Page 44 of Salt in the Wound
He bent in, and without warning, pressed a long, open kiss to it.
My thighs tried to shut; my hips squirmed. It was hot and ticklish and slick, and nothing like I’d ever felt before, ever, ever. Not with my fingers, not with the corner of my mattress, not even in my dreams, because I hadn’t known to dream about this. And when his tongue flicked over my clitoris, my head fell back as I panted.
“How does that feel?” he asked, not lifting his head from my cunt.
“So good,” I groaned. “Like you’re licking my heart.”
“I would if I could,” said Mark in a voice full of dark promise. He gave me another long kiss, sucking the swollen pearl between his lips before releasing it and swirling his tongue inside my opening, making noises of rough pleasure as he did.
He stood up and then kissed me, forcing me to sample myself on his lips. Sweet and strange, a taste unlike any other.
“I needed to taste it,” he said as he pulled back to look at my cunt again. “My brand-new toy. Now open for me.” He slid his first two fingers into my mouth, and instinctively, I closed my lips around them and sucked. His eyes darkened even more.
“Good girl,” he said, and a hot, fierce pleasure curled in my chest.
Then he dropped his fingers between my legs, his eyes back down to my pussy. To where he was slowly parting me, finding the tight entrance between my folds.
“Wait,” I said, and he shook his head.
“That’s not how it works between us,” he murmured, dropping his lips to my jaw and then my mouth. “My deadly girl, my little honeysuckle queen. Sayhyssopto me, and I’ll stop the instant you say it. But I won’t break forwait, not forstop.Not even forno. Your safe word is all of those things, and more. It’s your freedom and your power too.”
“But don’t you—” His wet fingertips were still searching me out, and then one made a lazy circle just outside my entrance. “Don’t you want to put your cock there instead? Sir?”
He froze, and then shuddered out a exhale against my mouth.
“Yes, I want to put my cock there, Isolde. More than anything. But let’s not test my control too far yet, hmm?”
As he said it, he was already straightening up, his eyes dropping to his hand. “This will pinch,” he warned, and I fought to breathe as his finger pressed deeper.
His expression was avid, awed—gleeful—as he watched his thick finger penetrate me. Taking something that shouldn’t matter, that didn’t matter—and yet also did, because we’d decided together that it meant something. That it was his to have, even if it didn’t change anything about what came next.
And then the pain, a sharp, low agony that had me panting and squirming.
“That’s it,” Mark said, still in that voice full of dark promise. “Just a minute longer.” His free hand came to wrap around my hip and hold me still as he tore me between the legs. And just when I thought I couldn’t stand it for a second longer, he added a second finger.
I made a low, whining noise then, the pain clawing up to my chest and my throat, stealing my air. It was clean and gorgeous and awakening, like all the torment he gave me.
Not for a second did I think about saying my safe word.
“So tight, Isolde,” Mark praised. “So good to take what I give you, even when it hurts. Keep those legs spread for me. Let me see that pretty pussy getting filled for the first time.”
The pain was shimmering in me now, settling into my bones, and when I looked down, I saw blood, slick and red, covering his fingers.
He looked up and met my eyes, and a sadistic smile stretched that beautiful mouth of his. His eyes were large and black and fringed with gold lashes, and his muscled shoulder and bicep were moving under his shirt as he worked his big fingers in and out of my virgin hole, and how had I ever thought he wasn’t handsome? That his angular jaw and sculpted cheeks weren’t geometric perfection? That the bump in his nose and the scar near his temple weren’t dangerously beautiful?
That his smile wouldn’t put the devil’s to shame?
“You take me so gorgeously,” he murmured. “After we’re married and you come to live with me, you’ll take my cock every night. Every day. As often as I need, and I need it a lot, Isolde. I’ll need your mouth and cunt and eventually your ass too, and you’ll be my pet, my little wife, to give me relief.”
I moaned, the shimmering pain pulling at my lungs, my funny bones, but at my pussy too. His grin stretched even wider. “Oh, I felt that little quiver, sweetheart. Can you come with your blood all over my hand? Show me. Show me how much you like being mine.”
He pressed his thumb to the erect bud above my entrance and began working it, just as his fingers worked in and out of my channel, their entry made slick and wet by arousal and blood. I let out a choked groan as pleasure yanked abruptly between my legs, brought on by his expert touch, by the need evident in the hard cock straining his pants and in the hungry lines of his face.
“I want to come,” I mumbled, my head dropping forward into his shoulder. “I want to come, I want to come, I want—”
The pleasure detonated so fast that my breath stilled and my back bowed and my mouth parted in a silent, choked scream as the convulsions tore their way up my body, from my throbbing clitoris to my womb to my chest, robbing me of air and thought and anything that wasn’t filthy, mindless pleasure. I came around Mark’s fingers, squeezing them, using them, my hips bucking as if trying to fuck them deeper and harder into me.
He watched with undisguised enjoyment as I futilely tried to spear my cunt on his fingers, and then as I slowly, slowly went still, shivering and whimpering and limp.
