Chapter Sixteen
The world spun and then spun again, Nicole pushing herself off of the floor and trying to ignore the way her head was pounding, the hammer falling idly from her fingers and back to the half-put-together bookshelf that had been in front of her while seated. She didn’t have the brain power for this right now. She could barely string two competent sentences back to back, much less follow the instructions on this book that seemed like it was on level with building a rocket ship instead of a simple bookshelf for her apartment. She didn’t build things. She didn’t put things together. She normally had help doing those kinds of things. Either her father or … Mason. Neither of which she could call right now and for two totally separate reasons. Mason was… not an option. Not an option for her to even think about, in any context, her palms scrubbing against her face as if she could scrub his very name out of her brain. Her father… was asking a lot of questions now that she didn’t know how to answer, or how to even process.
It’d been two weeks and yet, she felt like her entire universe had been spun on its axis at least three separate times, and it had all started with…. Her aggravated grunt escaped through her fingers as they ran down her face again, trying to banish the thought of hot hands and hungry lips out of her subconscious. And her dad was smart. He was the man who had raised her, the man who was even more emotionally in tune with her than her own mother. He was her steady rock and safe place… and he knew something was wrong, and from the way he was talking and the questions he’d been asking, he’d known something was wrong for a while now, he ‘d just been waiting for her to talk to him about it. Which apparently—he wasn’t doing any longer.
The questions had started out simple, just little comments about how he knew she was going through more than she was letting on and he was there if she needed to talk. Eventually, they’d evolved to him asking if he should at all be concerned with maybe Mason’s accusations towards Aaron’s actions months ago maybe not being as far off base as she had pretended. Then he’d asked if everything were all right between she and Mason. She didn’t even remember how she’d gotten out of all of it last time, or what all she’d said. She knew most of it had been her in histrionics, sobbing and hiccupping at him that she wasn’t ready to talk about it until he’d dropped it, but… she couldn’t remember the details… which seemed to be a problem plaguing her life all too much lately.
Her world had stopped two weeks ago in that living room with Mason, with his hands only just recently off of her and all of that laid bare between them, but the rest of the world had kept on going and she was finding it harder and harder to keep up. The first night back had been easy. Showing up at her apartment to find Aaron in bed with another woman, presumably the same one that Mason had caught him with. It had made her packing her things and calling the neighborhood police to come stand guard while she did so bearable. She hadn’t even really been as focused on it as she should have, even with Aaron yelling in the background she only felt… numb. Numb to his anger, numb to the hurt that should have been there walking in on her fiancé with another woman in their shared home… the only thing she hadn’t felt numb over was Mason. The only time she felt any kind of alive was when she thought of Mason…
Which she needed to stop doing. She needed to get past it and move on, set up her life in this apartment and start fresh but… she couldn’t. When she’d moved last time, everything had been unpacked that same day, everything found its home in an organized system within the apartment. She had cleaned and cleaned every surface what had to be at least twelve times in that first day alone… after two weeks of living here in this apartment… there were half emptied boxes littering the floor and nearly every available surface. The only piece of furniture that she had successfully put together was her bedframe, and that was only out of necessity. She had maybe three more packets of ramen and a jug of bottled water left… and that was it. Her dirty clothes hamper was overflowing, there were two bags of trash bagged up and not taken out in the kitchen.
She was a wreck. She couldn’t stop thinking about how her decisions had ruined everything, how she’d sent both she and Mason into an inescapable hole of awkwardness. She had practically forced herself on him and he—she didn’t know what to think, but she knew that somehow she must have accidentally manipulated the situation, made him react to her, or possibly even just done something to encourage an attention he never would have given on his own. She had hurt him, and even with him trying to contact her, she couldn’t face it. It’d been one thing when her relationship with Aaron was destroying things in her own life, but to have transcended to Mason of all people, who didn’t need any outside help making his life any harder than it already was, was unforgivable. And the worst part of it? It had been mainly her fault, not her failing relationship, not her upset over anything else going on in her life, not even the stress of the jobs she had been working…because that night had forced her to realize that those feelings weren’t new and her desire concerning him wasn’t…something that had just happened.
It was something that had been there for years, under the surface, festering and growing without her acknowledgment. Now that she had acknowledged it, it was only so much worse. Her hands finally left her face, body turning in the direction of the sink to splash water over herself or wash her hands… something to get her moving again and not back stuck in her own head where she might just sit for hours. Anything to distract her for Mason, she was almost desperate enough to wish that the cable install-man who’d been by two days previous would come back again to try fixing that wire he’d accidentally pulled out of the wall. Literally anything for her to occupy her mind with that didn’t involve Mason, or Aaron, or her family and all of the stressors she couldn’t escape from mentally.
Almost like an answered prayer the doorbell sounded, her body immediately shifting course, looking down to verify that she had actual clothes on and not just pajamas on that time. She didn’t think she could face the cable guy again in just her pajama shorts and a tank top without face planting from embarrassment alone. “Coming!” she called out as an afterthought, aware that her having to try and navigate through the half-put together furniture was making her take longer than normal, finally sidling around the couch base and unlocking the multiple locks with what almost looked like practiced ease. “Sorry I…”
The words died in her throat, eyes widening and her mouth going dry before the door was even half open, whole body jerking to a stop that nearly sent her reeling into the doorframe itself. “Mason.” His name was almost a sigh, half reverence and half absolute terror at the sight of him there. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t thought of how to apologize to him, she didn’t know how she was supposed to explain herself, she couldn’t handle looking at him with him this near, shirt half untucked from his jeans and the collar popped open with his tie hanging half off. He made her—weak. Weak and hot, her skin flushing in a way that had nothing to do with the weather outside and everything instead to do with the man who stood in her doorway. She didn’t have the words, or the actions, she had nothing, frozen there like some kind of half posed mannequin, her fingers just barely on that door knob and hovering like she was considering shutting it. Or considering throwing it wide open and throwing herself at him.
One sounded really good while the other sounded like what she was supposed to be doing. What she should have done for self preservation and common decency. It was just hard to differentiate which was which when his mouth was opening like it was, her eyes dropping to it and waiting for the words to actually leave it. In the meantime, she would stare, that heat in her belly circling and tightening until it felt like her abdomen had somehow locked up.
Mason. Was here. And he wasn’t talking, mouth poised like he’d been about to and then he stopped completely.
Her eyes jerked back up to his, the only movement she had as warning before there were hands on either side of her face, fingers widening to encompass the whole of it- and she was being pushed back, Mason’s face lowered to her own and his lips pressing against hers more territorially than they had the last time.
There was no pause or question this time, there was no gentle testing of whether or not she was going to pull away. There was only his lips against hers, breaking them apart at the seams and his body ushering her further back through the door so he could close it behind them with what she assumed was his foot. She wasn’t opening her eyes to find out, she wasn’t… doing anything, her whole body reacting to him just touching her, arching up into those hands on either side of her face and pushing her lips urgently back into his. It didn’t even feel real, half sob caught in the back of her throat and her fingers scrabbling against his shoulders like she was trying to climb up him to get closer. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she could barely rationalize what was actually happening. That Mason was here, his mouth was back against hers like she’d been fantasizing about for weeks.
“Wait,” her voice was small, face turning to break the contact of their lips to try and allow herself to see reason, to try and get him to see reason, a moment's respite to try and do anything at all but respond. “Mason this is wrong,” but she didn’t sound convinced even to her own ears, her voice small and breathy as his lips, denied her own, turned to move down the line of her jaw, placing hard open mouthed kisses along the line there, his teeth pulling at the sensitive flesh and her breath catching with every graze. “Mason we should stop…” She tried again, but her hands were pulling his shoulders closer to her instead of further away, those lips moving down her jaw and along the edge of her throat, those teeth becoming harder, his tongue flicking out every few seconds to soothe that quickly bruising flesh. He was marking her and she could feel it, feel the bruises that were already lifting up along her skin in response, and she couldn’t… even try to push him away, even if she knew that she ought to be.
“Tell me you don’t want to.”
His voice sent gooseflesh along every inch of exposed flesh on her person, hair standing on end and her breath coming all the more embarrassingly quickly for it.
“Tell me you want me to stop.” His tone remained deep, lower of an octave than she’d ever heard from him before, each word drawn out like he was teasing her, like he was daring her to actually repeat the words he was near growling into her throat. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this, about us, about me fitting between those pretty little thighs of yours.”
Whatever response she might have had to the first was lost in the moan he pulled out of her throat between the words grumbled against it and the harsh bite of his teeth into her collarbone following it. It was dirty, it was wrong, and her whole body was on edge begging for him to say anything even half similar one more time.
“I’ve been thinking about it Nic. I’ve been thinking about the way you clenched and shook around my fingers, about how much tighter you would have been if I had been given just five more fucking minutes. I’ve been thinking about it for two goddamn weeks.” His groan was audible, vibrating through her skin and down into her core, eyes almost fluttering in their desperate attempt to stay open, but like magic her brain finally registered two words. Two weeks.
She was awful. Her fingers stopped pulling at his shirt, pushing just barely against him because even though she should have been able to, she still wasn’t able to push him fully away. Just like she wasn’t able to avoid his navigating the both of them back through that apartment again, past all of that half-put-together furniture, through the living room and down into the hallway… “Mason,” his name had more censorship in it then, the tears building further behind her eyes and her throat catching around her next words. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry, this is wrong. I don’t know what I did, I don’t know how, I never should have made you do anything, I never should have forced this or… manipulated you like that or,” her voice caught again, all the more because of how those hands had stilled on her for a moment. But no sooner had she started lamenting it before they were moving, his palms rolling down the side of her face and along that recently bruised flesh of her neck.
He was laughing, and she didn’t know why, just like she didn’t know why his hands were still moving further down, one running down the length of her right arm to her wrist, fingers encircling it and lifting it back against his person, his hand pressing her palm further into his chest, while the other twisted, his knuckles brushing down her opposite side. He was still touching her, but he was laughing, smaller, open mouthed kisses being placed softly back up the skin that they had just marked up. “You didn’t make me do a goddamn thing.” He sounded so sure, words wrapped in heat and promise both, his body walking hers further backwards until the back of her knees hit something solid. The only solid thing in this apartment, that bedframe nearly forcing her legs to buckle entirely just from the realization of where they were and being alone. “Do you even know how long I’ve wanted you little girl?”
She didn’t even know how to describe that voice, so very close to the way it sounded when he was being intentionally mean … but different, lower and more promising, like he had something just beyond what she could see…
“So goddamn long,” his lips were up by her ear again, heated breath ghosting over the shell of it and his hands pushing her back, forcing her to fall back into that mattress and further, shuffling her body up along it until he could fit one of his knees between the both of hers, pushing them out and both of his hands moving to the fabric of the skirt wrapped about her hips, untangling it from her legs and sliding it slowly up her thighs. “You remember when you punched that O’Conner kid in the throat for calling Marie a slut? I knew it then. Fourteen goddamn years old and you looked like a fucking avenging goddess, blood all over your knuckles and that glare…” his voice trailed off in a laugh again, but this one sounded almost sinister, palms of his hands sliding slowly up that same path her skirt had taken. “I’ve been fucking obsessed with you nearly my whole goddamn life.” He sounded sincere, but it sounded wrong, like she couldn’t wrap her head around what he was telling her, what he was confessing. He’d never… said.
He’d never seemed like it was even a consideration, never hinted that it was something that he had considered, and she would have noticed if he had. At least she thought that she would have, with as obsessed with him she was in return. “I didn’t touch you, not once, but if you only knew how many fucking nights I spent alone in that room touching myself to the thought of you…” Her back arched, low, wanton moan filtering through her clenched teeth and her eyes near rolling into the back of her head- just the imagery, what he was suggesting, and the thought of all of the years that she had been only two doors down hiding beneath her sheets with her own, inexperienced fingers trapped between her thighs trying not to admit whose face it was hovering above hers in her mind’s eye… “If only you knew how many girlfriends got kicked out of bed for saying my name wrong, or how many I accidentally called yours…”
She got a sick, vindictive thrill from that, her palms widening against the back of his shoulders so that she could curl her fingers, nails scraping down the back of the fabric and along the skin beneath possessively. He was hers. He always had been, and he was admitting it, telling her that it was the same, telling her that he could be… It was almost too much, her hands working on bunching that shirt up so that she could pull it off of him, the catch of her nails obviously well received by the way that he crawled up onto that bed, his one hand finally lifting higher than the other and slipping under the bunched up fabric of her skirt to the nearly soaked remains of her underwear beneath.
“I don’t give a fuck what you have to say about it.” His tone was commanding.
This tone had her thighs opening all the wider for it, hips lifting marginally off of the bed as if encouraging him to remove that clothing, as if encouraging his skin to find hers again, for his thumb to work back against her the way that it had last time.
“I don’t give a fuck what anyone has to say about it, unless you tell me right the fuck now Nicole that this isn’t what you want, that I’m not what you want, I’m going to fucking crawl inside of that flowy little skirt of yours and fuck you.” He wasn’t using any flowery, over-the-top romantic words, he wasn’t professing anything else, wasn’t offering her any kind of emotional tie with his words alone…
…but she could feel it, in the rough handling of her body, yet the soft brush of his thumb against her thigh. In the words bitten off so forcefully against her skin, and yet the way his lips were so sweet against her jaw…. She could feel it, and that teetering on the edge, that little bit of both worlds was what was going to do her in.
“Please,” it wasn’t any of what he had asked, the one word elongated into multiple syllables, begging. “Please, Mason, please. I want you. Please.” Fuck, she didn’t just want him, her hips couldn’t stay down on that bed, her whole body lifting up randomly into his hand, trying to encourage more, trying to coax him into just moving, into delivering what it was he was promising. “I need you,” she ground out, her voice rough hewn from her throat and almost vibrating all the way through her chest. She needed him then, needed to feel him without all of the layers of clothes that time, needed to feel him pushing up inside of her and erasing everyone that had tried to come before him. Needed him to remake her under him.
Like flipping a switch, his hands moved again, that skirt being pulled right off of her body with no more than a hard twist of his wrist, the fabric separating and shredding at what seemed to be multiple seams as he rid her legs of it. His other hand already pushing aside her underwear and his fingers pushing inside of her without more than a cursory swipe down to gather moisture before doing so. His chin notched against hers, turning her face back more fully to his and claiming her mouth in just that second before she screamed, whole body lifting up into his searching fingers and her eyes slamming to a close. She couldn’t do much more that shift, twist herself to be more accommodating for his body, for his fingers, her lips opening to his tongue and moaning along the length of it as he scraped his teeth along her lower lip. She couldn’t breathe already, she couldn’t even lift her hips any further, his hand angling and that thumb curling over the point just above where his fingers were disappearing, thighs twitching in response to the shocks it sent through her.
“Say it again.” His lips broke from hers only partially, mouth moving against the words he was using forcing his lips to feather alongside hers as he spoke, fingers of his other hand tightening forcefully against her opposite thigh and hauling it further open, pushing it down against the mattress beneath them and widening that angle for his fingers to work at. “Say it again, Nicole.” It sounded like a half prayer even repeated, that groan under his words and the way that he said her name…
She wasn’t trying to make him wait, she wanted to oblige right then, it was only that there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room and her body felt like it was shaking into a million pieces, too responsive too quickly for just how little it was he’d managed to do so far—and it wasn’t only him, her hands moving over him like they were but not enough. She couldn’t make herself come down far enough to be able to touch him the way that she wanted, couldn’t force her body to accommodate all of the things that it wanted all at once.
She didn’t know how long she’d paused, how long she’d been trying to give him what it was he was asking her for before he reacted to her silence, the hand gripping her thigh releasing its fingers and retreating, low moan in the back of her throat in question and displeasure both. She wanted both of his hands on her at all times, for the rest of time, she wanted the heat of his palm to go back to crawling up her thigh like it was trying to join the hand with his fingers disappearing inside of her. She wanted— “Oh!” Her breath left her all at once, shocked exhale of breath just on the edge of that palm descending once more, slapping against the inside flesh of her thigh and forcing her legs all the wider for it, both from the pressure and reaction alone. She hadn’t been expecting that, hadn’t been expecting him to slap her leg like that, back arching to try and bring him even closer, her shaking hands pulling at his frame as much as she could manage.
“Say it again,” his voice was too low, sending little thrills of pleasure in a way that felt like it was actually soaking into her skin from where his lips brushed as they moved. Command, there was no calling it a request when it was phrased like that, when his hand was held just over that area where it had just landed on her thigh, fingers teasing the reddened flesh almost like a promise. Half of her wanted to bite it back, to see if he would hit her again. Half of her wanted to wait it out, to feel his palm hitting against that already sensitive area of her thigh… and the other half couldn’t wait, didn’t want to prolong the period of time between him on top of her and inside of her any more than it had already been.
“Mason,” his name was drawn out, wound around her tongue and into the skin of his jawline as she pulled at him, her breath coming too quick. “Please,” breathy, the very word more air than actual vocalization, and she couldn’t stop or alter it. Couldn’t stop herself from forcing her body even closer to his, her lips running along the edge of his jaw and her fingers pulling. “I need you.” Three words, and even if he had asked for them, it didn’t make them any less real. Didn’t make the desperation growing within her any less relevant. She needed him like she’d never needed anything else that had come before him. She needed him more than she would ever be able to put into words, than he would ever be able to comprehend. He was… moving.
The words had barely fully left her lips before his face was back upon hers, lips claiming her own in a searing, possessive heat that only excited her all the more. Like it was the only permission that he needed that free hand was moving again, ripping her skirt fully from her hips in a rendering of fabric that filled the room and caught against her skin. Like the noise itself was another caress against her flesh, her mouth opening under his and trying to meet his tongue with the same ferocity and passion he was giving her. She couldn’t, she knew she couldn’t- warm and pliant beneath him and that was enough of a fight, to keep her body from arching in a way that would disallow his hips lining with her own, the sound of buckles and zippers and… she couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe. Didn’t know what to do with her hands, pushing at that fabric of his shirt, drawing her nails along his skin as she did so. She wanted the space gone, wanted the obstruction of clothing between them gone, she wanted to feel him right then, and she didn’t have the words to ask him for it.
“Mason…” Like a breath on a prayer instead, her legs falling to either side as he crawled between them, the hair on his thighs the only thing that alerted her to the fact that, sometime between his lips leaving hers and her head falling back, he had managed to get out of his pants. They were both rushing, and she knew it, she knew that he had to know it, in the way that his hands were framing her hips, pulling them up from the bed and better angling them beneath his own. Her breath wasn’t even coming in full pants any longer, half inhales and rushed exhales filling the room where her moans were now trapped behind her throat. “Please,” she drew out instead at the pausing of his hands, her hips lifting only marginally into them. She couldn’t say it again, couldn’t get her voice to work in more than the breathy- one word exhalations that she was managing.
“Nicole,” like a warning and praise both, his forehead pressing down into the curve of her shoulder, hands moving over her body and spreading her thighs, his hips falling between her own.
She didn’t know who made the noise first, that hiss of air from his mouth or the sharp intake of her own, whole body searing and her eyes literally rolling into the back of her head as he pushed forward. Like every moment leading up to where they were was nothing, her breath paused in the back of her throat and her fingers curling claw-like against the skin of his shoulders. She hadn’t been prepared for it, she hadn’t been ready, no matter how much she’d been begging for it.
His hips pushing so slowly into her own, sinking himself down until there was no space at all left between them, even with her eyes closed her vision went black, colorful dots swimming in and out of her sight as he came to a full stop, whole body pressed down into hers. “Fuuuuck Nicole,” drawn out into her skin and echoed in the breathy moan returned into the side of his face.
She didn’t know why they’d waited, right there in that moment, the way he felt inside of her, pushing against her still without moving at all, his breath against the top of her shoulder and her whole body poised as if afraid to so much as twitch. As if afraid by moving, it would make him cease to be connected to her at all. “Fuck,” he exhaled again, hips pulsing just so much back, and just like that, her whole world came apart, breath leaving her all at once in a strangled moan she couldn’t help to quieten. He felt like life. He felt like death. He felt like the culmination of all things moving against her and erasing her life completely, rebuilding it with each shallow thrust of his hips back into her, she was an incoherent mass of moaning and panting, fingers scrabbling for some sort of hold against his shoulders, pulsing against the skin there as if to hold him. She wanted him to keep moving, she wanted him to pick up that pace, but at the same time, she wanted to stay right there, with him buried inside of her, and just…. Exist.
“Mas-” she couldn’t even get his full name out, that draw of his hips further back that time, pushing back into her at a faster rate, shaking inhale replacing the last few syllables of his name instead. His hands were tight against her, moving slowly up from her hips, one traveling down and the other up. Fingers gripping the round of one of her thighs and hauling it up and to the side of his hips, held out at an angle, and where she might have questioned him on it. It took only another press of his hips back into hers for her to understand, guttural groan vibrating the length of her throat and her head which had started to lift lolling back against the mattress once more. She could feel all of him, with the way that he was situated currently, every rough exhalation of breath out of his own chest, every rough inhale, the way that his fingers were pulsing against her skin like he was restraining himself. She wanted that to stop, she wanted to push herself off of the mattress and test that iron bound control that he wrapped himself in.
But she couldn’t lift herself off of that mattress, not with the way she was being pushed back down into it, the headboard slowly starting to pick up a beat against that wall in time with the thrusting of his hips. She couldn’t do anything more than flex her thighs, try to draw him even deeper inside of herself, the hand that had been travelling upwards hooking into her shirt, pulling it up and twisting it around his wrist until the only part of her covered was her arms and where her bra did. The neck of her shirt was cutting, digging into the skin of her throat, more so in time to the pulsing of his hips, but she couldn’t be bothered to notice if it were painful or not. Couldn’t be bothered to do anymore than lean into that pressure, and the pressure of the heel of his palm pressing down into her sternum.
“Fuck.” She liked it too much, the way he seemed reduced down to just that one word, hooded eyes sweeping over her figure, resting on her chest and lifting back to her eyes, staring for longer of a second than she was entirely comfortable with before drifting down her frame again. Before settling on the point of her thighs he was disappearing into. She tried following his gaze, chin pointing down to her chest, tried to see where it was he was looking, tried to see the borderline pleasure-pain that she could feel between her thighs. Her breath coming all the faster just at the mental image of it, and was stopped by that jerk against her shirt and the way it was twisted up around her torso.
“Lift your arms.”
Her eyes lifted back, confusion clear in the cut of her brow, lips opening to question it only to be stifled in her throat once more by the slamming of his hips into hers.
“Above your head, lift your arms.”
His voice was low, dark- filled with the kind of promise she wanted to test, with the edge of command that twisted low in the very pit of her stomach. There was no pause between his demand and her acquiescence, hands falling from his shoulder and lifting instead behind her, stretched out until her knuckled hit the headboard and stayed, hovering just above the edge of that mattress.
“Now grab the headboard.”
Again, there was that question, a shiver of anticipation, but again her body moved without her command, following his direction to the letter. Her fingers wrapping up under the end of the wooden headboard and tightening until she could feel the blood rushing to her knuckles themselves.
She didn’t have to wait more than a half second after she had followed that direction, those hips picking up both pace and speed, the box springs beneath them and headboard both protesting the rough treatment, while her body sung under it. The noises leaving her mouth then were short, quick bursts, whole body trying to lift off of the bed to meet his, her mouth parted in a way that would make it seem like she had no sort of self-control...and she didn’t, body shaking with the effort to hold itself as straight as it was she had been directed.
“Look at you,” but his voice dropped like that, heel of his palm pushing further into her sternum and the side of it brushing against the side of her chest…. “God, Nicole, fucking look at you.”
He kept saying this, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to take her eyes off of him, and even that task was complicated enough with the way that they kept trying to close or roll, heated gaze so fully focused on him that it almost hurt.
She didn’t want to pause, didn’t want a break, looking at him like she was, she couldn’t do much more than that, hips lifting off of the bed to try and meet his, her whole body tensed like it was. Even if she’d been allowed or able to look at them from a perspective outside of her own she didn’t think she’d be able to focus on anything but him, didn’t think that she’d manage pulling back far enough to do so. Like she’d been starved of him, like she couldn’t even attempt the smallest bit of separation, those fingers closing around her throat, tightening until her already limited oxygen was made more so.
“Fuck I can feel you,” his voice vibrating into the side of her jaw, teeth catching at her skin and forcing a strangled groan from her own clenched teeth. “You wanna come baby?” Like some line from a badly executed porno, but the way he said it had her body seizing, muscles contracting almost on cue, like the words themselves were more command than question.
Her thighs clenched, fighting about those hips as if she could in any way slow them, as if she was in any way wanting them to do so… head falling back and his chuckle released into her throat, fingers clawing at his skin in any attempt to hold onto whatever shred of sanity she had left. “That’s it,” all dark and pleased into her skin and that was it, her whole world sliding off kilter, every muscle contracting all at once and her vision exploding into black, the moan that left her throat echoing around the room. She couldn’t… vision sliding in and out of focus with her twitching thighs….