Page 34 of The Vixen

It doesn’t come.

His forearm leaves my neck as he rises to his knees. He yanks me up by my arm and flips me over so my face digs into the mattress, my hips raised so his cock fits between my legs.

I close my eyes and sigh as he sinks into me, more relief than pleasure.

He’s gentler than I expect. His hips move in slow rolls as his hands grip my waist. An apology maybe. Better yet, a truce.

My body quivers at his touch, but minutes pass without pain. When I catch my breath, I sink deeper into the mattress. Let my lungs fully release.

When a moan pushes up my bruised throat, I open my mouth; let it draw out as I arch my back and meet his thrust. Message as clear as I can make it.

I accept.

His movements slow to a crawl before he pulls out of me. I open my eyes and turn my head to look back as his cock presses against my rear.

When I see his clenched jaw, my heart stops.

He enters me with a thrust that splits me in half, my lungs filling with a breath that leaves in a scream. I shoot up only to be slammed back down.

Sawyer’s hand grips the back of my head and smashes my face into a pillow while he pulls out and shoves back in. Tearsthrough muscle without care, without mercy, while my muffled screams shred my throat.

My fists slam the bed while my hips buck. I try to lift off the flat, scratchy pillow, but Sawyer’s hold is relentless. His thrusts are relentless.Heis relentless.

Cruel.

Ruthless.

“Stop!” I cry into the pillow.Pitiful.

He doesn’t hear. Doesn’t listen.

“Sawyer.”

No reply other than a squeeze of my hip.

I grip the sheets and still my legs, muscles tensing as if the pain could be braced. It can’t. He knows it can’t, and it occurs to me:

This is what he intended all along.

Minutes pass before the fire in my lungs outmatches the pain Sawyer inflicts. My screams soften to groans, soften to wheezes—air grating on shredded vocal cords.

My legs, once braced with unbreakable tension gradually loosen with a tremble. White linen grazes my palms as my fists open.

The pressure on my head releases before a second hand latches onto my hips, my body rocking violently with Sawyer’s thrusts.

I turn my head and listen to him grunt his pleasure while a tear rolls over the bridge of my nose; descends to the pillow.

When I blink, another follows the same path. I marvel at it. Pretend it’s emotional instead of physiology.

It’s been so long since I felt the sensation on my lashes—thicker than water, thinner than mud. If I tasted it, it’d be salty. I remember that.

My attention draws behind me as Sawyer’s thrusts quicken. Fingers sink deep into my hips as he moans his release.

Will the cum leak out?

Will it hurt when I defecate?

The grip on my hips eases. Sawyer’s palm sweeps over my backside in a caress that pushes my eyelids closed.