Chapter 41: "You did good." [R18]

She hadn’t moved.

Minutes passed—maybe more—and Ayesha lay exactly where he’d left her, curled on her side, her thighs pressed together against the slow seep of what he’d left inside her.

The room smelled of blood and sweat and something else. Her breath came in shallow little catches, the way it does after crying stops but the body hasn’t gotten the message yet.

Then the mattress dipped.

His hand closed around her wrist.

She froze.

His palm ran down her spine. Slow. Appreciative.

Then lower, over the curve of her ass, squeezing hard enough that she felt the marks bloom under his fingers. Then between her legs—two fingers sliding through the mess he’d made, blood and seed and her own unwilling slick.

"You’re still dripping," he murmured. "Still full of me."

"Please" Her voice cracked. "Please, I can’t.."

"You can." He pushed two fingers inside her, and the slide was obscene—wet,squelching faintly as he worked them in and out.

She whimpered into the pillow, her hips jerking. "Mmh..ah.."

The sound escaped her before she could stop it, high and thin. "You felt that earlier. I know you did. Let’s see if I can make you feel it again."

His thumb found her clit. His fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her whole body clench, and he worked her—relentless, patient—until her thighs were shaking and her breath was coming in broken little gasps.

"Ah..ah..no, please, I don’t...I can’t..." Her hips bucked against his hand, clearly betraying her. "Oh god...oh..."

"You can," he rubbed again. " Come for me."

And she did.

Splash....

She came with a choked sob "A-ah...ohh.." her hips grinding back against his hand, hating herself for it, hating the way her body arched and shuddered and gave in. He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean, watching her the whole time.

"Sweet," he said. "Even with the blood."

Then he was pulling her off the bed, guiding her down onto the floor with a hand on her shoulder. She understood. She knelt in front of him, and his cock—already half-hard again, still slick with her.

"Open your mouth."

She’d never done this.

He had to guide her—hand on the back of her head, showing her the rhythm and the angle.

She gagged when he pushed too deep, her throat convulsing "mmph...hggk...," but he didn’t let her pull away.

"Breathe through your nose. Again." She learned. Slowly. Messily. Spit dripping down her chin, her eyes watering.

Then he took over—both hands in her hair, holding her head still while he fucked her mouth.

"Ah...fuck...that’s it..."

She gagged, tears streaming, a muffled "mmmh..mmmh..." vibrating around him, but he didn’t stop until he was satisfied, pulling out and letting her gasp for air.

He bent her over the edge of the bed. His hand ran over her back, down to her ass, squeezing.

"You’re still tight. Good." Two fingers inside her again—checking, stretching. She hissed through her teeth "sss....ah.."and he hummed. "See? You’re getting used to it."

Then the head of his cock pressed against her, and he pushed in.

Slower this time not gentle, but controlled. She was tighter than before, her body still remembering the damage, and then he bottomed out, letting her feel every inch.

"Oh...oh god.." she gasped, her fingers twisting in the sheets.

Then he moved. Harder than the first time. He gripped her hips and pounded into her, the bedframe groaning, her face pressed into the mattress.

"Ah..ah..ah..." Each thrust punched a sound out of her she couldn’t control, a rhythmic little cry that broke apart every time his hips slammed home.

"Ohh...please..ah..."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. "I want to hear you."

"Please..please..." she sobbed. "Ah....ah..oh god..."

"That’s better."

He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and shoved back in without warning. Face to face now. She turned her head away; he grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him.

"Don’t hide from me."

And then her hips started moving with him. Not consciously. But as instinct. He felt it. "There it is."

He fucked her harder, hitting something inside that made her gasp"ohh...ohh..fuck..." and she hated it, hated that it felt good,

but her body didn’t care what she wanted.

Every thrust dragged a moan out of her she couldn’t swallow,

a breathless "ah....ah...ah" was climbing higher and higher.

Then -- Splash..Splash...

She came again.

Unexpectedly, unwillingly. Her back arched, her nails dug into his shoulders, and she made a sound that was half-sob, half-moan,

"ohh god..oh..I’m...ahh—"

her whole body clenching around him.

"That’s my girl," he grunted.

He was also close. She could feel it—the way his rhythm went ragged, the way his breath caught.

"I’m..fuck..I’m cumming..." His hips stuttered, fast and uneven, driving into her in short, desperate bursts.

"Ah..fuck..take it..." And then he buried himself and let go

splurt after splurt after splurt,

mixing with the first load still inside her, so much of it that she felt it spill warm down the crease of her thigh.

He stayed there long after he was done, breathing hard, making sure nothing leaked out.

When he finally pulled out, he used his fingers to push his cum back inside her. "Keep it in. Don’t waste it."

He collapsed beside her. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, thighs sticky, body aching, the aftershocks still twitching through her belly.

After a long moment, he reached over and touched her face. "You did good."

She got up slowly.

Her legs didn’t want to hold her—her thighs were shaking, weak, and when she straightened, a thick, warm trickle slid down the inside of her leg and she had to press her knees together, her hand flying down to catch it before it dripped onto the floor.

Her whole body ached. There was a deep throb between her legs that pulsed with every heartbeat, and the blood had dried in a dark smear down the inside of her thighs.

She found her clothes by touch—her shirt, her pants, her underwear bunched in a little heap by the bed.

She pulled them on with shaking hands, wincing when the fabric dragged over her, and she could feel him watching her the whole time. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

The tears came before she even reached the door.

They’d been building the whole time, held back behind her teeth, and now they spilled over and ran hot down her cheeks, and she couldn’t wipe them away fast enough.

Her breath hitched, a wet, broken little sound and she pressed her palm flat against the door to steady herself before she turned the handle.

She stepped out into the dark of the apartment. Elsa was awake.

Of course she was awake, lying on her side beneath the blanket, facing the wall, but her shoulders were too still, too stiff, the way a person lies when they’re pretending to sleep.

Ayesha crossed the room on legs that barely carried her, and when she reached her own bed she didn’t say a word.

She just crawled beneath the blanket, curled into a tight, small ball, her knees drawn up to her chest, and pressed her thighs together hard - hard enough to hurt and to keep his cum from dripping out onto the sheets.

And in the dark, neither woman spoke.