Page 45 of Salt in the Wound
He pressed his hand to my sternum and pushed me backward, so I was laying on my back lengthwise across the desk.
“What are you doing?” I said in a dizzy, sated voice, but I had my answer soon enough. After pulling my blood-spattered underwear from my hips—and then shoving them in his back pocket—he unzipped his pants and freed his stiff organ.
I’d never seen one in person before. It was circumcised and thick and straight, long enough that his hand had to travel some distance as he gave himself a few leisurely pumps. A thick vein meandered up the side, and the head was flared and swollen.
It was shiny and wet at the tip, like it had been leaking for some time in his pants.
Mark swiped his hand over my pussy, and I wondered for a moment what he was doing, until he returned the same hand to his cock and began masturbating with short, vicious strokes.
He was using the blood from my hymen and the slickness of my pleasure as lube.
With my panties gone and my skirt shoved up to my hips, there was nothing between him and my bare cunt. His eyes trailed over it as the muscles in his shoulder and arm flexed while he worked himself. My body stirred again just to see it.
His hand was tight, unrelenting on himself, and I saw something of his lust then, of how worked up he was, of how deep the need must claw at him, because he jerked himself like he would murder someone just to come. Just to feel relief from whatever lashed and bit at him in his thoughts.
The skin of his cock was stretched tight and slicked with red and his fist was huge and strong, and then with a satisfied noise that curled my toes, he gave himself a series of fast strokes and jetted thick stripes of semen onto my sex.
It was so much, hot and dripping, and he kept pumping himself with rough motions until he was done. When he let go of his cock, he was still half-hard, and he drew lazy fingers up the mess he’d made. He pressed the messy fingers to my mouth, and I opened automatically, sucking them clean.
“What a good wife you’ll make,” he rasped, bending over me to give me a long, possessive kiss. His scent—like the city after a storm—was all around me, now the air I breathed. “What a perfect queen, with her honeysuckle knife and her sweet cunt.”
My skin was tingling, my vision flickering with static. If I wasn’t already flat on my back, I would have fallen over. It was like the first time I’d crawled to him, the first time he’d cuffed me to his cross. Like the entire world was buzzing under my skin.
Like I’d float right up to the stars if he let me.
He straightened up, finding a handkerchief from somewhere and using it to wipe me clean of blood and semen. My pussy was inspected once again, this time with satisfaction stamped all over his face, and then I was up in his arms, being carried somewhere. My bedroom, I realized at the same time that I also realized my delirium was edging into sleepiness.
Mark knew where my bedroom was. The thought didn’t unnerve me the way it should have. The way it would have if I were thinking straight.
I was stripped of my clothes, given ibuprofen and water, and settled in bed. More water was set on my bedside table, and just when I thought he was going to leave, he sat on the edge of the bed and pushed my hair behind my ear. He didn’t speak, content to stroke my head while I closed my eyes and rested.
“How do you feel?” he asked. It was strange to hear his voice filled with heat, with naked interest.
I loved it.
“My pussy hurts,” I murmured honestly. “And I feel amazing. Are you going to leave?”
He didn’t speak for a moment, and when I opened my eyes to look up at him, I found his eyes fixed on my hair. On where he rubbed the silky tresses between his fingertips.
“I’d like to stay,” he said finally. “I don’t know how advisable it is, but I’d like to stay.”
“Thank you.” I closed my eyes again. “I wish I hurt more so that you’d have to do more aftercare.”
“Aftercare is more than pain management, Isolde,” he said. “What would you like?”
“I don’t know,” I said, still dizzy and tingling. Endorphins, maybe. I was high on them. “I just want you with me.”
I heard a soft thud, and then a second thud. His shoes being toed off. And then he crawled onto the mattress, coming to rest behind me with my back to his chest and my bottom tucked snugly against his lap. His clothes were the kind of expensive that felt amazing to rub and snuggle against.
He was huge in my bed, tall and wide and muscular, radiating heat. I turned in his arms and nuzzled my face against him, which seemed to surprise him. But then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer.
“What happens next?” I mumbled, sleep already pulling me under. “Sir?”
He let out a long exhale. He liked it when I saidsir. “I figure out what to do with you, sweetheart. That’s what happens next.”
I couldn’t believe that Mark Trevena was here in my bed, holding me. But he was, and it felt perfect, even with my sore pussy throbbing between my legs. And I didn’t have a single regret about anything.
I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
