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“Yes.”
I swallow hard, that lump in my throat getting bigger. I sway, my head buzzing as I reach for the banister for support. I need to leave. But he grabs my arm before I can turn away.
“Yes, it makes a fucking difference because it’s going to dictate exactly how much pain each of those fuckers will suffer, and how long they’ll suffer for, before I kill them.”
“Don’t bother,” I whisper. “I’m worthless. I’m?—”
“Grow the fuck up, Dakota.” He gives me a shake and he swings me around, away from the stairs so my back connects with the wall. “That’s the only difference. That, and I don’t ever want pain for you.”
“But you don’t want me; you think I’m sullied because they touched me?—”
“The ugly truth is I don’t think you’re sullied. Whatever they did makes no difference in how I see you, view you. I just don’t want you to be in pain. And…”
He slides his thumb along my bottom lip.
“How the fuck could you think I don’t want you, baby girl?”
I choke on a sob. “Because I had to beg you to fuck me. You didn’t want to touch me.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I was trying to give you time. I want you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Show me, Daddy.”
I grab him and kiss him and he returns the kiss. It’s deep, savage, and one of passion, anger, need. He pulls me into his apartment and I push him against the wall and pull open his jeans. He’s already hard when I take him into my mouth. I gag, the tip hitting the back of my throat. I batter my face against him because I need it hard. I need it wild. I need to be wanted like a woman and not some fragile piece of glass.
“Fuck.” He pulls me off him. “It’s like that with Daddy, is it?”
I try to answer, but he yanks me off my knees and kicks his door shut. Then he backs me against the sofa, his expression fierce, his need untamed.
He bends me over the side of the sofa, my ass in the air. He rips my panties off and kicks my legs apart. I quiver with need. He shoves three fingers into me, stretching my pussy.
Relief washes over me. I need this violent coming together. I need to know I can do this, with him. I need to feel him, I need his passion, his power. I just plain need it.
My knees wobble as his fingers plunder me.
“Baby girl’s wet.”
“I’m your—slut.”
“Yes…” He hisses the word as I build closer to orgasm. “Hold on, slut, I’m taking your ass for a ride. And then if you’re lucky, later I’ll take your pretty cunt.”
He pulls his fingers from me and paints my asshole.
This time, he pushes in slow but steady, and as soon as he’s in past the tight ring of muscle, he starts to fuck me hard and deep. He doesn’t relent.
I slam into the sofa, my fingers clutching the cushion. “More. More. More.”
“Baby wants it harder?”
“Yes, Daddy. Harder. Please. Please.”
He fucks me so hard that the orgasm builds from every part of my body. I come and come, thrusting and grinding my clit against the sofa. I scream his name, pushing into him as I fall apart. He spurts into me, his hands gripping my hips and it hurts. It pushes my orgasm higher as he slams into me one last time.
It hurts, not because of him, but because he put his hands on bruises left by those men.
