Page 17 of A Sorrow of Truths
A groan falls from me, eyes opening to see my own walls around us, and she keeps swallowing me down. Her teeth scrape, body going lax in my grasp. Nothing but what I want. She’s all mine for however long I want. I could bruise her again, batter her again. I could hold and move, push and force. Lie in sheets and talk afterwards. Listen to that voice of hers for hours, indulge myself with it. Maybe eat something. Laugh. Drink.
Except we can’t.
I lift away from her, eyes watching her black smeared lips, as my dick keeps slowly running in and out of them. Truth? I brace my hands on her skin harshly and growl at my truths. I don’t want them anymore than she does. I want this now. I want myself all over her, and the shove of her body to another position proves it. The jacket and shirt get tossed from my body, my knees moving her legs apart as far as they’ll go, and I’m inside her before I can question the act.
Everything’s fast, furious and aggressive. My hands bite into her skin, pushing more marks into places that didn’t have any. Mouths meet again as forcefully as they normally do, no calm to temper the storm we’re making. And my throat groans for more, my body aching and craving for it to carry on forever. It won’t, but this is the last chance at it and I’m having everything I can.
Teeth scraping. Dick forging in severely. Bitter, dirty words winding both her and me up for more power and more force. I flip her and spread her wider, fingers forging into any hole I choose and tongue following so I can remember the sweet taste of her come coating my insides. She bucks and moans, groans and slithers along my sheets likes she owns the fucking things, until she manages to get me back inside her again and starts fucking herself onto me.
I watch that, watch her small form milking everything I am, and let her pull the come from me at her own pace. That’s the only truth of me and her I’ll accept or allow. A connection made, a sexual orientation joined. Nothing more than that, irrespective of how much something else might appeal. It means too much, no matter how much I try to deny it. She does.
And this is done because of that fact.
My come spills over her cunt’s lips, as I breathe through the tension and pull out of her. I watch as a line of it still stranded in the air tries to keep us connected, and eventually back off some more and tuck myself away. The belt gets buckled, weak legs trying to keep me upright, and I take a last glance at her perfect body still lying face down on the bed until she turns over to face me.
A long breath pulls into me, frame turning away from her. “Get out,” I mutter, glaring at the bank of glass windows. My hands land on my hips, eyes searching the reflections for her movement. “Don’t come back. I won’t be as agreeable next time.”
No movement that I can see from her.
I close my eyes, willing her to just move out of my space so this doesn’t have to turn into what’s coming if she doesn’t get the message.
She giggles behind me, as if we’re still in some game she’s controlling with her new version of self. We’re not. I was weak, tempted, as always with her, desperate for her perhaps, and docile in comparison to what I will become if I have to, to prove a point.
“You do realise you’re nothing but a slut to me, Mrs Tanner, don’t you?” I grate out, turning to face her again. My eyes roam over her skin, a mask of indifference on my face replacing what she would have seen moments ago. “As you’ve just proved. Again.” Still no movement. Just a continued sultry smile.
“You’re still lying, Gray. I know you too well now.”
Alright. We’ll play it her way if we must.
My hand grabs her hair severely and drags her from the bed, uncaring as her body tumbles to the ground and she bounces across it. Four strides and she’s out of the room, bitching and shouting at me to let go, as she tries to get to her feet. I’m not letting go. She’s going out of this apartment and not coming back into it, and she can scream as loud as she wants about that.
This is over. And I am done.
Have to be.
More bouncing off the stairs, more yells and twists in my grip, as if fighting me might make a difference, and I eventually get to the main floor. She’s hauled along that, too, my eyes focused on getting her to the elevator entrance and nothing else. I glare at the heather sitting on the console table, glare at it and curse my time before now, and then push the button and wait.
Light crying begins in the space beneath me. Sniffs and mumblings about something. I close my eyes to the sound of it, part unable to bear it and part ready to destroy her because it damn well means something to me. Regardless, my grip stays rigid in her hair, muscles primed for the only thing I can do to help her out of this fucking situation we’re in.
The doors open and she gets pushed in, my face another mask of dismissal and revulsion. “You do not know me, Mrs Tanner,” I snap, aggressively. She scrambles up against the steel wall, naked body curled tight into the corner and the first sense of real fear I’ve seen on her face since Malachi first played with her. “You never have.”
I walk back for the kitchen, grabbing her coat and bag to at least give her some privacy. They’re tossed onto the floor next to her, my fingers pressing the eighth floor button as soon as it’s landed. She can go now. Use that new found freedom to organise a better life free of me and the pills that made the world around her distorted. Reality is what she needs. Real. “And you certainly don’t want my truths, Mrs Tanner.”
The doors close, my eyes closing again with it, and I pull the chain from my pocket to rub it through my fingers. She’ll get there. As she says, evolve some more.
She just won’t be doing it with me.
Chapter 8
Hannah
The elevator door opens before I’ve managed to get my coat around me. I shiver in the corner of the cold box, looking out at the expanse of corridor in front of me without seeing any of it. I feel used, dirty. Different. Huddling. Scared even.
Another sniff pulls into me, eyes blinking the tears back, and I look at the buttons that go all the way up. No button for his floor, though. Only the card slot that is now unavailable to me. And yet I can still taste him on my lips.
Who was that? I don’t know him. Angry. No, not angry. Hateful. Dismissive.
Cold.