Black Thorns: Chapter 29

My knee parts Naomi’s thighs and my chest flattens her back as I shove her against the wall.

We’re both breathing heavily; I’m not sure if the sound of harsh intakes of breath are hers or mine, or if the rise of my chest matches the fall of her back.

I breathe in the sweet scent of her lily and peaches perfume and the smell of her fear.

Fuck, how I love her fear. It’s different from anyone else’s. Hers is tangible and completely unique. Probably because it’s mixed with a secret type of excitement.

Naomi doesn’t fight me.

Her front slackens against the wall, even as she inhales and exhales in an uncontrollable rhythm.

For a moment, we remain like that, breathing in the thick air in silence. We’re in Grandmother’s tea party room, where she invites other influential wives and spends afternoons milking information out of them.

It’s dark, though, so the only thing visible is the curve of Naomi’s throat and the soft line of her chin as she rests her cheek against the wall.

But I don’t need to see her to feel her. Just like in the fucking cell, her warm body beneath mine is enough to cement her presence to my damn soul.

I release her mouth but wrap my fingers around her jaw, digging my nails into the softness of her flesh and feeling her pulse against my skin.

“Sebastian…” she breathes out in what resembles relief.

The sound sends a straight zap to my dick, and it strains against my pants and her ass cheeks. No matter how much I hate her, no matter how much I plan to destroy her, I can’t stop wanting to fuck her.

Ruin her.

Own her.

In that goddamn order.

“Were you expecting your husband, my slut?”

“No, I just…”

“You just walked into my grandparents’ house on his arm to fucking jab me?”

“I didn’t want to come here.”

“But you did. Surely you’re well aware of the consequences,” I speak harshly against the shell of her ear and she shudders, her breath catching.

I love the fucking sounds she makes when I rattle her to her bones.

When I’m the only thing she can think about.

I grab her tit and pinch the hard nipple through the material and she jolts on a broken gasp and a strangled moan.

“No…” she whispers. “Don’t…Sebastian…”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t…”

“Don’t touch you? Fuck you? Don’t make you come so hard your tool of a husband will hear you scream my name? Because you’ll scream, Naomi. Loud.”

“No…” The word is choked, almost inaudible.

I pinch, then twist her nipple with the same violence that’s been bubbling in my veins since she walked into my grandparents’ house.

Or maybe since she came back after being invisible for years.

“No…Sebastian…no…”

“You know how much that word turns me the fuck on, Naomi. Is that why you’re saying it after giving me fuck-me eyes all evening?”

“I…didn’t.”

“Yes, you did, my slut. You were watching me while being on your husband’s arm, probably fantasizing about how I’ll tear through that tight cunt of yours and fuck it right. Should I take you on the floor like a dirty whore? Or maybe I’ll do it outside against one of the trees and give everyone a show. Your fucking husband included.”

A low whimper rips from her and I have no clue if it’s because of my words or the relentless way I keep torturing her nipples.

I don’t care either way.

Because I’m close to losing my fucking mind right now.

Turning into my beast might be the best option, but I’m lingering in that phase between the pathetic human and the unfeeling monster.

I bite down on the shell of her ear, causing her to cry out.

The sound douses me with the need for more.

More violence.

More carnal desire.

More of her taste.

The taste I haven’t been able to forget, despite trying to. The taste that’s become my aphrodisiac and my fucking kryptonite.

I lick the lobe of her ear, then bite down again before I whisper, “I’ll start by taking you against the wall.”

Her body goes slack, like every time she’s surprised or lost for words.

I release her nipple, keeping my powerful hold around her neck. Then I shove her dress up to her waist and yank down her panties so that they’re looped around her ankles.

Her yelp echoes in the air, mixing with the low chatter and the music playing outside.

I thrust two fingers into her tight cunt and grunt when her arousal immediately swallows them in. I add a third and pound the three of them inside her, slapping the heel of my palm against her swollen clit.

Naomi whimpers, her head jolting back and her body tightening further around mine.

“Stay still.”

“That…hurts…” she moans.

“Don’t tempt me into adding another one.”

“It really hurts…God…it hurts…”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Sebastian…”

“Don’t say my fucking name in that tone.”

“Sebastian…please…”

“Please what? More?”

“Please…”

“You love it when it hurts, don’t you, my dirty little slut?”

She purses her lips even as her arousal echoes in the air with each of my savage thrusts.

Her tiny body shakes with the impact and her moans turn throatier and deeper. Whether they’re in pleasure or in pain, I have no clue.

“Say it, Naomi. Say you love it when it hurts.”

“No…”

I pull out of her in one go, ripping a noisy protest from her lips. She doesn’t move even after I fully release her, remaining in position, her legs slightly parted, her lips open.

It takes me a moment I don’t have to unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants, and free my engorged dick.

A drop of precum slides down my hand as I push her into the wall and slap her thighs apart.

She cries out but opens them the farthest possible with her panties looped around her ankles.

I slide my dick against her sensitive folds, grunting when her juices coat me, pulling me in and inviting me to go all the way inside.

“Say you love it when I hurt you, Naomi. Say you love the sting of pain and the twisted monstrosity of it all.”

“Oh, God…”

“Those aren’t the words I asked for. Try again.”

She rolls her hips as I slide the crown to her opening. It’s swallowing me in so I’ll fuck it and Naomi until neither of us can move.

And as much as my dick wants to, I deny it and myself the pleasure.

This might be about sex, but it’s also about proving a point to her.

And myself.

So I slide out and rub my dick against her folds instead. “Feel that, my slut? That’s your greedy cunt luring me in to tear through it and fuck it all night long.”

“Sebastian…” The sound of my name is caught between frustration and a plea.

“Say the words, Naomi, or I’ll leave you unsatisfied and aching.”

“Please…”

“I didn’t ask you to beg.”

“Please…please…”

“Stop begging me and admit it, Naomi. Admit that you love the pain.”

“I do.”

“I didn’t hear that. Speak louder.”

“I do.” She sobs. “I love the pain. I love when you lash it out of me and make me breathless with your intensity, so please…please…Sebastian. Don’t torture me anymore.”

“Maybe I’m in the mood to. Maybe I plan to keep you on the edge all night long, then leave you a wanton mess, unable to get off. You’ll finger your tight pussy to the memory of me all night long, but you won’t get the satisfaction your body needs.”

“No…please.”

I slide my dick through her inviting folds, down to her opening, and then up to her clit. But I don’t give her enough friction to get off, and although it’s faltering with how much I want to own her all night long, I hold on to my control.

But the need to torment her pulses through me in waves. I want to keep her hanging onto the idea of me, of us, even if it means I’ll be torturing myself, too.

“Maybe I’m in the mood to never give you my dick again.”

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for it, then deny you the pleasure.”

Up.

Down.

Rub.

“Maybe I’ll use your mouth, then toss you aside because you mean fucking nothing.”

She sobs, a low, raw sound that pierces through my chest, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel like it’s due to the lack of sexual satisfaction.

“Sebastian…please stop…”

“Stop what?”

“Stop this madness…please.”

“That word doesn’t stop me and you know it.”

I wait for her to use the word that actually does stop me, but she doesn’t.

Not even when her sniffles and sobs fill the air. Not even when she’s flat out shaking.

This time, when her cunt swallows me, I thrust all the way in.

Naomi’s startled gasp mixes with my deep grunt as I power into her tight heat. I tell myself that I’ll savor it this time, that I’ll take it slow and moderate. But the moment her cunt strangles me, I lose every last shred of my control.

The fact that I thought I would hold on to it feels cartoonish now—laughable, even.

I drive into her with a force that rattles us both. But she takes it all, her pulse quickening and her body quivering around mine.

“Fuck. Look at how your wet cunt is strangling my dick, you dirty little slut. Do you soak your husband’s dick, too? Does he fuck you rough like you want or do you finger yourself afterward to get off?”

“Don’t…bring him up…”

“Why? Hit a nerve?”

She doesn’t say anything, but the image I’ve built in my own head magnifies and I take her savagely.

I release her neck and bunch her hair around my fist, then yank her head back so that her face is a breath away from mine. “Tell me.”

She shakes her head, eyes shining with tears in the darkness.

I dart my tongue out and lick their saltiness. But that’s not all I taste. There’s also her perversion, her arousal, and her surrender.

I’ve always loved her pleasure fucking tears. It’s like she can’t contain everything that’s going on inside her and has to purge it out somehow.

Her lips part and the harder I thrust, the deeper I dig my fingers into her hips, the more broken her moans become.

I keep going on and on, needing to engrave this moment where we’re one into my memory.

Her body unravels around me like it was always meant to. I can tell she’s close to her orgasm with the way her hips roll back and how she bucks against me, soaking in the roughness of my movements.

“Say it, Naomi,” I growl against her ear. “Does he satisfy you?”

“No,” she croaks as she clenches around me.

It’s a single word.

One hushed word.

And yet it erupts like a fucking volcano inside me. My muscles grow stiff and my balls tighten for the impact.

I come the hardest I have in a long time, shooting load after load of my cum inside her.

The orgasm goes on for so long that I think it won’t end. The more Naomi tightens around me, the closer I am to starting the fucked-up symphony all over again.

My weight falls on her back as she sags against the wall. I don’t release her, my hand still lost in her hair and my dick pulsing inside her.

Our harsh pants and the smell of sex fill the air. It’s potent and familiar.

Just like when we used to remain in each other’s embrace in the past.

But we’re not in the past.

Gradually, the outside world filters back in. The music. The chatter.

Reality.

I slide out of her and take my time watching the line of my cum dripping down her inner thigh to her ankle. It’s one of my favorite sights—a sign of my ownership over her body. That cum means she belongs to me and not anyone else.

My vision darkens. Even though I just finishing fucking the living daylights out of her, it’s not enough to ward off the anger.

The rage.

The fucking reality.

I let her go and tuck myself in.

Naomi slowly turns around and pulls her underwear up. Even though I’m focused on buckling my belt, I can make out her hesitancy. I don’t have to see it to feel it.

I’m that fucking attuned to this damn woman.

And I hate it.

I want to fucking punish her for it.

She reaches a hand for me, her palm cradling my cheek as she goes up on her toes and seals her lips to mine. They’re soft and tentative yet full and damning.

Just like seven years ago.

Only, she’s not the same Naomi from seven fucking years ago.

I grab her by a fistful of her hair and yank her back, causing her to cry out.

“Why the fuck do you think you have the right to kiss me?”

She trembles in my hold and I shove her away before I change my mind and devour her lips and then conquer her mouth.

Before I kidnap her the fuck out of here so we’re no longer in this reality.

But even that won’t drive away the rage.

Even that won’t be enough.

A piercing sob echoes in the air, and just like that, Naomi slides to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

Her palms hide her face as she flat out starts bawling. There’s no other word to describe how her raw cries fill the air.

I’ve never seen her break down like this, not even in that fucking cell.

My gut twists and a feeling I never wanted to have again rushes to the surface.

Concern.

The fucking need to hold and console her. To wipe away her tears and tell her it’ll all be okay.

But that would be a fucking lie.

We’re not okay.

And never will be.

Still, I can’t force myself to move as her hollow, haunted sobs fill my ears. They’re different from when she’s orgasming or enjoying the lash of pain.

These are for another type of pain.

They’re emotional.

I reach a hand out toward her head, wanting to touch her, wanting to just…be there for her.

But she’s never been there for you.

I pull it back, jaw flexing. “Come to my apartment tomorrow.”

Her sniffles pause as she looks up at me through teary eyes. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell your husband about this.”

Then I turn around and leave, her fresh cries following behind me.

I close the door and remain there, making sure no one else hears or sees her this way.

Broken.

Vulnerable.

Desperate.

I should feel triumph, but all that lurks in my bones is resounding fucking defeat.