Ignite

He moved fast, gripping my thigh in one hand and my face with the other. The thrusts were deep, hard, punishing. He was expelling all his pent up anger, pushing in as deeply as possible without allowing me a break to recover. I opened my mouth and let out a pained sound, but he swallowed it again with his mouth, grunting against me. He sounded primal and felt animalistic. Somewhere in the midst of it, there was a gradual build of pleasure underneath the pain, but the more he thrust like this inside of me, the harder it was to concentrate on that pleasure.

“Slow down,” I whimpered against his heavy breath.

“No,” he retorted, driving his tongue into my mouth.

I tried to use my legs to slow him down, pressing them as hard against his hips as possible, but it was futile. He overpowered me, and though it was painful, I didn’t want to tell him to stop. It felt too good being with him like this. When he brought his mouth back down to mine, I moved away from his kiss, and he let out an irritated grunt, gripping my hair firmly at the scalp to hold me in place. He leaned in to kiss me, but I grabbed at his lip and bit down hard. He hissed, staring at me with a mixture of anger and arousal in his face. It didn’t stop him from kissing me, though. He took my mouth again, cautiously this time, lapping his tongue against mine.

He tasted so fucking good.

“Slow down,” I repeated in his mouth.

“Fuck no,” he groaned.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Good.” Why did I find that so fucking hot? I tugged hard on his wet hair like he was tugging mine, wanting him to feel what he was doing to me. Then I brought my hands under his arms and over his shoulder blades and pressed my fingertips into his back. I lost myself to the punishing rhythm of his thrusts, taking every bit of the aches he was giving me for the sake of being with him. He broke away from my mouth and trailed his tongue down my neck. I moaned when he nipped me with his teeth, and then sucked fiercely until my skin throbbed. The act had him slowing down, and abruptly I felt like he’d stripped my pleasure. Didn’t I want him to slow down? Confused, I grinded my hips into him, trying to bring him deeper inside of me. I liked the mixture of pain and pleasure; it was something I felt I needed.

“Faster,” I breathed.

He pressed his lips over mine and, to my horror, slowed down entirely, giving me shallow thrusts that put my pleasure at a frustrated stand still.

“Jaxon, please,” I begged in a state of delirious need.

“Did you miss this?” The random question had me opening my eyes to look at him. He was staring right into my eyes with a gritty, furious look.

“Yes,” I admitted, fighting the ache behind my eyes.

“Does my dick feel good buried inside of you?”

“Yes.”

“Better than him?”

His hard voice sent chills down my spine, yet lost in the arousal of the moment, I whimpered, “Yes.”

He thrust hard again, painfully digging his hand into my thigh while pulling my hair with the other. He buried his face in my neck, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want me to see him. We’d always looked at each other while we made love.

A tear escaped just then at the realization this wasn’t us making love. It was impersonal – the roughness that became of Jaxon was all the more cemented, even in sex.

My body betrayed my thoughts. It was aching for that release he’d started and was on the way of finishing. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I dug my nails into his back, muttering yes, yes over and over again… My breathing quickened, my groans became louder, and soon I clenched him as much as my strength would allow and felt the warmth of pleasure coat my body from head to toe. He followed after me, thrusting once, twice, and then stalling at his own release. He went limp, breathing hard against my neck. I could feel his heart beats through his chest, and when they eventually slowed down, he moved out of me and lay on his back beside me.

We were shoulder to shoulder, breathing in and out in silence. I didn’t know what I’d expected after this. Maybe I’d hoped, even for the briefest moment, I’d feel that connection again.

Only, I didn’t. It fled somewhere in the midst of our fucking. It was… strange. I felt misplaced, out of sorts… hurt. Yeah, I felt hurt most of all. There was no warmth like there’d always been after sex with Jaxon.

I grabbed the covers and pulled them over me, suddenly ashamed at throwing myself at him like that.

He threw his legs off the bed and sat up with his back against me. I hastily wiped another escaped tear from my eye. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he sat like that with his head straight for seconds that felt like hours. 

“You’ve changed,” he finally said, and without a clear shot of his face and the flat tone in his voice, I couldn’t determine what mood he was in.

“Changed how?” I managed out.

“You’ve grown. Body wise anyway.”

I sighed, wearily. “Bigger was the word, wasn’t it?” The question wasn’t malicious; it was actually coated with sadness. Had I become that repulsive to him? Is that why he didn’t want to look at me?

Instead, his answer surprised me.

“Better is what I should have said.” His voice went tight, and I wondered if he was struggling to be nice to me. His shoulders slumped and then a hand raked through his thick hair. “Everything that I said to you the last two days had been said out of anger. I… I didn’t mean a lot of it. There’s just…” He exhaled and shook his head. “Get dressed and have your bags ready. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Disappointed at the change of subject, I watched him get up, butt naked, and gather his clothes off the floor. He changed with his back to me, dressed in the same soaked clothing and bloodied top. Even when he was done he didn’t look my way. Decidedly not wanting to be nude around him, I gathered the covers around me and walked to the suitcase in the corner of the room. I grabbed the first things I saw: hobo looking lounge pants and an oversized hoodie. These were my fat clothes I often wore to bed in cold weather. I went to the bathroom and changed, taking an insanely long time because every bit of my body felt tender and sore. My insides felt mashed to bits, and I had to pause to take in a deep breath of air. It was like having knives at the pit of my stomach. Is this what he wanted, for me to feel pain even after our time together?