She stilled instantly, her breathing erratic, her heart in her throat. She couldn’t see a thing.
When he flipped her over on her back, she cried out, frightened. But he merely laid atop her and pushed inside her aching, warm body again.
It overwhelmed her; she didn’t know this position. He came down on top of her, and she felt his clothed body blanketing her.
No, his body wasn’t clothed anymore, Danika noted instantly as her fingers met his naked skin. He had removed his clothing, and her searching finger met the rough surface of his stomach.
Scars. With the three seconds her fingers felt his bare stomach, she felt them. So many scars.
Then his hands took hers and raised it high above her head. He resumed thrusting into her body, his body large and heavy on top of hers.
She whimpered with each thrust. He surrounded her. Tears filled her eyes; it was too much for her.
Her weak body trembled. All she could feel was him: the things he was doing to her, the back-and-forth movement of his thick phallus inside her body, the heat emanating from his skin.
Using his thighs, he nudged her leg more open, forcing one trembling leg up to his shoulder. He held both her hands in one hand and used the other to hold her leg in that position, and then he resumed slamming into her.
In that position, he went deep, even deeper than before, and she couldn’t help the pained screams that escaped her throat as the head of his erection bumped against her cervix with each thrust of his hips.
Yet, the discomfort didn’t seem to prevent the unfamiliar pressure that started growing deep inside her.
She tried to fight it, to twist her body away from the intense brutality of his thrusts because she wasn’t here for pleasure—a pleasure she didn’t deserve.
But he wouldn’t let her. His hands and body easily held her down, and he had the strength of so many men.
“No!” she gasped.
“Don’t fight it,” he groaned sharply, angling his thrust even deeper and harder.
She screamed hoarsely as her body ruptured into millions of tiny pieces, her inner muscles clenching helplessly around his shaft.
He groaned harshly, and then she felt him releasing again, his shaft pulsing and jerking within her. She could feel his hot, wet liquid in her womb, his pelvis grinding into my womanhood.
It enhanced her own release, much to her shame and helplessness, drawing out her pleasure-pain. It was like they were linked together because her violent contractions didn’t stop until his were fully over. He collapsed on top of her, his breathing as ragged as hers. She felt him everywhere. He surrounded her. She saw darkness. She breathed him in.
Finally, he rolled to the side. Danika heard a rustle of clothes; some moments later, he pulled the blindfold from her eyes.
She swiveled her face and stared at him. He was dressed again in a flimsy night cloth and lying beside her. She curled into a tight ball, her body throbbing. Her heart was in her throat because he would order her to get out. She wasn’t sure she could move.
His eyes were watching hers, and hers watched his face in return. Her dazed eyes were filled with overwhelming exhaustion for the first time.
Danika realised he looked tired, too, even as sleepy as she was. She swallowed tightly, thinking about how to plead for him not to order her out. “Please—”
“Just for tonight,” he rasped, cutting her off. Then he closed his eyes.
Relief coursed through her, but sleep was quickly taking over. However, even in her half-gone mind, she needed warmth. Her body needed it—craved it. She didn’t understand.
Then she snaked a hand around to his chest—up to his shoulder. He stiffened and growled low in his throat, but her mind was too sluggish to process the warning, so she didn’t take her hand back.
But he didn’t throw her arm away, even though his body remained taut.
As she fell deep into slumber, she felt her body being drawn closer to the hard wall of his, and she heard him groan, “Just for tonight.”
Or maybe she imagined it.