"I’m not the hero you’re making me out to be. I’m not the leading man of your story. I’m a villain in disguise. Scratch the surface, and you’ll see I don’t care about anyone other than myself. It’s why I’m taking your virginity—" He pumps his hips forward with such force the entire bed jolts. The headboard slaps again the wall, and the windows shudder. "I’m not the kind of person you want to get to know better. I’m not the man you want to introduce to your mother." He pulls out, then digs his knees into the mattress and pumps into me again. This time he slides in further.
His dick pulses inside me, and I swear, I can feel every ridge, every vein, throbbing against my inner walls. He seems to expand inside me, filling my channel, pushing against the constraints of my pussy, stretching me around him, so I all can do is lay there and gasp as he pins me to the mattress with his cock. "Sir, please," I gasp.
"You asked to see me, baby. Now, you’re going to get all of me."
He drills into me further and my thigh muscles quiver. My scalp tingles. I swear, I can feel him in my throat. "Enough," I gasp. "I can’t take more."
"I’m only halfway in, Little Dove."
"What? No." I chuckle, and the sound comes out broken. "You’re joking."
In reply, he pulls out and slams into me with such force, I huff. I try to wriggle away, but he leans some of his weight on me. I pant and sweat pools under my armpits. "If you’re trying to scare me, you’re—" I cry out, as he pulls out and pistons his hips forward and plunges into me. His balls hit the curve of my butt cheeks, his cock brushes up against a secret spot inside that unfurls sensations I never imagined I could feel. My nerve-endings crackle. And I climax.
The orgasm crashes over me. I open my mouth to scream, but he closes his mouth over mine and swallows the sound. Then, he thrusts his tongue over mine, and begins to fuck me in earnest. The aftershocks course through me, and with each wave, he slams into me, over and over and over again. He balances himself on one arm and slides his big palm under my butt cheek. He squeezes down, then stuffs his thumb inside my forbidden hole, and the trembling gathers again at the base of my spine.
No, no. I cannot orgasm again. I can’t. I try to tell him, but he swipes his tongue over my teeth, and pleasure centers I didn’t know existed light up in my brain. I’ve turned into a mewling, whirling, mass of need. I strain against him. I throw my arms about his shoulders and hold as he pumps into me. Sweat clings to his skin. My body braces as my mind, my soul, climb higher and higher, reaching for that horizon in the distance. Then, he tilts my torso at just the right angle so his pelvis hits my clit when he penetrates me next.
I instantly climax. Moisture bathes the space between my legs. I soar through the air, a dove set free. Higher and higher, until everything disappears. As I float down to earth, I hear his hoarse cry, feel his big body shudder, and he shoots his load inside me.
I black out, and when I come to, he’s watching my features closely. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows. I reach up and smooth it out.
"You’re okay?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He searches my eyes, then nods. He begins to withdraw, but I squeeze my arms and legs about him, refusing to let him go. He hesitates, then slowly sinks down and nestles his face into the hollow of my throat. I run my fingers through his hair, and he sighs. Still inside me, he turns his cheek and nuzzles me. I tighten my arms about him, and bit by bit, the tension drains from him. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. When I wake up it’s dark.
Now, he’s on his back, and I’m cuddled into his chest. His body twitches. He mutters something under his breath, but when I glance at him, his eyes are closed.
"No, stop," he cries out, the sound guttural. He throws his arm up as if trying to protect himself, then lowers his arm to his side. He grips the bedclothes, thrashes his head from side to side. Sweat clings to his chest, but he’s pale below his tan. He’s definitely dreaming, for he cries out again. "No, don’t. I can’t take it. Kill me. But spare them. Please."
My heart somersaults into my mouth. My throat closes. I sit up, wondering what to do, when he cries out again. The sound is so full of pain and sorrow and helplessness, my stomach twists on itself. I feel like I’m going to be sick. "Sir. Knight. You’re dreaming." I touch his shoulder, and in the next second, I’m thrown on my back, and he’s straddling me. He has his fingers around my throat. His eyes are open, but his gaze is unseeing. His mouth twists, and his grasp tightens. I claw at his wrists, to no avail. The oxygen cuts out. My heartbeat slows. Flickers of black dot my vision, and just before I surrender to it, I slap him across the face.
Suddenly, I draw in a breath. My lungs inflate. Flashes of white cross my vision, and when they clear, Knight’s face fills my line of sight. He holds up his hands, glances from my face to them, and a look of utter horror comes over his features. He scrambles back, until he’s on his haunches at the very edge of the mattress. At once, I sit up and pull my knees into my chest. We stare at each other across the length of the bed.
His bare chest heaves, and his nostrils flare. Sweat glistens on his forehead, and his hair is stuck to it. His throat moves as he swallows. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls on his hair. "Fuck," he growls, sounding like a wounded animal. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
His features twist into a look of such revulsion, I know I have to do something. "Knight, it’s okay," I say softly.
He shakes his head. "It’s not." He snaps his eyes open, and the look in them is so bleak, I flinch. And that only hardens his jaw further. He balls his fists at his sides. The muscles of his body are wound tighter than I’ve ever seen them before. His shoulders flex, and he seems frozen with indecision, and that’s a first.
I’ve never seen this man look anything less than self-assured. Of course, I knew he carried a wound inside from what happened to him, but that seemed to have made him even more confident about facing challenges head-on. I realize now, it was all a front. I realize now, my instincts were correct. The Knight inside is tormented, anguished and suffering. He’s in such agony, carrying so much trauma from what happened to him, that my breath catches. My throat closes. The frustration and helplessness that vibrate off this man twist my guts. Tears stab the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away. I lean forward, and he stiffens further. The veins on his arms stand out in relief. The tendons of his throat are so prominent, I’m sure they’re going to snap.
I inch forward, and though he watches me with a wary gaze, to my relief, he doesn’t push off the bed. With that haunted look on his features, and tension radiating off of his body, he resembles a caged predator. One who’ll lash out at me, or worse, break through the bars and run so I’ll never see him again. Somehow, I think it’s the latter and I definitely don’t want that. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him. Not when I’m beginning to understand the many layers of this complex man. When I reach him, I cup his cheek, and he winces.
"I could have… killed you," he says in a voice that cracks.