Authors: Hurt
His hard thighs parted in a V around her hips, his big hand stroking his hard cock, his flat belly, his defined chest, with its narrow thatch of dark hair between the pecs; his broad shoulders; his muscular arms. And him. His face. His coffee-colored eyes reading her, his grin swinging up on the left, his laugh lines. She wanted him inside her.
He tipped forward again, put his lips by her ear again. Whispered.
"Is it wearing off?"
"What?"
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"The novelty. Your fear. You're getting used to it, aren't you?"
True. The raw terror of simply being restrained had faded.
"There's an inherent thrill, I know, in being bound. Not being able to move as you want, forced passivity as another looks at you, kisses you, touches you."
Still straddling her, his weight keeping her pressed immobile to the mattress, he gently pinched her nipples, his mouth bending in an aroused grin as she gasped and arched.
"But that's only half the fun, of course."
Pulsing his pinching touch on her nipples he dipped down and nuzzled, licked, gently bit her ear, adding a fresh current of arousal to the one already coursing from her breasts, down to her sex.
"Can you guess what the other half is, my sweet Vanka?"
His teeth caught her earlobe in a crueler bite. She yelped and convulsed uselessly under the weight of him.
"The other fun, the fun you haven't experienced yet, is in doing something to you that you'd never agree to. That's the part of the fun that had you so reluctant. So afraid.
And it's the part that had you so aroused. Isn't it?"
He put his mouth to her throat, teasing her with his teeth, kissing and licking and sucking hard enough she wondered if there'd be marks.
"I have a delicious idea of what I want to do to you. Though I could be wrong.
Maybe you'd say “yes,” if I asked. You surprised me, after all, when you said “yes” to Khalid."
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He smiled at her, a playful light dancing in his dark eyes as she felt a hot blush coloring her face. Had he really thought she wouldn't?
"And, after all, me you've already fucked. So, I'll really have to do my best to make it interesting for you."
And with that Galen rose up on his knees, grasped her hips, and in one powerful motion, flipped her onto her belly.
It was the obvious thing. What she'd said “no” to before. What she'd confessed she'd never done. The thing some part of her had known he'd do. But only now that he had her bound and pinned beneath him did she feel the reality of it.
For a moment she stayed still. Stunned. Like a bird that's just flown into a window.
Then she struggled. Her hands bound, her arms pulled taut overhead, his weight pinning her thighs to his mattress, she squirmed and grunted, fighting to flip over, onto her back. All she managed was to twist, until her shoulders were perpendicular to the plane of the bed, until, craning her neck, she could face him.
"Galen. Please."
His hands pressed her shoulders down, straightened her torso, and he tipped forward, pressing his hot chest and belly to her back, bringing his lips to her ear.
"Ssshhh. Vanka. Don't tire yourself before the fun begins."
No. No no.
This was terror. Tethers and a hot body holding you down.
"Galen, please. Please. Please don't do this."
"Mmm," he growled. "Are you begging like that just to please me?"
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His heat, his weight were off her. For a second she hoped. He wouldn't. He was just playing. Riling her. But then his hands were on the backs of her thighs, and his warm, moist breath was stirring, tickling the fine down on her bottom. Then a soft touch, the sound of little kisses. Then the rousing wet heat of tongue and the thrilling rake of teeth. A thrill—giddy and awful, like being tickled, or hurtled over the crest of a roller coaster—squeezed all the breath from her lungs.
"Don't worry, Vanka," he purred at her ear as he covered her body with his once more, "we'll go nice and slow. Gentle."
His reassurances seemed cruel. His hard-on poked against her ass and she stiffened, waiting for the violation and the pain. Flexing and stretching against her, Galen was reaching for something. She heard the chafe of wood on wood—the nightstand drawer opening and closing—then his hand was setting a tube on the bed.
Helpless, she watched as he twisted the cap off the tube and squeezed a dollop of clear gel onto the tip of one finger. Then his hand blurred out of frame.
"I wonder," he mused as his legs flexed, forcing hers apart, "what your thing is, about anal sex."
She could feel his lips moving against her ear. His breath felt hot and damp.
"Is it that you're afraid it'll hurt?"
She sucked in her breath and a shudder ran down her body as his fingers curved against her bottom, one finger slowly descending between her cheeks.
"Or is because you think it's nasty? Letting a guy fuck you in the ass? Hmmm?"
God. Oh, god. His finger had found her, was rubbing her, soft, slippery, back and forth. She flexed and whimpered, horrified at not being able to stop this.
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"Or is it that you've never said yes, always said no, because you needed to have it done to you? The way I'm going to. Hold you down. Sodomize you."
"Please Galen," she begged, not caring that it sounded like a sob, that he could tell she was about to cry, "I don't want you to."
"Ssshhhh. Vanka. You can't stop this. It's going to happen."
A feeling. Like falling. Irreversible. Her body had yielded. He was inside. One slick digit sinking in. Her not wanting it hadn't mattered.
"All you can do, my darling Vanka, is decide whether this is about me taking something from you, or you getting something from me."
Little by little he was working his greased finger into her. Invading her body.
He fitted his body against hers. His lips hovered over her cheek, brushing against her hot skin now and then as he began sliding his finger in and out of her. Startling her nerves. She felt his finger leave her. Then she saw him lube up his finger again, felt him go into her again, firm and slick again. In. Opening. Filling.
"Ready for more, sweetheart?" he panted.
He slipped out of her. She was closed. Empty. Wanted to stay that way. He came to her again, opening her. More. His cock? Panicked, she flexed and writhed, trying to evade. A grunting laugh puffed with hot air against her ear, his body jerked against her, and his legs forced hers wider. Out of breath already with useless struggle, her body pressed between his and the mattress, she felt the penetration. Thick, straining her. She whimpered in fear and frustration.
"Now, now. No complaints, lover. When I stick my cock in, you'll be damned grateful I got you ready first. These two fingers are nothing."
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He drove them in as she grunted, pumped them in and out.
"Dirty girl, grunting like that. I knew you'd love it."
"Fuck you!" she huffed.
"Don't be in such a hurry. We should take our time. Get this virgin ass of yours good and ready." There was a pause while he went on fingering her ass. "Tell me the truth, Vanka," he said after a while, his voice altered. Sober. "Am I hurting you?"
It was the pit of humiliation and frustration, laying there pinned beneath him, unable to move, while he worked his fingers in and out of her. She wished it would hurt.
That his touch only felt weird, that there was no pain to make her scream, just an anxiety-prodding strained feeling, a stimulation somewhere between unpleasant and . . .
not, made it worse.
"No," she finally conceded, telling herself she didn't want to give him the pleasure of thinking he was.
"In that case, darling, I think I'll fuck you now."
His fingers slipped out of her. The emptiness he left was vivid. Startling.
His heat and weight were off her back, but her thighs were still pinned beneath him, her wrists still bound over her head. All the adrenaline pumping through her heart and veins in a painful flood, all her writhing and grunting were futile. She heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper, heard the faint moist squeak of the rubber being unrolled.
His hot chest came down on top of her. His cheek pressed against hers. It was going to happen.
"Still fighting me?" he sighed as she bucked with her last bit of strength.
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His breath in her ear, rough and ragged, his body covering and pinning and spreading hers, taut and hot and damp, he pushed into her. Opened her. Took her.
Little by little slid up and filled her.
It only hurt that she'd said no, but it had happened, anyway. Like her body wasn't hers.
Inside her now, he kept still. Just panting and quivering.
Then, panting, trembling, overcoming through wordless determination all her twisting, writhing efforts to prevent him, Galen worked his hand underneath her, below her hip, in a diagonal across half her belly until his fingers curved over her sex and between her legs. His body still, his fingers moved, soft, subtle. It shocked her, how ready her body was for that touch.
"Please don't," she sobbed, knowing he wouldn't stop.
He didn't even answer. She only heard his breathing, strained still though he was moving nothing but the fingers between her thighs. His breath on her cheek, the vague, repetitious swell of his chest and belly against her back, the slow slow rub of his fingers among her folds was all she felt, except the pressure of him where he was inside of her, still. The stillness made his body feel like a memory.
"Please don’t," she begged again when the soft soft touch of his fingers made a familiar knot of pleasure materialize low in her belly.
But he kept touching her. Sliding his fingers back and forth over her delicate, moist flesh, pushing one finger inside her, then two, pumping slowly into her, brushing against her clit now and then. Now, slow and subtle, his body moved, his arms and legs and chest and belly flexing against her, his cock drawing back, quietly leaving her, 140
slowly opening and filling her again while his fingers pumped in and out of her cunt in a slow rhythm.
She gave in. To Galen. To his pleasure. She opened herself—the places in her mind she'd closed against his touch—and sought the thrill that hovered, suspended somewhere inside.
"Vanka," he sighed, moving so slowly she thought she could feel him caressing every nerve, one by one.
"Vanka, he sighed again, and went still. Her nerves strained in protest. "I'm sorry.
I'm stopping."
She'd hardly realized she was crying.
"Don't," she said, turning her head, trying to face him. "Don't stop."
"I'm hurting you." His voice was strained.
"I'm going to cum," was all she could think to tell him at that moment. "Please.
Really fuck me."
He shuddered. Then he started to move. Fucking her. Touching her. After a moment she was back where she'd been. Lost. Taken over. Her mind gone. Her body all, and possessed.
She'd cum harder. Even before him. But this climax rolled through her so slowly it was like being suspended in some alternate state. She heard her own moan, then heard him unchoke his excited breath, groan as he fucked her, felt him shudder against her, panting, his heart thumping against her back.
She was sobbing. He'd opened her, worn her down, and all the fear and pain she'd locked up were out. Drowning her.
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"All right. All right, Vanka."
She heard his voice without knowing his words as his body left hers. He lifted her, pulled her to him, wrapped her in his body. She curled up against him, between his legs, in his arms. When had he taken the restraints off?
"I'm sorry, Vanka. I'm so sorry."
"It's not you," she managed through chocking sobs. "It's not you."
He held her huddled against his body as her grief tore her apart. It was a betrayal. Threatened. Hurt. To have her power, her control—or the illusion of it—ripped away.
"I don't want to be sick."
"I know," he said softly, rocking her, kissing the crown of her head.
"I don't want to die."
"I know."He stroked her hair, her wet face. Kissed the back of her neck, her shoulder blade. "So, do whatever you can, whatever it takes to stay alive."
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Chapter Five
When she woke he was asleep. Asleep, Galen looked very young. The knowing glint in his eyes dim behind closed lids, the amused lines that usually parenthesized his grin smoothed almost away. He seemed to sleep deeply. Like a man at ease with himself.
She rubbed her wrists and got out of bed and into the shower. Her body didn't hurt, but it remembered what he'd done to her the night before. How he'd tied her. How he'd fucked her. That he'd let her cry.
Returning to the bedroom, she dressed, wishing she'd remembered to tuck a fresh pair of underwear in her purse. She had everything on but her top when she saw he was awake, watching her. He smiled, then he stretched his hand toward her, inviting her back to bed with him. She tossed the sweater in her hands onto the chair and crawled over to Galen, letting him pull her against his naked body. She stroked and kissed his soft hair; he stroked and kissed the pink, puffy scar on her breast.
* * * *
"Hmmm?"
The way he looked at her just then, the way he looked to her—hungry, and that look of hunger tempered by something in his eyes that made her feel . . . adored—
unsettled her. Maybe that's why she improvised a different question.
"Tell me about you and Khalid."
Galen propped himself up on one elbow and grinned down at her. But something about his eyes made him look guarded.
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"All Right. Like what?"
"Don't be coy. Just tell me the story."
"Okay. I'll give you my story. Khalid would probably have a different story. That you can get from him."
"OK."
Galen sighed and gave her a look that she later decided was an “I can't believe I'm telling you this” sort of look.
"Khalid's the only man I've ever fucked."
Those words made her face hot. It was impossible for her to imagine Galen with a man. And even harder to picture him with Khalid. Galen was so . . . dominant. And Khalid gave the impression of being indomitable.