Page 92 of Retrograde

“Scream, cry and beg for you to stop.”

“All of which I’d what?”

“Ignore.”

“And I said I wouldn’t stop until?”

“Until you ruined me.”

“Then let me fucking ruin you.”

“I trusted you!” Her words are a knife to the gut—a knife she then proceeds to twist as more words pour out of her: “I don’t know why, but I trusted you in a way I’ve never trusted anyone. In a way I didn’t even know I could trust, not after everything.”

“Riley, just do as I say⁠—”

“No,” she hisses, rage igniting in her eyes. “If you want this, you may as well rape me like he did. Go on then. Good luck telling yourself you’re the better man after that.”

Shame coils through me at her words, and I ball my fists.

“What?” she barks at me, throwing her arms wide. “If you want to hurt and humiliate me, why not go all the way?”

“That’s not why I want this,” I murmur.

“Then why do you want this?” she presses harder.

“Because of what you said. That rotten, pathetic piece of shit got into your head! He’s still in your head. And I won’t have him there! Not anymore,” I roar, my fury ice cold and steadying, making me see everything with startling clarity. “He doesn’t get to be in your head. You’re mine! All of you belongs to me. So, the next time you think of someone fucking you that way, you won’t be thinking of him. You’ll be thinking of me and how amazing it felt.”

She goes very still, something serene settling in her eyes—an understanding, and her trust returning with it. And fuck me, that transformation is about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Aron,” she says softly. “It won’t feel amazing. You’re huge. It’ll be torture.”

“No, it won’t.”

“There’s no way it’ll fit.”

“It’ll fit.”

“But Aron ... I’m scared.”

“I know,” I assure her. “Just get back on the bed, Riley.”

“Fuck!” She rubs her face, wiping off her tears. “I could kill you in your sleep, you know that, right?”

She takes a few tentative steps, walking around me like she’s scared I’ll pounce. I don’t. Not this time.

“You could try.” I shrug and kneel behind her, the mattress sinking under my weight.

I hoist her onto all fours. Her hips are trembling in my hands, and she’s whimpering, holding onto the covers so hard her knuckles turn white.

She’s drowning in my T-shirt. I slide it up over her hips slowly, savouring each newly revealed inch like I’m seeing her for the first time. Finally, she’s all exposed to me: not only her tight cunt—swollen and drenched in arousal—but the small, uneven ring of her other entrance.

I groan, my balls nearly exploding at the sight of her like this—on her knees and ready for me. With vicious need shooting into my stomach, it’s hard to resist and not bury my cock in her ass right the fuck now. I want to make her scream and sob. I want to use her and tear her apart for my own pleasure so fucking much I’m almost angry at her that I can’t do that. But my piercing makes this a bit tricky.

I coat my fingers in her arousal, spreading it all around the area. Then I push my thumb into her sensitive opening slowly, teasing her clit and pussy with my other fingers, keeping her right on the edge without letting her fall over it. Her sweet cries and delicious moans are music to my ear.

I’m tormenting myself even more than her with every twitch and spasm of her slick, tight, greedy pussy, and with the way she clenches around my thumb before pulling it deeper, resisting and surrendering, over and over in a perfect rhythm. I can’t fucking wait to be inside of her—I already know she’ll feel incredible. But she’s not ready for me yet.

I reach for the knife at my belt. I washed it in the shower earlier. I drag the handle through the juices coating her pussy, getting drunk on the smell of her arousal. Her body goes rigid, and she tugs at the covers. But she doesn’t try to get away, and that token of trust and obedience is like a shot of pleasure rushing down my spine.