“Wh-what if we locked the door?”
“Nah,” he rumbles, nipping the skin over my collarbone, making me moan. “What’s the fun in that? What’s the fun in loving behind locked doors when we can do it in the open?”
I grab his shoulders, fist his shirt, only I don’t know if I’m bringing him closer or pushing him away. Not that he’s going anywhere. “This couch is really uncomfortable,” I argue, half-heartedly. It’s not, not really.
Abel lowers the straps of my dress; it’s a tight fit, slashing across my shoulder and arm. But he kisses the exposed flesh, making me forget about the slight sting of it.
“Yeah? Would you hate me if I said I don’t care?” He blows a puff of hot air on my breast and nails me with his gaze. “I don’t care, Pixie. I don’t care if the door’s not locked. I don’t care that my childhood friend could walk in on us. All I care about is this.” He squeezes my breast and I arch into him.
He pushes himself to the side, drags my dress up to my waist and flicks his thumb along the edge of my panties. He smiles when he sees the flower, a sunflower today, and I can’t find it in me to be mad at him for making fun.
“So what’s the verdict, baby?” He kisses the pulse on the side of my neck. “Can I fuck you out here?”
I’m sure he can feel my answer before I even say it. Every part of my skin is heated, every atom excited. Even though there’s a nervousness, it’s drowned out by the thrilled drumming of my heart. The thrill of being found out, of being watched.
“Y-yes.”
“Fuck yeah.”
Smirking, he pulls me up so we’re both standing. I’m a little dazed with the lust running in my veins instead of blood. But he takes care of me. He unzips my dress and lowers it, all the while kissing the inches of flesh as it gets exposed. When I’m naked he gently lays me down on the couch that felt coarser and harder a minute before. But now, it feels like where I’m going to give myself to the boy I love.
He makes quick work of his clothes, getting naked in no time. As he fits himself over me, I realize that his body is a kingdom; every detail, every muscle is well thought out. It’s a universe in itself, that covers me from top to bottom.
We meet in the middle for our kiss. Sloppy, wet, disjointed kisses. They are wild and chaotic and messy. But most of all, they’re greedy.
They make me long for things. They make me long for his cock. Inside me. They make me ache even though I know the pain to come is even greater. It’s going to hurt. He’s going to make me bleed, but that’s okay.
I arch my hips and rock against his erection, slicking it up, our limbs slipping with the sweat. Every stroke of his shaft over my sex makes me juicier, wetter, until I’m meeting his thrusts with pushes of my own. Abel curses in my mouth, rolling our foreheads together, and I swallow down his fuck.
“I love you,” I breathe, hoping that somehow my words get dissolved in his bloodstream and he never has to think about being alone or powerless or afraid.
His jaw clenches as the blackness in his eyes glimmers with emotion. He puts his hand on either side of me, raising himself. Sweat makes every corner of his body shine and stand out starkly. I open my legs — as much as I can, given the tight space of the couch — as he kneels between them and lines up his pulsing dick with my pussy.
We both watch where he’s going to be joined with me. I still can’t believe he likes me unshaved and rough. And I can’t believe how much of a turn-on that is.
In a completely filthy move, Abel licks his palm and lubes up his shaft, mixing my juices with his saliva. But I don’t think he’s going to need any lube with the rate my core is going, oozing out sticky cream. I’m staining this couch with my cum.
The tendons of his wrist strain as he nudges my opening with the head of his dick and I forget to breathe, tensing. His gaze collides with mine as he tries to push in again. And again, I tighten up.
Abel growls, as if angry at me. Angry at how small I am. How after years of waiting, I won’t let him in. Irrationally, I think, what if we don’t fit? What if all this longing and angst ends up being for nothing? We’re incompatible in the most natural of ways. How cruel would that be? How cruel would God be if He took away this one thing from us? Maybe He cursed us with overflowing lust only to never have it fulfilled.
But all depressing thoughts vanish when I feel Abel’s thumb playing with my clit. He circles it, once, twice, three times, until I lose count and I’m twisting my hips because it feels so good. I feel my channel turn all creamy and heated, and then comes a sharp pressure, alerting me that Abel has managed to breach it.
I moan. In relief. In pain. Actually, pain has never felt so good. Pain has never made me feel so alive.
My noises are drowned out by Abel’s groan though. It’s raw and horny, similar to his voice. “Ah, it feels so…” He clenches his eyes shut before opening them; they look drunk. “So fucking good.”
The mouth of my hole feels stretched like a rubber band. I shift a little, only a little but Abel grits his teeth, like he can feel that tiny movement echoing right down to his soul. His chest moves with his big breath, almost vibrating. There’s a hum in his throat. God, he loves this. He loves being inside me so much. That in itself makes it worth all the pain, all the tight pressure.
He has to gather himself before he can speak again. “You okay?”
I nod even though I want to shake my head and tell him that it hurts. It really, really hurts. But I like it. The hurt is amazing. It’s glorious.
“You can’t lie for shit, Pixie. But I’m gonna let your lie slide. ‘Cause I need your pussy so bad I’m willing to do anything for it.” His voice breaks at the end and his biceps are shaking.
He lowers himself on me, changing the angle and I jerk, wincing. It’s like something is expanding inside me, swelling out with every breath and I don’t know how to get it to stop. And I don’t want it to stop. It’s a strange war. I love the pain even if it hurts.
Abel leans all the way down, sort of sinking into me. Like he’s finally home. Finally relieved to be inside me, even though it’s not all the way yet. Then he starts to rock, slowly, gently.
I wince at the pressure but his pelvis is dragging over my clit so it’s bearable, a bit pleasure-inducing too. He captures my mouth in a kiss, adding to that tiny pleasure, and I sigh. He’s making it all better with his mouth, what his cock is destroying down below.
“I can feel it,” he whispers.
“Feel what?” I grip his sweaty bicep, my eyes wide.
“Your cherry. My dick is knocking at it,” he says with wonder, like my hymen is the best thing God’s ever made.
I’m both amused and terrified. Okay, more terrified, so all I can say is a breathy oh.
He’s still rocking into me, breathing misty words. “It’s gonna hurt.”
My nails dig into his taut flesh. “I know.”
A grimace and a jerk of his hips. “You’re so tight. Tighter than my fist.” Another grimace. “But I gotta move. I gotta get in there.”
I nod. “I know. I want you to.”
Stopping, he studies my face for a few seconds. Then, he pushes his arms under my upper back, lifting me from the couch and bringing our chests flush. I tuck my face in his neck, breathing him in. His apple scent is crazy thick.
“You love to grab my cross, Pixie, don’t you?” he whispers in my ear and I nod. “Why?”
“It makes me feel close to you. Like God connected us somehow even before we met.”
He sucks on my earlobe. “I want you to grab onto it now, okay? Bite on it if it gets too bad.”
In answer, I hook my finger around the chain and fist the silver cross tightly. He kisses my sweaty hair, my throat, as if soothing my skin. His tongue catches a drop of my sweat and I do the same. I lick the line of his shoulder, the side of his neck.
Joined from top to bottom, our skin stuck together, we stare at each other. Without breaking eye contact, he does it. He pulls out a little and then wedges in, for
cefully, breaking my hymen and burying himself inside me.
That’s when I let go. I let go of his gaze and squeeze my eyes shut, moaning loudly. I keep my promise to him and bite down hard on the silver cross, feeling the sharp edges of it on my tongue.
This feels like dying. This can’t be anything but death. Death feels like this. It’s enormous and throbbing and I can’t stop my tears. But then, my tears get lapped up by the boy who first invaded my heart, then my soul, and finally my body. He apologizes with every lick of his tongue, until I’m breathing again. Until my fists uncurl and my teeth unclench, and death doesn’t feel so bad.
I open my eyes and take in his face. It’s marred. Not only by his bruises but his frown, the severe line of his jaw, his flaring nostrils. He’s in pain.
“D-does it hurt for you, too?” I thumb his cross.
“Yeah.”
I widen my eyes and flex my innermost muscles. “Is it me?”
His forehead drops over mine on a groan. “Jesus. Fuck. You’re so tight and so hot and so fucking… soft. It hurts to not move.”
My lips part at the realization. Obviously. It hurts me when he moves and it hurts him when he doesn’t. Why does it have to be so hard? Why make something so pure such a torture?
Well, not anymore. I’m breaking the cycle. I’m taking him and he’s taking me, no matter what.
Swallowing, I move. I lift my hips and grind against his pelvis. Abel jerks, hissing. No matter what he said about wanting in me, wanting to move, he won’t. He won’t consciously hurt me. So I’ll hurt myself. I’ll suffer the pain until it gets good. It’s nothing new, anyway. It’s our love story.
“Pixie, what the…”
I rock, grinding my clit along his pelvis, letting go of the cross. “I’m making us feel good.”
His forehead scrunches up, his cock throbbing, like there’s a bomb stuck inside me. Only this bomb has the ability to make me feel good before it explodes. He unwinds his arms from around me and lays me down on the couch, and his necklace hits me on the chin. It undulates as Abel starts to move and I catch it in my mouth once again.
His eyes smolder, burn me alive as I suck the cross like a lollipop. I don’t need it for pain now. I need it for pleasure.
Our movements are smoother, his strokes more like glides. But at the same time, they feel scratchy. My clit hits his pelvis; my feet find purchase on his calves and rub against the coarse hair. The couch scrapes against my back, my butt.
Friction. I need all the friction in the world. So I can set it on fire.
I moan around the cross, driving Abel crazy. He whips the necklace out of my mouth and kisses me. I suck on his lips like I was sucking on the metal before. It’s making me wild. It’s making me push back against him.
And something happens. Something weird and paranormal, and we break our kiss and turn our gazes to look to the side at the same time. How could I have forgotten the mirror? It’s giant and tall, like the one in our room.
Oh God, but we look like a mess. Our skin is slick with sweat, stuck together, our limbs sliding along each other. I’m splotchy all over, flushed but somehow pale too. Abel’s dark and massive, like a cloud, his muscles bunched up and tight.
“Do you see it, Pixie?” Abel whispers.
“You and me.”
“Yeah.”
His eyes smile for a second, but then they turn mean and so do his thrusts. They become sharp and I want to squeeze my eyes shut but I keep watching, moaning in pain. I stare at my blue, foggy eyes. A mixture of pleasure and pain and lust.
Abel licks the side of my neck. “Do you know what that is?”
“W-what?”
“That’s love.”
He eases off with his punishing strokes and I watch my frown disappear and my eyes turn all dewy. But in the next second, Abel grunts with the force of his thrust and my frown comes back. My eyes cloud with the discomfort.
“That’s what love looks like. A little pain and a little pleasure,” he rumbles. “You wanna see what our love looks like, baby?”
My eyes water and I nod.
His entire body vibrates as he stabs his cock in, slapping his flesh against mine. He’s taking out years of pent-up frustration on me, making it hurt. It’s like the first few seconds after he broke through. I cry out and claw at his shoulder. But he doesn’t let up. No, he keeps plowing in, fucking into me with all the force in his body, in the world.
Why is that so arousing? Pain shouldn’t feel good. But with us — with him — it does.
It’s a rhythm that punishes and takes, and then he drops down on my body again and captures my mouth in a kiss. His kiss is just as fierce as his strokes, but it soothes the burn. Slowly, my channel melts and gushes and all I can feel is pleasure. The pinching sensation is only that: a side effect of the brutal, glorious love-making.
“Open your eyes,” Abel breathes. “Look at us.” When my eyes find his in the mirror, he tells me, “That’s our love. It’s so huge, so big you can’t contain it. It’s all-consuming. It fucking hurts to love this much but you want that hurt to crawl in. Because the love feels so good. You and me, we’ve got no choice but to ache, Pixie.”
He’s right.
That’s our love. Pain and pleasure and no free will. It’s the most magical thing in the world.
So he hurts me with his dick, over and over, and I cling onto the mountains of his shoulders, rubbing my breasts onto the valleys of his chest. Abel takes my mouth in a needy, fierce kiss and I return the favor. I kiss the life out of him, like he kisses the life out of me. I kiss him and kiss him until I feel the dam burst open and I dive into a big, giant orgasm. This time, a light flashes into my body. I feel it. I feel a burst of white light traveling through every atom, every molecule and I almost pass out with the pleasure, pass out with love.
Our kind of love. A love that is the stuff of legend. A love that people will write stories about years after we’re gone.
A love for which I left everything.
When I open my eyes, I see Abel jerking off his dick and spilling over my trembling stomach. Both his fingers and his shaft are wet and sticky with our cream and my blood. When he’s done, he collapses over me, tired and exhausted.
Relieved.
He’s relieved. His breaths are hard but somehow easier too. His body is languid, his muscles eased. He is secure in the knowledge that he has me. He has all of me. He’s been waiting for this moment for years.
Smiling, I hug him tighter. I have him, too. I’ve never known a peace like this. I’ve never known such happiness.
Abel has always made me feel safe but this is different. This is something big, cosmic. It’s probably written on my skin now, that I’m cherished. That I’m a woman who completely and utterly belongs to a man. And at the same time, it’s as small as a secret. Something only I can feel.
It’s weird but I love it. I love him.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He tenses over me, stiffens. Like I sort of sucked all the relaxation out of his system by talking. Damn it. Maybe I should’ve given him more time to recover. My hand automatically goes to his back and rubs in circles.
Abel lifts himself off and runs his eyes all over me, my face, my neck, my chest, even my stomach. His gaze is frantic, his forehead bunched up in a frown. “Did I… Are you okay?”
“Yes. More than okay.” I smile at him, rubbing his stiff shoulders.
His eyes are filled with regret and shame as he looks into mine. “I-I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. It’s just… Jesus fucking Christ, it was so good and I get so crazy sometimes. I lose all control when I’m with you. I forget the difference between right and wrong. All I know is that…” He swallows, his words getting caught up in his throat. “All I know is that I need you. I need you close to me, closer then physically possible. I —”
I put a finger on his lips. “It’s okay. I know. I feel the same. You didn’t hurt me, Abel. It didn’t hurt. You loved me. The only
way you know how and I love that. I crave that.”
He kisses the pad of my finger, thumbing my cheek. “I swear I had better plans than fucking you on some stranger’s couch.”
I chuckle. “You did?”
“Yeah. Until three days ago, I was planning to tell your parents about us and then, marry you. And then I was gonna take you to this nice hotel in Chicago and book a room for the night. I was gonna have them put a huge tub of Toblerones on the pillow and some sunflowers.” His brown eyes are ablaze with his love and desire. “I was gonna try to control myself and not be an animal, for once. I was gonna make it special for you.”
My tears are making everything blurry. I feel like I can hardly breathe. My love for him is choking me. My anger is sucking off all the oxygen. Abel gathers me in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings.
It’s not the first time that I think about the sheer unfairness of it all. The sheer unfairness of my mom, my dad. How could they not see our love? How could anyone hate my Abel?
“I don’t need that,” I whisper in his chest, after a while. “I don’t need a fancy bed or a hotel or anything like that. All I need is you. As long as you’re with me, I don’t care about the rest. I never have and I never will. You’re the only one I care about. You’re the only one I trust.”
He winces at the end of my speech.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand his odd reaction to my words or when he moves away from me. Or when I see his eyes sort of alert and vulnerable, at the same time.
“Abel?”
He ducks his head, runs his fingers through his messy hair. “Lemme clean you up.” He gets up, all naked and bare, leaving me lying on the couch.
I can’t even take the time to admire his muscled form because something occurs to me. I haven’t even asked him about his job. Was he calling me to tell the news before I so completely hijacked the conversation?
“Hey, how was it? Did you like it? Did you like the job?”
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