Page 95 of Once Upon a Fable
He strangled a cry.
His fingers loosened around my neck.
And then, as if all of this had been some twisted, tangled foreplay, raw, savage desire blackened his face.
There was no pause.
No thinking.
His mouth slammed against mine.
His tongue speared past my lips, bringing rain and pain, mud and darkness.
His fingers switched from strangling me to clutching me as if I was his savior and seducer all in one.
My mind blanked.
My fingers continued to torture him, but his kisses were a different kind of torment. He kissed me as if he was the one suffocating. He bit my lip and swept his tongue deep into me—tasting me, feeding me his need—as though kissing me was the only thing he lived for.
I choked on his lust.
I twisted his cock and fisted his balls.
I delivered agony to him.
And all he did in retaliation waskissme.
He raked his fingers through my mud-soaked hair and opened his mouth so wide, he poured everything into me. Every inch of his tragedy. Every second of his trials.
He gave me all of him.
He tilted his head and stroked my unwilling tongue with his, but it wasn’t until a warm droplet kissed my cheek instead of cold rain that whatever mania infected him infected me.
A tear.
A single tear from a murderer.
A man who I held by the balls. A man who I squeezed so damn hard he’d probably never have children. And instead of striking me. Instead of strangling me like he’d tried to do so often, he surrendered.
He gave me his pain.
He gave me his power.
Hekissedme.
He clawed open my chest and crawled deep inside.
He broke me until we were shattered pieces together.
I couldn’t do it.
I can’t do this!
He groaned as I squeezed his cock and balls until my hands shook and my forearms threatened to pop with pressure. Then he kissed me deeper, harder, fiercer than anyone. He kissed me as if he wanted me to end him. As if he was grateful to endure agony by my hand.
He kissed me as if he’d never known kindness. As if pain was the only thing to set him free.
I couldn’t stand it.
