He didn’t give me any warning before making his next move. One second I was standing in front of him, the next he was scooping me up like I was a baby doll.
He carried me across the room and deposited me onto the four poster bed. Bracing himself with one arm, he leaned over me and gently gripped my jaw.
“You might not remember me, but I remember you. You’re mine, Katie. You’ve been mine for a very long time.” He dragged the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, repeating the motion on the upper one.
I lay beneath him, immobilized. My heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it were going to burst from my chest. He sounded so sincere.
“What are you–?”
He shushed me, leaning down and pressing his lips on mine. They were smooth – soft. Just like I imagined they would be. His breath smelled like the alcohol he had just consumed.
I wasn’t sure what to do. Pressing my head back into the mattress only made him increase his mouth’s pressure. When I attempted to push against his chest, he grabbed hold of my wrists, hard enough to bruise.
He caught my whimper with his mouth, slipping his tongue between my parted lips. Whipping my head back and forth, I tried to break away. His amused laughter caused the first onslaught of tears to gather in my eyes.
“I’ve pictured this scene inside my head a million different times.” He rubbed his nose across mine, adjusting so that my wrists were pinned above my head.
“Please let me go,” I breathed out, sounding much calmer than I felt. He looked down at me, clucking his tongue and shaking his head.
“I can’t let you go, Katie-Kat. Not when I’ve waited so long to take you.” His green hues tracked my tears as they began to roll down my face.
“I love hearing you beg, but you’re prettier when you cry,” he sighed, trailing his tongue from my jaw to where the tears fell, licking them from my left cheek and then the right. It was unexplainable how I found comfort in what he was doing.
“Whatever life you knew, it’s gone. There’s nothing outside these walls you need to believe in anymore.” As he spoke, he slowly ran his hand up my leg.
When I felt something hard against my apex, my stomach knotted into a painful ball of apprehension.
“Mason,” I pleaded again, desperately trying to pull my wrists free.
“You can make this hurt a little, or hurt a lot. Either way, your legs will be spread.” His tone was matter-of-fact. Certain and cocky. My initial observation of him was proving to be spot on.
“Why are you doing this?” I half hiccupped the first part in the midst of a silent sob, pulling myself together enough to get out the rest. I didn’t want to cry in front of him; it made me feel like I was giving him some power.
Maybe you are. Maybe you should. Why are you fighting something that could be good?
Shaking my head, I searched his face, trying to understand his motive. A man that looked like him didn’t need to do this.
He slid his hand between my legs and pulled my underwear to the side, running his fingers over my curls before easing two inside me.
There was a feeling of discomfort, but it wasn’t overly painful. I could feel everything he was doing. Every push in and pull out.
He placed kisses on my cheeks, nipping my lower ear lobe and keeping my wrists pinned down. My breathing was getting heavier; I started having to remind myself to exhale. I tried to understand the sensations and emotions hitting me all at once. I knew basic things about sex. I knew his fingers were being coated with my juices, based purely on my body’s reaction.
Are you sure about that?
Was I?
It was the first time any man had ever touched me, but that didn’t stop my body from wanting his hand to stay where it was. My pitiful inexperience didn’t stop the pleasure from working against me, soothing me into accepting what he was doing.
When he started teasing my bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb, I bit down on my tongue, holding back a moan, continuing to struggle against the hold he had me in.
“If you let go, you’ll remember how enjoyable this is.” He added more friction, biting down where my neck and shoulder blade met. I cried out in pain that was quickly trumped by pleasure as he continued his assault with his skilled fingers.
When I was breathless and worn out from fighting to break away, he stopped, confusing me because I suddenly didn’t want him to. Letting go of my aching wrists, he sat up and stared down at me.
He used his body to hold mine prisoner, trapping me on the bed as he removed his clothing.
I’d known from briefly holding his arm that he was a fit man, but now I could see every solid line and ridge of his abs. His sun-kissed skin contrasted perfectly with mine.
When he took his belt off, time seemed to slow.
I knew what was coming, and how helpless I was to stop it - if I even wanted to. What if my inner voice was right?
This could be my only chance to experience any of these things. I just wished he would give me a minute to think. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to imagine I was back at Glenda’s, but it was impossible to depersonalize myself from the situation. The belt buckle made contact with the floor; my underwear was pulled off and tossed across the room.
“It’s okay,” he soothed in my ear, gripping my thighs and settling between my legs. I couldn’t force myself to relax. I got a brief look at what was between his legs, and the little control that what was left of my nerves melted away.
You had to know this would happen.
“That’s not true,” I choked on air, blinking my eyes in an attempt to clear the fresh tears.
Mason moved his mouth to my neck, pressing his hard cock against my cunt.
“Let me hurt you. I just want to make you better.” His tone of voice was the same as always. Gentle, maybe a bit husky. It was at complete odds with his actions. He pushed inside me with one thrust, pulling out just to repeat the motion. Sucking in a shocked breath, I grabbed his forearms, digging my nails into his skin so hard, one broke.
All I felt was an overwhelming amount of pressure, like my body wanted to expel what he forced into it. He was stretching me, pushing in despite my attempts to shove him out. I was full of him. My garbled screams only seemed to encourage him. He pulled my hands off him, slamming them back down above my head.
Sex didn’t go anything like it did on television. I knew, though, rape wasn’t sex. It was about power, and he was asserting himself. Like a fucking animal that was only operating off a primal instinct.
He kept pulling out, just to thrust harder every time he entered me. Not once did he let up. The tears eventually stopped; my inner turmoil raged on. The way he made me his was brutal. It was harsh. And I didn’t understand why I wanted it so much before the pain gradually ebbed away.
Through the entire ordeal, he never stopped kissing and stroking my skin. When I thought the worst of it was over, I quickly found out I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Turn over,” he commanded, pulling out and flipping me onto my stomach before I could object. Lifting my hips, he entered me again without preamble. Gripping the bed sheets, I couldn’t stop the whimpers and moans from pouring out of my mouth.
If I thought what he was doing before was brutal, this was almost torture. I could feel the skin on my hips tearing from the way he dug into my flesh. When he finally let go, it was to grab my throat and force my head back.
He kept his gaze locked with mine, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead in the midst of cutting off my airflow. It didn’t hurt at first; I could still breathe. Then he started thrusting harder, cutting off my screams by tightening his grip.
I thought I was going to die. His phone chirping again wound up being my saving grace.
Now it was painful; he was effectively making me struggle to breathe. By this point, I should have been terrified, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t.
He picked his pace up, tightening his hold and causing my vision to fill with black dots. I held onto the sheets, unable to do anything but accept everything he dished out.
Just when I thought my lungs would cave, and my vision became obscured by tears streaming down my face, he let go. I gasped in mouthfuls of air, sending myself into a coughing episode. With a small, almost inaudible grunt, Mason buried himself to the hilt and stilled, causing me to lose balance and land on my stomach.
“You’re perfect.” His soft lips landed on my spine, and confusion swarmed me like ants racing for a breadcrumb. What he just did was wrong. Wasn’t it? My body felt like it had just been put through a spin cycle. I was still trying to catch my breath, and he was still inside me, kissing up my back.
If it was so wrong, though, why did his words warm me from the inside out?