by Ella Miles
“Rub me,” I command.
She doesn’t move.
That’s how it’s going to be. She wants to defy me, so I’ll punish her. I grin. I’m going to enjoy this.
I put my hands on top of hers and rub her fingers over my nipples as my hips continue to pin down her narrow hips. I rub myself over her body, but I want more. So much more.
I feel my core heating, my clit tingling in my pants, wanting to feel my skin against hers.
I lean down, my long hair framing her face as I kiss her tenderly. She doesn’t kiss me back. So I suck on my lip, pulling another groan out of her.
I grin.
“I want you. All of you.”
“Take me.”
I scoot back on her body, my hands roaming, and I am delighted to find she’s already naked for me. I drag my nails over her bare skin.
She hisses like it hurts, but I don’t understand why. I’m not touching her hard enough to leave a mark.
I laugh. “Always the dramatic one.” I kiss her inner thigh, and she stops.
I smirk as I begin to undress. I know the way to my woman’s heart. I know her body better than anyone, even Zeke. I’ve loved her longest. Tonight, I’m going to remind her that she doesn’t get to leave me just because things get tough. She’s mine. For as long as both our hearts are beating.
I struggle to get my pants down over my thighs, but I finally succeed, falling back on my ass on her feet.
We both laugh at how ridiculous it is, but it doesn’t change the intensity of the mood. I want her—desperately and wholly. I want to hear her scream my name. Nothing is going to stop that from happening.
I finish shoving my own pants and underwear down, and then I go back to straddling her hips, my hands cupping her head tenderly. As much as I want it rough, as I want to punish her, I can’t—not now. I love her too much.
Right now, I just want to celebrate this beautiful moment. Of finding her again. Of her being in my life again. Of being reunited.
“I love you, Lucy, so fucking much,” I say, tears falling down my cheeks like lava down a volcano. It burns because I can’t see her, filling my eyes and falling slowly. It’s not a river that pours out of me, leaving me with only good feelings. These tears hurt.
“I love you, too.”
“Make love to me,” I say.
“Every chance I get,” she says back.
I grin, loving our little saying. It’s always the same.
I push Lucy’s legs apart and slip my hands between her legs, but what I find surprises me.
“Oh, is that how you want it? You want to fuck me with a strap-on?”
“Mmmm,” she moans.
I bite my lip, considering telling Lucy I don’t want any toys or devices. I don’t want a vibrator or a dildo or any rubber between us. I just want her.
But I can’t tell her that. She’s obviously thought through how she wants to have me the first time back to already have it strapped on.
“Okay, I’ll fuck you however you want me to.” I kiss her forehead. I start rubbing myself in slow, methodical circles as I straddle her waist. My eyes are still closed, and the tears are still falling, but I don’t need to see Lucy to feel her. She’s all around me. She wants to be inside me.
“Please, hurry,” I hear her pant. If I wasn’t wet before, I am now. I’m soaked, and I rub my wetness all over her belly.
“I’m so fucking wet for you. No one gets me this wet, only you.”
And then I grab the plastic cock, and I ride her. I feel myself stretch as the cock fits inside me, I make sure to sink all the way down until our clits are rubbing over each other, and then I begin to rock.
“You like that?”
More moans. She’s speechless, that’s how much she likes it.
I massage her breasts as I rock over her. It feels so fucking good. Somehow, the rubber cock seems to get harder the longer I pump over it.
Hmm, it must be one of those high-tech cocks meant to resemble the real thing?
I really don’t care about how real the strap-on resembles a cock. I just care about Lucy.
I lean forward as I continue to ride her, and then I kiss her again as my hand tangles in her hair. I pull roughly when she doesn’t open up for me.
“Going to make me work for it, huh, Lucy?”
I push my way inside her mouth and find her delicious tongue. I massage it, and finally, she gives in, circling my tongue with hers. I feel the moisture building in my walls, fucking the cock. I want it out, though, because I just want her.
“I want you, Lucy. I just want you.”
“Then have me. Any way you want me, I’m yours.”
I grin. “Thank god.”
I go to climb off her and rip the fake cock off her. But I feel her trembling, and I know what that means. She’s about to come without me. I don’t give a damn that it’s our first time together in months and we aren’t coming together. I just want her to enjoy this moment. I want her to come as many times as she can.
“Come for me, baby. Come.”
I rock harder, knowing the friction on her pussy is what is getting her off. So I ride the cock in longer, faster strokes.
“Come for me, Lucy,” I scream, and somehow the thought of her coming brings me right there too. And then we are both coming. I’m screaming, she’s screaming. It’s the most beautiful, painful sound.
It sounds like coming home, but it also feels fleeting. How many more times are we going to get to do this? She came back, but she still has cancer. She’s still dying. She still refuses to save herself for me.
I’m about to open my mouth and ask if she is ready to be selfish, do the right thing to save herself, when I feel her coming.
Lucy isn’t a squirter. She never comes like this.
Suddenly, everything hits me like a truck ramming into my head.
The tears stop.
The screaming stops.
The fear and anger return, along with a new emotion I’ve been trying to hold back.
An emotion I dare not name for fear it will become more powerful.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my brain already processing what’s happening. It’s already telling me I’m about to lose everything I love all over again.
Reality and my imagination mixed in such a fucked up way to try and give me a few more moments of peace, but there is no peace for a woman like me. There is no happiness for a woman who lost the light that guided her way—the beauty in a room of darkness. There is no rest for the wicked, and I am definitely wicked. I’m going to hell for the sins I’ve committed tonight.
“Shh, it’s okay. You are going to be okay,” her voice morphs into his, and I realize I’m sobbing again, my shoulders shaking as I still sit on his now soft cock.
What did I do?
And why did I think it would make me feel better to take a man who Lucy once loved?
Why did I think hurting another would heal me? All it did was open a deeper wound.
“Take it one step at a time,” his voice says again.
And why is HE comforting me? I had Zeke tortured by three men. And then when he was so broken that he couldn’t fight back, I raped him like he was Lucy.
He should hate me. He should want to kill me.
I rest my hand on his chest and feel the unstable beat of his heart. He’s conflicted and in pain. The breaths he takes are shallow. If he takes a deep breath, the agony will rip through his entire chest, diaphragm, and gut. He keeps them light and shallow to avoid further injury, but because of his shallow breathing, he never gets a big, healing breath. Never enough to calm himself.
“Fuck!” I scream, my nails digging into his chest.
I pound my hand over his chest in a fist. Pissed at him for not fighting me off. Pissed at myself for turning into a demon. And pissed at the world for taking Lucy.
It should have been me. I should have been the one to die.
Yes, that’s it!
I form a plan in my head. A way to end the p
ain I’m in. This—this heartache, this stabbing, throbbing, loss—I know that no matter how long I live, it will never leave me. Never, never, never.
Lucy was the only person who understood me.
She understood that I hate chocolate but love M&Ms.
She understood that I love the ocean, but hate the sand.
She understood that I loved her, while also loving men.
She understood that I am a complex, misunderstood, broken woman who shouldn’t have been able to heal from the wounds society inflicted at being different, but I did because she walked the road with me.
She was my shield when someone would yell profanities at us, tell us we went against nature, tell us we were going to hell for being ourselves. None of it mattered because of Lucy. She made all of it bearable. Not easy, but she made every profanity worth it.
And now, she’s gone.
She’s not coming back.
She’s just gone.
And I wasn’t there when she needed me the most. I wasn’t fucking there. She failed me by pushing me away. By not fighting and taking the drugs she needed to survive, screwing everyone else. And I failed her by not finding a way to be with her when she took her last breath.
We both failed.
We both lost.
The only way I can remedy that is to join Lucy in hell. There is no fucking way two badass women like us are going to heaven.
I smile. A genuine full smile. I’m only moments away from ending the pain, from finding peace, from being reunited with Lucy.
Yes, I know what I have to do. I have to end this...
8
Zeke
Palmer’s demeanor changes from unbearable pain to impenetrable peace in the span of a few seconds. I know what it means—she’s found a way to end her pain.
She’s planning on killing herself.
I can see it on her face. For a moment, I see it as the right path for her too. She’s so fucking happy thinking about joining Lucy that it’s hard not to let her die to be with her.
But it’s not what Lucy would want, and despite the pain this woman has inflicted on my body, and the amount of heartbreak she has brought me at not saving Siren sooner, I can’t condemn her to death either.
Palmer is just in pain. A pain I hope to never understand.
Please, let Siren still be alive. Let her be whole. Let her still love me.
Palmer is still on top of me, my dick is still inside her, and I’ve never been so disgusted at a woman, at myself. I fucking came in her! What is wrong with me? I should have been able to control myself.
I didn’t want her, but my body took over. I had no control once she started thrusting over me. The only way to stop myself from coming would have been to push her off me.
I didn’t have the physical strength, though. I still don’t. That’s why until she decides to move, my cock will continue to rest inside her, in a place it doesn’t belong.
I feel sick. I want to vomit.
Forgive me, Siren. Please, forgive me.
I close my eyes, keeping the tears in. It’s the only part of my body I can currently control.
I can’t control my breathing. My broken ribs poking into my lungs only allow me to take short, shallow breaths.
I can’t control my heartbeat. It’s erratic and racing, scared those men are going to come back into the room and beat me again.
I can’t control my muscles. I try. My brain fires, begging my muscles to move. But there is either a break in the connection, or more likely, my muscles just say fuck off because they have taken such a rough beating.
And my fucking cock—don’t get me started on that bastard. He’s betrayed me more than any other part of me. He had no problem getting hard when a naked woman climbed on top of me and kissed me. He thought it was perfectly fine to enjoy the ride when she sank down over him and milked me dry. He came like it was his right. I want to chop him off for betraying Siren like that.
I swallow hard, trying to push all those thoughts down. There is nothing I can do but go to Siren and ask for the forgiveness I don’t deserve but desperately need.
Palmer continues to sit happily on top of me. She bends over, reaching for something I can’t make out because I don’t have the strength to even turn my fucking head to see.
I’m disappointed when she rights herself on me again, and I see the glint of metal reflecting the light from overhead into my eyes.
“Palmer, don’t,” I croak out, coughing up more blood.
She sees me, really sees me, since the first time she started fucking me. For the past thirty minutes, she’s been in some sort of hypnotic state. She’s been seeing me as Lucy, and nothing I said broke her spell.
“I have to,” she says, gripping the knife still in front of her. For a second, I think this is going to turn into a murder-suicide, but I don’t think she’s angry at me anymore. The anger has been displaced by her pain. That’s her only focus.
“No, you don’t. I know it hurts now, but it won’t always be this way.”
She whimpers. “Yes, it will. It will always hurt. I’ll always feel like I’m drowning, the water will be crashing down on me, but I’ll never die. Nor will I ever be able to come up for enough oxygen to sustain me. All I’ve ever feel is the pain of drowning without it ever ending. I need it to end.”
“It will. Trust me. One day, you’ll wake up, and the pain will just be gone. It won’t be suffocating and trying to kill you anymore. You just have to get through this.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Let me help you.”
“I can’t live like this for one hour, let alone the years it will take to get rid of this pain.”
“It won’t take years.”
“How long then?”
I bite my lip. I could lie to her and say only a couple days, but that’s not true. I don’t know how long it will take.
“More than days, less than years,” I say.
“Weeks?”
“Maybe, maybe more, maybe less.”
“I can’t.” She breaks. She can’t hold on another second. She slashes her left wrist in one quick sweep. Even if I could move my muscles properly, I wouldn’t have been able to stop her, she was so quick.
I stare at her wrist as a small cord of blood drips down her forearm. She gasps in relief, like she can finally breathe for the first time in years. The pain from her wrist takes over from the pain of losing Lucy.
The wound she created is mostly superficial. Sure, if left unattended long enough, she would die from blood loss, maybe. But I’m here. Her guards are here. Right now, all she needs is a bandage, maybe a couple of stitches, and she would survive easily.
I can still save her—for Lucy.
What about Siren?
I can’t save Siren until Palmer is dealt with. I’ll have a better chance of asking for Siren’s forgiveness if I save Palmer and don’t let my own anger take hold of me.
“Palmer, give me the knife,” I say in the commanding voice I use when I mean business. I don’t let the blood clogging my throat prevent me from speaking in my affirmative, dominating way.
Her eyes open, and she stares at me, her hand lifting toward me. She’s going to do it. She’s in such a state that she just needs me to command her. She needs a leader to follow.
But she stops just short and quickly slices at her arm again, her face lighting up like she just won the lottery instead of having a knife cut into her flesh.
I wince at how deep the second cut is. She could bleed out in an hour from this cut. Not could, will.
I try to move my useless arm next to my body.
MOVE!
My fingers twitch. It’s good to know I can feel my fingers, and no nerve damage was done, but that’s not reassuring when I have a grief-stricken woman holding a knife that I need to stop. However, knowing that I can move my arm again someday and being able to now, is very different.
I try my legs. One swift kick would knock her off me and hopefully remove t
he knife from her hand.
Stabbing pain shoots up my spine when I try to move my leg. Come on, fight through it.
I get my thigh an inch off the ground before it snaps back.
“Argh!” I scream out in pain.
Palmer watches me yelling, and I can’t tell what’s going through her mind.
Pain? Sorrow? Heartbreak? What does she feel when she sees me in torment?
“Shh, it’s okay,” she strokes my cheek. “Once I’m gone, you can call for help. Your body will heal. And then you can find your woman.”
This is my chance. “I need to go now, Palmer. Siren is in trouble. Bad men have her—the same men who let Lucy die. I need you to help me. Call your guards down here and tell them we need an ambulance for us both. We need to heal, then together, we can go save Siren.”
She stares at me like I just sprouted a second head.
“Palmer, you would like my Siren. Lucy even liked her, and you and I both know Lucy doesn’t like many people.” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “But Lucy liked Siren. Help me get her back.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
NO!
This is it—the moment Palmer does something she can’t take back.
I have to stop her, or I’ll never get the forgiveness I need. From myself. From Lucy. From Siren.
I can’t move my limbs, but I realize I can move my core. Palmer moves the knife to her throat. I’m afraid my movements will push the knife into her body instead of knocking it out of her hand, but it’s my only chance.
I roll us, my body flipping on my side, my cock finally slipping out of her, and then gravity takes over. My heavy, lifeless body slumps on top of hers.
I watch as her hands drop to my chest, trying to keep me from crushing her or taking the knife from her.
The knife is no longer near her throat.
I did it!
But then…FUCK! A sound comes out of me I’ve never produced. I’ve been tortured, even been tortured in my sensitive area, but the way the knife slices into my balls is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
I saved Palmer, but as I cry through the pain moments before I blackout, I realize I just ended the Kane line. There will be no little Kanes. No baby Zekes or baby Sirens running around. I thought I was okay with that. I shouldn’t have been selfish and wanted to bring kids into our world anyway.