The Question…

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I sit curled up in his lap, his arms around me, fingers toying with my hair. I inhale his musky scent and close my eyes against his warm, bare chest.

He has just finished fucking me particularly roughly.

The skin on my ass is red and stinging from his slaps and I have a slight headache from how hard he pulled my hair as he savagely pounded into me from behind.

My knees are raw and scraped from carpet burn and I am sure I will see teeth marks on my shoulders when I look in the mirror.

And yet, I feel happy, at peace, content.

Perhaps because of his brutality earlier, he is being extraordinarily gentle and tender with me. He is humming quietly as he holds me, and I feel the vibrations of his lips as they nuzzle my hairline.

Not for the first time I wonder what he is thinking about. I wonder how he feels about me.

“James?” I venture.

“Hmmm?” from above me.

“What do you think about when you’re quiet? Do you think about us?” I chance a glance up at him and see his indigo eyes narrow and darken.

Shit! I’ve overstepped again!” I instantly regret speaking.

“Baby girl, always so curious. A curious little kitten aren’t we?”, for once he doesn’t look angry, a hint of a smile plays around his lips.

“I just wanted to know… if I matter to you. If you…” I whisper nervously.

His eyebrows rise in an unspoken prompt.

I can’t. I feel my courage drain from me.

“Do you matter…?” he breathes, looking into my eyes and then glancing away as if deep in thought. I understand he is teasing me.

I swallow but my throat is bone dry.

“Finish your question baby girl,” he growls.

I feel the threat of tears stinging my eyes and wish I had never opened my mouth.

“I… wondered if you…” I sigh deeply and blurt it out, “love me?”

He throws his head back and laughs loudly, cruelly. My heart sinks and my cheeks burn with embarrassment and a touch of anger.

I have humiliated myself.

“Do you matter?” he repeats as he gets his laughter under control, “does it matter if you matter to me? Does it matter if I love you?” he fires back at me.

Annoyed and hurt, I move off his lap and wrap my arms around myself to cover my nakedness, feeling vulnerable in comparison to his jeans covered lower half. Always at the disadvantage.

“Don’t sulk baby girl, its very unattractive,” he scolds, but this time I am truly irritated at the way he has demeaned me.

I fight the urge to tell him to fuck off.

I have allowed him to fuck me every way imaginable, hurt me, watch me fuck myself, watch me fuck another woman, blindfolded and videoed me masturbating and took me to a gentleman’s club to share the film with total strangers to me. The very least he could do is answer my question seriously and with some respect.

I realise that I have fallen completely in love with this mysterious, complex, complicated, distant man.

I have spent endless hours analyzing myself trying to figure out why this has happened to me. Why I allowed it to happen. I have no answers. The therapist that cannot understand her self!

I stand up to leave the sofa and get dressed but his hand darts out to grab my wrist roughly and jerk me back down into the cushions.

‘Don’t!” the cry escapes my lips before I realise it. I have never refused or disobeyed him before.

His hands are around my throat, turning my head towards him and his mouth covers mine, stealing my breath and possessing me. His tongue violently pushes into my mouth, almost making me gag.

One hand still gripping my throat, his other hand clutched my breast and cruelly twists my nipple so hard it feels as if he will rip it off.

He breaks the assault on my lips and breathes heavily into my face, his eyes glaring at me.

His hand leaves my throat and grabbed my crotch, shoving his fingers deep inside me.

“THIS! IS! MINE! Understand?” he growled, “I wouldn’t be here, fucking you and testing you, making you grow and push yourself if you meant nothing!”

He drops me abruptly and I flop onto the sofa, stunned and rattled.

Running his fingers through his chestnut hair, his anger radiating off him like heat, he casts me a dark glare, “I fucking HATE talking about fucking feelings! It’s not me. I don’t do that shit. This is the one and only time we discuss this, understand me?”

Speechless, I just nod and feel the hot tears spill down my cheeks. The shock of his revelation and his rage has left me shaken.

His face softens slightly, “Baby girl, I can’t do a regular relationship. I can’t do ‘I love you’s and feelings. I have my reasons, it’s complicated. I will fuck you and show you affection the way I know how to. So, I will come here, fuck you, challenge you and make you cum. I will teach you to push your limits. I saw what you needed the first time we met. I knew you would be mine. I knew you had more inside you than you knew. I knew you’d love the pain. It was all over you, the wanting. So, for the first and last time, yes you matter. You will matter until, perhaps, you won’t. We have no idea what will happen. Are we clear?”

I am dumbfounded. He had never spoken for so long and so openly before.

I struggle to get my thoughts together, “Yes. James, we are clear. I understand. Thank you for saying all that,” I whisper, still mentally reeling from his speech.

Taking a handful of my hair he pulls me close and kisses me, his mouth engulfing mine, his fingers tweaking my nipple, pinching it the way I love. The heat and throbbing fires up between my legs, and I grow wet. His hands reach under me and lifts me up to straddle his lap. I sink onto him, taking his full length inside me, deep. His hands hold mine pinned behind my back as he thrusts up into me, slamming into me. Feeling him grinding against my clit, the powerless sense of being held and restrained is so hot and erotic I cannot delay my orgasm. It spreads from my nub, up through my body. I spasm wildly, my muscles gripping him tighter, feeling him clench beneath me, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of my hips as he cums also.

Looking into each other’s eyes, breathing hard, sweating, I think to myself, “I think that was our first time making love…”

 –

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