Page 54 of Devil

I flush to see that his mouth is wet. I flush again as he rolls the latex down the length of his erection. It shines in the broad daylight, fitting snugly to him, and he’s so practiced at putting it on that reality slices through the haze of lust. He’s done this so many times, and I never have, and I’m about to let him go inside me, and once I do this, I’ll never be able to undo it, and I shouldn’t?—

He grabs my hip with one hand, the other on his rigid arousal, rubbing the sheathed tip against me.

“Wait,” I say, trying to turn. “Wait.”

The large hand on my hip doesn’t let me move. “Is that all you have to say to me?” Bell asks. “Justwait? Nothing else?”

I remember then—I have to tell him that I want to leave if I want him to stop—and I freeze. I don’t want him to stop for real. I want him to keep going, both because of our deal and because I’m literallyachingfor more. But choosing to want this, even after craving it this last week and a half?—

“Nothing else,” I mumble. I’m suddenly miserable—too miserable to refuse or to consent.

It would be a lie to say no and a sin to say yes.

Bell’s back presses against mine, and he leans down to speak in my ear. “Are you sad because you know good Catholic girls don’t take it bent over?” he croons. “I told you that you could tell me no. Good girls say no, right? You were just minding your own business, and I came in with my wicked fingers and clever words, and you suddenly found yourself with a cock between your legs. It’s not your fault, sweet bird. You did your best.” The tip of him is broad, but everything is so slick between us that he’s able to start pushing into me. I can tell he’s leaning back to watch, and his voice is all rough satisfaction when he says, “You’ve nearly got all of the head in. God, your cunt is so tight.”

“It hurts,” I whisper, my head dropping. I reach back to find him and stop him from going deeper, but he catches my wrist and then pins it to the small of my back. He keeps penetrating me, and it can’t get any wetter, but it’s wide; it’s so much, I feel like I’m being pulled apart. “Ry. It hurts.”

“But you’re taking it so well,” he praises me. He’s speaking in that same velvet croon from seven years ago, dark and coaxing. “And I’ll make you feel so good with it, I promise. It’ll slide up inside you and rub you in all the right places. It’ll fill you deep and spread you open, and then when I touch your hot little clit, you’re going to come screaming.” He keeps going, and I keep trying to twist away, and then he holds me even tighter, pushes his erection inside me even more relentlessly. The banded fingers around my wrist and the hard hand around my hip are now bright points of pain to match the sharp feeling between my legs, and it’s oddly…exhilarating. All of me feels vivid and living and real in his hold, under his invasion, and when he murmurs, “It’s okay to fight if you need to,” I feel such immense relief that tears sting my eyelids.

I wriggle, I twist, but he doesn’t let me move an inch…even though I feel every single inchhemoves. “Stop,” I breathe. “Don’t.”

“Just a little bit more,” he says. His voice is a little rougher now. “A little more won’t hurt you.”

“Please,” I say, sounding pitiful. “I want to stop.”

“It’s okay, Birdie. It’s not your fault. I’m making you, aren’t I? I wouldn’t take no for an answer, and now here you are, my cock splitting you open. Do you want to fight some more? Tell me to stop again? Do anything you like. It won’t change this. Only one thing will.”

The last part is spoken a little more gently—a reminder, I think, that ultimately Icanstop him.

But I make myself forget it, shove the knowledge away. I don’t want to own the guilt; I hate having to count my daily sins like loose change. I don’t want to think about anything at all, actually, because what he’s doing to me is outside of thought, too strange to be snared in words. He’s hurting me with the hand around my hip and around my wrist, with the intrusion into my body, and yet everything feels sparkling, bright, alive. My chest feels deliciously, thrillingly tight—like I’ve been swinging from a rope above the creek and I’m caught in the air, nothing underneath me—and everything below my navel shimmers and pulls with an urgency that I would be ashamed of if this were happening any differently, but I don’t have to be ashamed. It’s Bell’s fault. He’s making me do it. I didn’t want to.

He’s using his grip on me to pull me back onto his erection after he slides out again, and the discomfort is melting away, leaving behind a hot pleasure that is somehow harder to bear. My gasps have become whimpers, and my whimpers have become moans, and he lets go of my wrist so he can rub that greedy place in front of his cock, his fingers so unfairly certain as they caress me.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t tell them how hot you were to get it like this, bent over in broad daylight, not even in a bed.” He tuts, his thrusts getting longer and deeper.

I don’t think I can breathe. My diaphragm won’t bellow down; my ribs won’t expand. Everything is held hostage by the terrible, wonderful, radiant promise building under Bell’s fingers.

“Ry,” I moan. There’s no mistaking my squirming now, the wriggling, and with what will be horror once I have a chance to think about it, I become aware that he’s no longer pulling me back onto his cock—I’ve been the one rocking myself back onto him, the one seeking more and more. It feels so wet under his strong fingers; my breasts ache to be squeezed and touched. And I can’t stop. The better it feels, the further away the idea of sin feels, and the less everything that isn’tmoreandhardermatters.

“There you go,” he purrs, leaning over me a little, laughing as I still try to fuck myself onto him. “See? It’s not so bad once you let yourself have it. You’ll wonder how you ever lived without it. You’ll fall asleep dreaming of it, even. Like I do. Every night, wanting exactly this. Oh, I feel you getting tighter. Are you about to finish for me? Don’t worry, don’t feel bad that you’re coming on my dick so soon. I made you, didn’t I? I forced you. I put my hand down your pants without asking, and you didn’t stand a chance. Poor thing.”

The orgasm is a saw of light ripping right through me, tearing me open with a hot, bright surge of ecstasy, and then digging in, back and forth, my body squeezing and releasing, hard, shuddering contractions that buckle my knees for real this time. Tears are dropping from my eyes, and I’m keening, and Bell has caught me, holding me up so he can keep thrusting, his grunts low and rough.

“You have no idea—” His hips punch forward, and with his arm around my waist, I’m literally driven into the air.

I’m still limp and shivering from that near-fatal release, and I feel like a plaything. A doll. Hot tingles dance across my skin at the idea. At the thought that I’ll be a doll to him for the next year,hisdoll, a toy to be used whenever he wants.

“You have no idea,” he starts again, the words grunted as he rams into me with my toes barely skimming the floor, “how much I fucking needed this. All these years. Jesus, Birdie. I was a man possessed.”

He sets me down, braces my right hand against the workbench with an impatient one of his own. The next slide of his erection is so deep that my moan is guttural, animal.

“I was right to be possessed, though. This pussy is so fucking good. I’m going to stay possessed for a good long while with this in my bed. Your mouth under my desk.Fuck, Birdie, this is it?—”

He comes with a fierce noise, his hips going hard and slapping as he drives deep and stays there as he fills his condom.

And I can…feelit, the swelling of him, the way his thickness jerks inside me, the mechanics of his ejaculation, and it makes the hot tingles burn against my skin and sink deep into my belly. With a very faint and ragged sense of alarm, I recognize that I want more. Again. Already. This hasn’t been enough, not even to last the space between my orgasm and his. Not even to last through the harsh breathing in my ear.

It’s why you’re not supposed to choose sin: because it begets itself, because one bite of the fruit will never be enough, and the awful thing is that you almost don’t want it to be.