Page 7 of Scars of Silk

He’s using me. I don’t care. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I don’t care. Whatever.

I’m using him.

All’s fair.

Releasing me from his hold, he grasps my fingers and leads me behind him up the stairs, pushing at a door and pulling me through after him. Silence echoes between us, but I don‘t pay it any heed. What do I want? Small talk? No. What I want is for him to take me and fuck me senseless. I’ll never tell him that, never whisper my deep and dark desires, but they build within me regardless.

The room is neat: blue linen and dark walls; the curtains drawn. A boy's room that now holds a man.

I gasp as he kisses my neck, his fingers undoing the buttons on my shirt and pushing both the shirt and my jacket to the floor. As he drops his head, he brushes his lips over the black lace of my bra and I arch my back. His fingers work on my jeans and I step out of my pumps, kicking them out of the way. When I’m only in my black lace, he leans back, his dark gaze sweeping across what he sees. A smile lifts his mouth.

“What?” I gasp as one of his fingers runs down my belly to the elastic of my knickers.

“No ink.” It’s almost a growl.

“No. No ink.”

In firm arms, he sweeps me up as he stalks us for the bed, almost throwing me on the mattress. My alarm bells go off in my head. I should stop this. This isn’t me; isn’t right. But I can’t. He’s talking to my secret desires and whispered fantasies. I spread my legs as an invitation and wait for him to dive in. He lowers down, the buckle of his belt pressing into my skin. Fuck, I might come before he’s even touched me. His eyes on mine, he lowers a hand and shifts it between us, edging the elastic of my knickers out of the way as he slides his middle finger under the sheer material. With a steady pressure, he runs it back and forth, playing with my clit, and I arch under his weight. I want him to just be in me. To steal the time, carve this moment. This tormented stranger can own me; take me.

“Eager?” He whispers in my ear. My fingers run up his back, imagining the patterns they are dancing over. He’s warm, his body heavy. Without warning, his fingers push deep within me and I let out a groan unlike any sound I’ve ever made before.

Holy hell.

Unrelenting, his fingers push in and out and his lips trail across my skin. With his free hand he edges my bra down and his head lowers so he can catch a pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking and pulling it all in. I moan again, shutting my eyes as waves of pleasure build and wash all over me.

“You seem very uptight,” he murmurs. “Like you haven’t been touched in ages.”

He has no idea. I moan more while his fingers keep sliding in and out, my waves getting higher. My head thrashes from side to side. I’m going to come, and we haven’t even taken our clothes off. This isn’t right. I should stop it. Should get in my car and drive back up the motorway. Harder, deeper, his fingers coax me higher.

Oh God.

“When was the last time you let go?” he whispers into my ear and I writhe against his hand, desperately willing him to push deeper, while all the time fighting his touch. My hands fling above my head and I arch myself up. I know he’s watching. His lips catch my free nipple again, biting down as his fingers push and twist, pressing in so many places all at once.

Higher. Unrelenting.

Oh. Fuck.

I shudder, crunching my eyes up tight. His hand keeps working as my orgasm ebbs away and I open my eyes to find his amber and chestnut gaze settled on my face. “Better?” He smirks, but he doesn’t give me time to respond before he shifts and drops kisses along my stomach, his fingers pulling at the elastic of my knickers, shimmying them down my hips. Once they are off, he unbuckles his jeans, pushing them off. I stare in awe as his full body comes into view. He’s a masterpiece of ink and bruises.

“Now if you’ve got that out of your system, we can do this properly.” His lips curve into a smile and I know I should go. Apologise. Thank him for the orgasm and be on my way; but I don’t. I arch my back and wait to see what happens next.

It’s dark, and night has long settled. One time didn’t mean one time only. It meant one night. I’m aching, my muscles tired, yet I'm strangely comfortable in the bed with his arm thrown across my stomach as I stare at the ceiling.

It’s time to go.

I need to get back. I’ve got work tomorrow and well… I cast my gaze over the slumbering form of the angriest man I’ve ever met. Let’s be real. He might be mind-blowingly good in bed, but this would never have the prospects to be anything other than a onetime deal.

I’m summoning the energy to get my legs to work so I can leave, when he murmurs in his sleep. His arm thrashes to the side, narrowly missing thumping me. My pulse spikes. This is a nightmare; I remember them from my youth.

“Stay away from her.” He pushes again, fighting with someone I can’t see.

“Dan,” I press my hand against his shoulder trying to rouse him, but he doesn’t. Within the depths of his sleep, he groans, his hand raising to his head.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself? How can I keep searching for you all over town?”

He’s dreaming of Faith. A tear prickles against my eyelid. Not because I’m jealous, but because I’m sad for the man with ink and bruises.

“Dan, you’re dreaming.” I say it louder this time and his eyes open, blinking at me in the dark.