Jefferson comes the next night, as though my stepbrothers have now arranged a formal schedule. He doesn’t say anything when he slips into my room, closes, and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything when he tugs the comforter away from my sleep-warm body and crawls up the bed like a panther. He’s wearing tight black underwear that does nothing to hide his massive erection, and knowing he’s as desperate for this as I am is thrilling.
He doesn’t kiss my mouth. He’s not interested in preliminaries, and it’s a relief. He rolls me until I’m on my front, stuffing a pillow under my hips, so my ass is in the air. With my face mashed in the other pillow and my hair wild, I can’t see his expression or anticipate his movements.
His hand grazes the roundness of my ass, and I get the feeling that if we were in a motel room and not the spare room of our parents’ house that he’d make it red with punishment. His fingers find my entrance, and he pushes deep inside, his knuckles twisting over a place that makes me grunt. It’s harsh and raw and perfectly without affection. It’s enough to make me whimper before he’s even touched my clit. With a hand pressing down on the small of my back, I know not to move. Jefferson is in control, and there is nothing I can do to change it.
The slick sound of my pussy fills the air. I’m wetter than I should be. Wet enough that he stops suddenly and shifts closer.
His cock is in me just as fast as his fingers were, but it’s a thicker intrusion, and I gasp at that first thrust. His hand leaves my back and finds the back of my neck, holding me exactly where he wants me. I expect him to move fast, but he doesn’t. There’s a cool deliberateness to the way he fucks me, as different to our first time as night and day. He rolls his hips and pushes up with each deep thrust, nudging that spot inside me with a precision that I can’t explain. He’s a master of my body, all-knowing and all-controlling. A manipulator of my insides. I’m so turned on that my thighs are wet, so high I can barely think.
His hand at my neck tightens, my hair gathered until it pulls. There is a faint squeak as the bed moves, and he slows again. Oh, God, I need more. I need it hard and fast, raw, and dirty. I need all his angry passion unleashed on me so that I can’t think about anything except his cock in me and his hands holding me tight.
Jefferson speeds and slows, speeds and slows, each time pulling back just before I’m going to come. I can’t take it anymore, but I have to. I have to reach my release even if I have to beg.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please.”
A whoosh of air leaves Jefferson’s lips, and he pulls out of me in a flash, the bed moving. I push up on my arms, turning to see where he’s gone, but I don’t get time to focus before his arm is around my middle, and he’s hauling me to a standing position. I don’t get to blink before I’m pressed face-first into the wall, my hips tugged backward so that my ass is sticking out. He spreads his legs wide over the outside of mine, bending his knees to get to the right height to penetrate me again. When I’m stuffed full of him again, I feel like I can breathe.
My cheekbone hurts against the cool plaster, my breasts feel chilled, and my hard nipples are mashed against the wall, but I don’t care because everything he does to me wipes me clean.
He fucks me so hard that my feet leave the ground. I scramble against the wall as he holds me tightly against him with his tattooed arm that speaks of tragedy.
This is a tragedy of sorts, a tragedy of two people too broken to connect, and too broken to do anything other than rut against each other with animal desperation. When I come, it knocks the air from my lungs. My mouth stretches wide into a frantic O, light flashing so bright behind my eyelids that I feel as though I’ve been launched into the blazing heat of a star. Jefferson fucks me through it all, no let-up in his pace, but when he comes, I know he feels it too.
His fingers grasp at the soft flesh of my stomach, his face buried into my mess of hair. The trembling of his body tells me a thousand things about him that he’d rather not reveal, and when he drops to his knees, taking me with him, the universe collapses.
Jefferson is what I want but not what I need. He’s obsidian to my darkness, shatters to my splinters. Too like me. He holds me for as long as it takes him to reform into the wounded man he is, and when he has strength in his legs, Jefferson pulls out from inside me, staggering to his feet. I don’t turn to watch him dress, or see him walk away. I don’t get up from the floor until my breathing has slowed, and my mind has quieted.
I sleep better than I have in months.
