I left with a new, informed way of thinking, and the day got brighter from there. Which brings us to now. Walking down the hall, I look right to see a tall form standing in the open fridge door. A tall form in black sweat pants and nothing else.

  Mmmm. Shirtless Twitch. Yum.

  Eyeing his lean, muscular, ink-decorated torso, my eyes drift down where his sweat pants ride low on his hips, and the very tips of the V indented just below his hips stand out. Barely stopping myself from humping his leg, I call out, “Hungry?”

  Still looking into the fridge with disappointment, he absently scratches his toned belly and replies, “Yeah, but I’m not having any luck in here. Don’t you ever shop?”

  Chuckling, I tell him, “Not really. I’m more a buy as I need it type of girl.”

  His face bunches in disappointment. “That blows. I’m hungry now.”

  Unable to contain the smile, he spots it and almost smirks before he stops himself. Pointing up at my lips, he says, “Explain this to me? What is this smile about? You were cryin’ last night, and now I see this smile and it makes me wonder why.”

  Leaning my hip on the counter, I tell him, “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all. I don’t even know why I worried. I had an appointment with our psychologist this morning, Emmy, and explained to her what happened…” His hooded brown eyes narrow and I quickly add, “…But I said it happened to my friend.” I wink at him. “And she said it was perfectly normal to role-play, and that someone who is in my situation where I was almost raped, it was as if I was taking control in a situation that I normally wouldn’t have control in! How great is that? I’m normal! High five!”

  Bouncing on the spot, I hold up my hand for him to show me some up high love, and smile as big as I can. Watching Twitch’s face brings an abrupt end to my excitement. His brow bunches and he places his hands on his hips repeating on a whisper, “She’s normal. Fucking normal.”

  Not quite sure what the problem is, I ask quietly, “Why are you angry?”

  Blinking at me, he extends an arm out my way and booms, “Again with the labels! Always with the fucking labels! Is it that important to you, Lex? Being labelled as something everyone else sees as normal?”

  I want to say no. I want to defend myself. I want to go to sleep, pretend I never said a thing, and wake up when this argument is over.

  Not sure how to answer, I remain silent, but one look at my face and Twitch smirks darkly. “Of course it is.” Stalking towards me, he asks along the way, “Let me ask you this? How would you label me?” My heart begins to race and I swallow hard. His eyes flash, “Psychotic? Hmm? I don’t know, maybe insane? Mad? You tell me, Lexi. What the fuck wou
ld you label me as?”

  Terrifying. Disturbed. And frightening.

  Gritting his teeth, he catches my chin in his hand. “You label yourself all you want, Alexa.” Dropping his hand, he looks at me a moment, and what I see displayed on his face makes me want to throw up.

  Disappointment. He’s disappointed in me.

  Turning, he picks up his tee from the sofa and opens the front door. Pausing a moment and keeping his back to me, he says lividly, “Do not fucking label me.” His fists ball by his sides as he extends his parting words. “Think on this, girl.” Spinning around, his eyes – full of fury – meet mine. “Who were you before people started telling you who you should be?”

  And then he’s gone.

  My office door opens, and Michael strolls in. Making himself comfortable in the guest chair, he puts his feet on the desk. I snap my fingers in warning. The feet come down.

  That’s better.

  He sighs, “Give me something to do, boss. I’m bored.”

  I sniff, “Bored? Here? Get Happy to give you something to do. Or Li—” on second thought, “Not Ling.”

  After working with me for over a month now, Michael’s fear of me has dimmed to almost nothing at all.

  Almost.

  I think he sees me more of a big brother now. Which is cool by me. I always wanted a brother. And if I had a brother in this life, I’d want him to be like Michael. It became clear to me weeks ago that Michael was smarter than even I’d given him credit for. When he approached my office one morning and asked straight out, “Are you a drug dealer?”

  I stared him down. Much to my surprise, he didn’t shrink back. Not even an inch. I was impressed. I answered, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  He scoffed, “So that’s a fancy way of saying yes.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “I could do drops, you know? I’ve done ‘em before when I worked for Hamid. I know the ins and outs, so I wouldn’t get busted. I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

  “You never do, Mickey, but no. That’s not happening. I don’t need any more runners. You’re here because you’re working legit.”