Page 100 of Bend
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please. Please. God, let me come for you.”
With his free hand, he grabs the hair on the top of my head, yanking it against the ties to my ankles. “Don’t move. Just meow.”
He slides a finger in my asshole, and my mewl turns to a cry of pleasure. When he presses his thumb to my clit, hard, I lose my breath. He rotates the thumb, and I explode. My asshole pulses around him, my cunt tightens, and the rush of release comes out of my mouth in grunts that I can’t concentrate on enough to make the kitten sounds he likes.
His thumb drifts off me halfway then presses again, and I explode all over, wiggling in the confines of the ropes. The orgasm is eternal, like an electrical pulse arching my back, my fingers gripping my forearms. He does it again, leaning forward and shoving two fingers in my ass. My back arches farther, and the ropes press into my ribs.
Time happens for someone else, but not me. The orgasm goes on and on under this madass bastard’s hands.
I open my eyes, and I see him through my hair as he fucks me with his fingers again. His face is intense, as if he’s reining in a hotblood, and I gear up for another explosion.
I need to breathe. I need to think. It’s almost painful to come this much. But I can’t move. I’m going to die, and live, and crack into a thousand fleshy pieces.
“Stop,” I say. “Please stop.”
“One more, kitten,” he growls. And he gets it.
***
I rode the Westonwood sink on the tips of my right toes, sliding my wet pussy against it. I came in four pushes, legs tingling, back arching, mouth open. Knowing less than the sum of what I remembered and forgot, only blank, preciously empty but for pleasure.
four.
Margie, three years out of law school, was already boring. I couldn’t stand her, but I loved her for sitting in the visitation room in a pale green suit, her red hair in a sensible bob.
Before I even had my butt in my chair, she said, “He’s alive.”
“How alive?”
“He’s too weak to talk. You got the hoof knife between two ribs—”
“A hoof knife? My God—” Hoof knives didn’t have a point, though mine was sharp on the tip. How hard had I been at him to get that to even puncture?
“You missed his heart by an eighth of an inch and just scraped a lung. There’ll be a nice scar to show the grandkids.”
“Was it me? I did it? Are you sure?”
“You called the cops and said you did, and you attacked them when they got there.”
“I don’t… There’s no way I could have.” I was utterly baffled. Why would I do that? I’d done crazy shit, but stab Deacon? That was the craziest of crazyfuckshit I’d ever heard. “Where? We weren’t on Maundy Street. Couldn’t have been.”
“The stables. Then you tried to slit your own throat. You really don’t remember?”
“You think I’m putting it on?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you.” She held her face firm as if daring me to get offended.
“You don’t have to represent me if you don’t want to,” I said. “I know you find me repulsive.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You’ve never understood me.”
“That’s not the same as finding you repulsive,” Margie said. “Let’s face it. You don’t even understand you. The difference between us is that I happen to love you.”
I had no answer. I just fixed my jaw and felt like more of a recalcitrant child than I ever did in front of Mom.
