Emily
The anger flared between us, twisted us into something we’re not, made us think we hated each other, made us do and say things we didn’t mean. The anger was so strong, so potent, so all-consuming that if Jude was any other man and if I was any other woman—if there wasn’t this connection between us—we would no longer be together, let alone about to fuck.
I still feel the anger, deep in my belly, but it mixes with lust and becomes a cocktail I like the taste of.
As I walk across the room, I feel Jude’s eyes on my ass. I strut for him without even really meaning to, shifting my hips from side to side.
In the reflection the shower door, I can see him, made murky by the steamed glass. He looks like a predator about to pounce. I’m his prey, I think, and I find there’s nothing wrong with that. Not in this moment. Not this night. Everything’s changed. I pried open my ribs with this man when I told him about Patrick, and now I’ve just done it a second time by showing him the cold rage that lurks within me. And he’s still here. He hasn’t run. Which means there must be something between us.
“Stop,” he says, when I’m about to enter the shower.
“Why?” I ask, not turning my head.
“Bend over for me.”
My pussy goes tight, warm. Hot. So hot that the pulsing of the bruises becomes a dim background noise.
“Bend over for me so I can see that beautiful fucking pussy. Bend over for me so I can see what I’m about to fuck.”
I swallow. Confusion rests in me, but lust pushes it aside. Lust overpowers everything, even the anger. Goose bumps rise on my flesh, causing me to shiver. I bite my lip and then do as he says. I lean forward, bracing myself on the shower, and push my ass out for him. It’s the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in, fully on display, but with Jude it’s comfortable. I feel his eyes on me, searing into me, fixated on my pussy. To be wanted with such passion by a man is exhilarating. My heart pounds all over my body, down to my toes and in my forehead. I can barely think. All I know right now is Jude’s eyes, the curve of my back, my on-show pussy.
“Now step into the shower.” He groans, lust making his voice husky.
I stand up straight and step into the gushing water. It runs down my face in rivulets, sluicing through my hair, dripping over my bruises. But the bruises don’t hurt anywhere near as much anymore. I’m so horny even the pain abates.
I hear him undressing, kicking off his pants, dropping his clothes in a pile on the floor. But I don’t turn. I just wait. I sense he needs this, needs to tell me what to do, needs to put his mark on me. And the truth is I need it, too. That’s not true. I don’t need it. I want it. I don’t want to be ordered around in everyday life, but when it comes to this, I find I like it.
Suddenly, he’s standing right behind me. I hear his breathing even over the constant shhhhhhh of the shower, even with water in my ears. “You’re going to come for me,” he says, his voice the cold, steel voice of Jude the killer once again, “and then I’m going to fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked.”
My throat goes dry. I let out a whimper. Then I nod. “Yes.”
He kneels down behind me, takes my legs, and pulls me to the edge of the shower. He slides his hands up my soaking legs, gently smoothing over the bruises, until he reaches my ass. He squeezes my ass cheeks, pushing them together, moaning deeply. “You’re so damn sexy,” he says. “You’re the sexiest fucking thing alive, Emily.”
“Touch me, baby.” Is that me? Is that sexually confident woman really me?
He pulls my ass cheeks apart and stares at my pussy for half a minute. My clit throbs with anticipation, throbbing for him, begging to be touched and played with. The sensitive place inside of me throbs along with my clit. Hell, even my nipples throb.
“I’m going to lick your perfect fucking cunt.”
He’s do dirty. He’s such a dirty man.
Holding my ass cheeks apart—me bent over, hands propped against the shower tiles—Jude brings his tongue to my pussy. He licks me slowly, starting with my lips and trailing up and down them with the tip of his tongue. Then he brushes my clit. Just brushes it, teasing me, but that single touch is enough to send a rush of rapture through my body. I close my eyes as the ball of heat deep in my sex begins to grow. I know that heat well. It’ll grow and grow and when it’s too big, it’ll implode.
“Fuck, I can’t hold back.”
“Then don’t,” I moan.
His tongue flickers back and forth on my clit so fast I bet it’s a blur. That perfect, oh-so-tender point of pleasure turns into an inferno. I close my eyes and in a few moments of mad licking I can’t feel the water, the bruises, the anger, the confusion, anything. All I feel is the euphoria of his tongue and his strong, hitman’s hands on my ass cheeks. He’s a dirty bastard. He’s a dirty, violent man. You’re bent over in the shower being fucking licked out by a dirty, violent man. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes. Fuck it all. Fuck being the good girl. Fuck being the quiet girl. Fuck being the scared girl. Be his instead. Fuck, be his!
The orb of fire becomes huge in my tender place. Every inch of me tingles. My legs begin to vibrate like crazy, my knees knocking together. My toes curl in an effort to keep gripped to the shower, lest the pleasure send me tumbling down.
Bigger, hotter, steamier than the walls of the shower, hotter than the gushing water—hot, hot, hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I close my eyes shut so hard I feel, as if from faraway, a pang in my black eyes. But the pain passes quickly when the orgasm hits me.
I never knew I could squirt, but when the orgasms strikes, pleasure like I’ve never felt gushes out of me, gushes with more force than the showerhead, more anger than our argument, more ferocity than Jude’s deathly trade.
When it passes, I loll against the wall. Jude stands up behind me and leans forward. “You squirted all over me, baby,” he says, voice so damn sexy right now I almost come again just from his breath touching my ear. “Now I’m going to fuck you. I want you to squirt on my cock.”
“Y-yes,” I moan.
The water, my come, and the pre-come on his rock-hard, massive cock let him slide into me easily, as though his cock is meant to be in my pussy. He buries balls-deep, touching my sweet spot, and his abs press against my soaked ass cheeks. I close my eyes again as he fucks me, resting my forehead against the shower wall. He slides in and out slowly, both of us feeling every minute movement. Slowly, gently, passionately, he fucks me, and then he gets harder and faster until, before I know it, the tip of his cock is slamming into me with all our pent-up passion.
It’s like he unchains himself; he lets himself go.
He smacks into me. Each time his cock hits that wanting place inside of me, the orb of heat returns, grows bigger, and bigger and bigger. He pushes my ass cheeks together. “Fuck, your ass is perfect. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Emily. Fuck. Come on my cock.” His voice is desperate as he tries to hold himself back.
As if his words are a trigger, the orb releases. All at once I come so hard, and for so long, moisture is coating my thighs. I’m wetter, something I didn’t think was possible, and Jude fucks me so hard now his cock is like a force of nature, in, out, in, out. Then, he pushes deep into me one final time, groaning, biting my ear. I reach up and touch his face as I squirt and he comes.
We stay like that for a long time, his cock wilting inside of me, and then I stand up and face him.
“Wow,” he says.
“Wow,” I agree, and then step forward and kiss him, pressing our naked, tired bodies together.