by Lana Hartley
I have to get away because even though I have her, I know now I'm damned to never have all of her and it is too much to bear.
"Keep your hands there," I growl against her nipples as I release her hands but keep them on her back, pressing them into the arch of her spine. She shivers while riding my cock so good, but complies with my command. I trace my fingers down her body, riding down the curves until I've got my hands wrapped around her and I'm rolling her against me, making her feel the deep angle I'm penetrating her. I only go slowly now so that I can watch her face as every second of the pleasure overwhelms her. If I can't have her passion, then she'll have mine. I'm still in control. I've got her body and I'm burning for her. I have to ignite that same desire in her. Inside Leah, I could be her everything. Her moans start to build, soft whimpers of need. Baby girl wants to come. I should let her, especially after how she offered me her sweet body and I took over.
Remember, though. I'm not a nice man.
I've got a beast within.
I'm a bastard.
"No, do not come," I say. I hear the anger in my voice. I shouldn't be mad that she might come, as she might think it’s the reason I grit my teeth and have a rough tone. But my anger is because I can't let go. I need her to suffer some of what I'm suffering. She needs to come, and I need her to never leave me. Since all I have is her time, I have to hold off on this orgasm as long as I can. I may give her several, but I can't grant that until I've felt every shaking moment of her soul shattering with the ferocity of my orgasm first. Not polite. Not how I do things. I like to make a girl come.
But Leah isn't just any girl, she's my girl. And if I can't have my girl, she's not coming yet. I need to feel her come because I'm coming. I need to extract that pleasure in the most selfish way possible. I look into her eyes. They're pleading. Leah's strong. Strong enough to not actually come when I say this, even though her pussy is squeezing my cock for dear life. But she's strong enough to offer herself to me, in body only. I need all of her.
I grip her ass and I pull her up and start slamming her down. I need to fuck her so intensely, my cock completely leaving her and torturing her with each time I slam her down and fuck into her all the way. So damn deep. Her pussy is so wet, this won't be painful or uncomfortable for her. It will be torture.
It will feel so damn good.
Then she's got a taste of what I'm offering.
I keep slamming into her, and I don't even realize that I'm moaning her name until her hands pull from behind her back and she wraps them around me.
"I...need..." her voice is shaking. She's trying to hold back. Gripping me for dear life.
Can I say no to my angel? When she's disobeying me to obey me?
Well, this twisted sort of shit is where I goddamn live.
"Do not come," I growl back, grabbing her hands. It hurts to tear her grip from me, not just because her nails dig into my skin, but because it feels so good for her to grip me like this. I want her to want to hold onto me. But I'm not a candy and flowers type of guy. I'm a not letting you come and slamming us both to the ground to fuck you even deeper and still not let you come guy. A mouthful, I laugh to myself. I have a grin spreading over my face thinking about actually giving her a mouthful, but it would be too damn much if I left her pussy now.
Not when it needs me so damn bad.
When her back hits the floor, it doesn't even register in her mind. I see how wanton she is. Leah cries out when I lift her legs. "Hold this up for me, baby girl, and maybe I let you come later," I say, my tone cold, brutal, as the way my pain is searing through me.
Her shaking hands hold her thighs up where I've pressed them up, so high they could almost touch her cheeks. I hold her steady and I slam my cock so hard and so fast into her that she screams my name so loud that even though we live in the middle of nowhere, I am almost certain that they heard us in space.
Still, princess doesn't come. She screams more as I keep slamming into her. Leah digs her nails into her own thighs, but she holds them in place. Fuck, I've seen gals into bondage really put up with a lot but I'm fucking her so hard and so deep, and she's holding her thighs for me and not coming like a fucking champion. I want to give in now and let her come, and fuck knows my cock is twitching, ready to comply. But I can't. I can't because when she's shattered from that orgasm, when I let her have that, the pieces aren't going to be there for me to pick up. Leah will leave me again because I can never have her. That's just too fucking painful for me to bear. I keep slamming into her, and she keeps holding on. Tears are streaming down her face, and I'm groaning hard at wanting to come. I know we are both in perfect agony, and my cock is desperate to come, but I can't.
Fuck.
I can't torture her like this. I should let her come, even though my rock hard cock is too fucking much for my heart. I should get over it. But I'm going to let this girl endure this, and I'm going to suffer, too. I pull my cock out, and this time I don't slide back in. I pull her hands from her thighs. I wipe up the tears. I can't meet her eyes.
"You, you didn't hurt me," she says in small, shaky voice.
She wants to come. She thinks I stopped because she was hurt.
"You'll be sore tomorrow." That's all I can muster right now.
"I want this."
"You want to come," I say, throwing back those words in her face. I drop my face between her thighs, my hands lifting up her ass damn near a foot off the ground. I eat her pussy so good she's begging to come.
I growl against her skin, waiting just one second before I lift up my mouth long enough to talk to her. "Come for me, baby girl." I sink my mouth back over her sensitive pussy and praise her clit with my tongue until she's coming so hard in my mouth her legs are falling around her. I've got her. I'm holding her. My cock is painfully hard, and I need to come, but I fucking can't. I keep eating her pussy while she comes until I know she can't take anymore, and I pull her body into my arms. I can't help but hold her. Her ass is pressing against my still rock hard cock, and she looks up at me, confused. Her perfect face is flushed from the orgasm. Her eyes narrow as she searches my face to understand. I'm grateful that she says nothing. When she closes the distance between us and kisses me with a ferocity I can feel that she can barely summon, I know that she's trying to get me to tell her, if not in words, with my body what I want so I can come. I don't know exactly what her explanation is for my behavior. But I want her to keep kissing me like this until I die. I want to die with her in my arms, kissing me with a yearning for my pleasure. The scotch taste between us with the lust burns going down and provides the only warmth my soul has ever known. I kiss her, breathe her in, suck her tongue, explore her mouth like I'm dying. Like these are my last moments on earth. Because I honestly don't know how the fuck I'll go on when she's not touching me like this. Giving herself to me in this small way. It is more than I fucking deserve, more than I'd come to think I'd get. But it is a goodbye. I know now more than ever that I have to leave tomorrow, and come back in a day when I've somehow found the resolve to be anything but a fucking bitch for her. I'm a fool for her love, and she's trapped here. I love her, and I want to die.
Jacob
Leah...she thinks she could get rid of me so easily.
Well, I'll leave her alone. That's what she wants. What she needs. What she deserves. But what will her life look like when she thinks I'm behind bars?
Baby girl just doesn't realize how powerful I am. It makes my cock twitch because I ache to show her just how powerful and how not locked away I am. But she wanted to escape me. I've got to let her have that.
I always knew Leah was strong. I should have known that she'd be the one to end this tragedy I started between us.
But I can't go one second of my day without my whole body feeling empty and wrong because she's not with me. Leah's not touching me. I can’t scent her on any of my sheets; she's not in any of the cavernous hallways in this house that feels like a prison now.
I'm fucking proud of her, though. I mean
, she didn't let shit stand in the way of what she wanted. She built a damn good case against me with that two-bit shit Inspector Willoughby who would be lucky to get work shining shoes now, and I'm perfectly fine. Except I'm not fucking okay. I can’t decide which is worse. The harsh reality that Leah wanted to leave the entire time, or the simple reality that she's not here now and I can't fucking stand a second of time without her. I'm fucking falling apart. Leah thought she could bring me down with the law, and I took care of that. But she has no fucking clue that she can bring me to my knees by just not being here. Or she does know, and she doesn't give a fuck. It fucking stings.
So, it’s definitely worse that she's not here now. Every fucking rabbit hole I follow my soul down decimates me to the bone, and there's nothing left of me. I'm too fucking selfish. The bastard beast inside me wouldn't have just let her go. I know this. She had to set herself free, and if I had an ounce of Leah's grace, I'd let her go and keep myself from doing exactly what I'm texting my PI to do. Yes, I'm going to have to keep tabs on her. Because if I can't have her, I'll have to fucking stalk her. I have to know that she's okay. That she’s happy.
I clench my fists and shove them through several glass pieces of furniture I have, not happy until I've got hands more red than flesh colored.
She wasn't fucking happy with me. I will never be happy without her.
Leah's happiness means more to me than anything else. But it hurts like goddamn hell, and I don't have to fuck with it.
Everything. That's what I text the PI; I want to know everything. I'm still a bastard. At least this bastard let her go.
What will Leah's life look like when she thinks I'm out of the picture? What does happiness mean to her?
Other than being away from me? I run my hands under hot water, feeling every stinging sensation like a revelation. I deserve this pain. I need this ache. It is all I feel anymore since she went away.
It wouldn't even warrant a second thought, which it might be wrong to get my PI on Leah, and now that I'm actually thinking about it, I don't give a shit. My consideration and care for the matter, even as I toss them aside, is all I can manage. I have to know that she's happy. If being away from me does that, well, fucking fantastic, I'll let that rip me open, but it will all be worth it for two reasons. One, because I want Leah to be happy. Two, because I have to fucking see her, and I just won't take goddamn no for an answer. So I won't even let it be a question. I'll just steal my view of her like I stole her in the first place. Is there something to be said about this repeating pattern that ends with my dick in the dirt? Maybe, but I'm pretty fucking stubborn and not listening to that.
My phone dings with a call. I got sick of that incessant vibrating fast today, turning it off because it just made me think about Leah's sweet pussy on my vibrating cushion. The way her innocent face contorted with need from my every ministration. Fuck, I want my cock inside her so bad. I want her body in my arms so bad. My actual fucking guts could be in front of me, and it couldn't compare to this evisceration.
Looking at my phone, Davidson, my PI is calling me.
Why not text?
Is something wrong with Leah?
My heart fucking stomps down at the idea, and I answer the phone immediately, a panicked breath escaping my lips before I can hold it back. "Go."
"Sir, I'm ready to start the surveillance. I just need to know...is this going to be a team mission, or do you want me on the lead?" Davidson is keeping his tone even, but I can tell he's wondering if I want to go full batshit or have him handle something. Even Davidson thinks I've lost my mind, and well, he's probably fucking right. My mind, my heart, my soul, my world fucking evaporated and left with Leah.
"Just you, Davidson. You're the only one I trust to keep it perfectly discreet," I return in my measured tone.
I hear him say something in acknowledgment, but I'm already hanging up. If he has anything else to say to me, he can text. But right now, thumbing my temples, I need a drink. I need the kind of drink that involves the whole bottle. Something dark and hard as I feel right now, that burns going down and brings the kind of heat to your stomach that eradicates everything else.
I have bottles of four-figure brown alcohols that are certain to do the trick. People talk about saving bottles for good times, but past me must have bought this particular scotch I chose with the idea of my utter ruin in mind. I pour myself a decent two fingers and destroy that, then pour another. Destroy it. I drink several more this way until I have one that I'm going to sit with, and I wait for the alcohol to overtake my brain enough that I don't feel like I have to feel, well, anything.
The pain inside probably isn't going to go numb before I pass out, but either way, I'm getting to the end of this night a little bit out of everything. I can do that now, knowing that Davidson is going to have a report for me in the morning and I'll start what I know is going to be the shell of the rest of my life.
I'll watch her until I can't hold back anymore. Then I'll take her back, and make sure that she never gets away. That's really why I'm drinking now. It isn't the pain of the loss; it isn't the pain of my future loss of the final shred of my soul when I take her, it is that I actually fucking love Leah enough to want her not to have to be my prisoner. That I could not love her so that I wouldn't do what the bastard fucking beast within me will demand. I will fucking take her, keep her, and soon she'll be as dead inside as I am. I hate myself, but it is what it is. I stand to get another drink and fall back to my seat.
Leah
I told myself that now that I couldn't stop what happened, I'd have to accept that Jacob wouldn't want to see me. Inspector Willoughby had insisted that Jacob's trial would be quick. That he'd be locked up within a month. It took my breath away. There was a time when I could have told myself that it would make me feel safe. But I didn't feel safe. I wrapped my arms around myself, staring at the cab I was about to take. I knew I couldn't resist. I had to go to the city. See his home. See where he was. Work up the nerve to visit him even though he wouldn't want to see me. I couldn't stay away.
It was all a mistake.
Sitting in the cab, I'm weak. My head is leaning against the glass, and the coldness is how I feel inside. Hollowed out, like all the heat in my body left when I abandoned Jacob.
When I come to the towering stone marvel where Jacob Renaud once lived, I don't know what I expected to see. I hoped there wouldn't be a for sale sign. Somehow, despite being in prison, I hoped that he wouldn't lose anything. I couldn't bear the thought of someone else living in the only place that had ever felt like home to me. I hadn't even recognized the feeling until it was too late.
But seeing the house in the exact shape it was before isn't nearly as shocking as Inspector Willoughby outside the home when I arrive. I give the cabby a generous tip, best I can manage now that I don't have unlimited funds. Still, I cried in his cab and made him wait for some time before I could work up the nerve to get out of the car.
"Inspector?" I ask when I step out.
"Fucking knew you wouldn't stay away," the inspector grumbled. His words were slurred, and I realized he was wearing jeans. When I’d seen him before, though he wasn’t as smartly dressed as Jacob (no one ever was), he was wearing a suit.
I'd never seen him in anything casual, much less the tattered old jeans with a few mystery spots on them. Some looked like beer I assumed with the smell and the speech, and some looked like blood. I walked up to him, holding myself with shivers in the cold night air. "Are you okay, Inspector? What are you doing here?"
"The question," he said with a laugh that chilled me more than the wind and my pain combined, "isn't why you're here. Of course. You want to build the case with me. I tell you not to get too attached. There's better cock than his, you stupid bitch."
I start to step back. There's a crazy look in his eyes, and that's scarier than anything he's saying.
"He could have bought and fucked anyone, and that used to bother you, but now you just brought your ass back here b
ecause you don't realize anyone else could fuck you so good. Do I need to call you baby girl? Do I need to hit you for you to realize you could have a good man? Why do you want this prick?" He's shouting now.
Desperately, I look in either direction for anyone. Anyone to be out here and to not mean that I'm out here alone with him. I have to get away, and I know that a few brisk steps backward aren't going to do it. I know I need to run away. I need to scream. Yet, my body doesn't want to leave Jacob's house, even though I know he's not there.
Why is the inspector here?
"Calm down," I say, but I'm spinning on my heel and ready to run.
Willoughby lunges for me. I hesitated for just a second too long, and he knocks me to the ground. I try to scream, but he crushes my mouth with his beer-soaked lips and roughly kisses me. My stomach roils, not just because of how much he tastes like several beers too many, but because I don't want him to touch me. I only want Jacob to touch me. This is what violation feels like. Even when I was first scared, never did I feel like this when Jacob touched me. Not even when I was afraid of what Jacob would do to me when I first met him, so long ago, in that hallway. No, this is something entirely different. I can't scream, and I can't get his mouth off mine, he's mashing his lips against mine so hard that our teeth clank. I try to hit him, but he captures my wrists and slams them into the ground. I can't kick or escape because his legs pin me down. I'm trapped, immobile, and I feel his cock jabbing into my stomach. I thought the inspector was attracted to me, but he always acted like such a gentlemen.
What lurks behind the thoughts of men who always act gently?
Jacob always said he was a bastard, and the man was downright filthy. Never would he have done this to me. Ever. I didn't think he was capable of an ugly act like what I knew was happening to me. My body wanted to check out, but my mind was on fire. I would not let this happen. I would stop him. I would be upset later, but I would fight now.