LITMIR.BIZ

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my hair absent-mindedly, as if he was petting Charlie. ‘I try to ignore you when you start pushing me, but I can’t fucking resist it.’

      ‘You crave it,’ I said, running my hands up and down his thighs to the same rhythm as his stroking of my hair. ‘You need it.’

      ‘Yeah,’ he said starkly, self-loathing in his expression. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

      ‘What’s wrong with us? I need it, too.’

      We sat there like that for awhile, touching each other as if we couldn’t help ourselves – and maybe we couldn’t. Maybe this was love, even if it was not what we thought love should be.

      He looked at me, searched my face as if seeking some elusive answer. ‘What now?’

      I took a deep breath and let it out in a long, ragged sigh. I felt as if a great tension had gone out of my shoulders. Something in me had opened up. For better or worse, he knew my darkest secret. And I knew his.

      ‘It’s on the table now. Let’s see where it goes.’

      ‘You’re going to have to take the lead here,’ he said, as he pushed my hair behind my ears again and cupped my face. ‘This is so outside the realm of my experience I don’t know what to do. It feels … wrong.’

      ‘But I want it,’ I reminded him. ‘I’m asking for this.’

      He just shook his head.

      ‘But I said I want it.’ I was louder, more forceful. ‘Slap me. Slap my face.’

      He went very still. ‘No.’

      I could feel the familiar anger beginning to rise. He was teasing me now, playing with my emotions. ‘Slap me, Brian. Stop messing with my fucking head. Slap me.’

      ‘Why should I?’

      ‘Because I want you to.’

      He laughed. ‘Not good enough. Why should I do what you want, when you’ve been such a bitch to me?’

      ‘And a slut,’ I said, putting that taboo word on the table, too. In for a penny, in for a pound.

      He blinked at me, his breath catching in his throat. ‘Yeah? A slut?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘What else?’ he asked.

      It was my turn to taunt. ‘You tell me.’

      ‘A little whore,’ he said, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. ‘Whore.’

      I was wet. I could feel the wetness gathering between my thighs, soaking through the cotton crotch of my panties. ‘You want me to be a whore.’

      ‘Yeah, I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to slap you just because you want me to, you bitch.’ There was a note of anger in his voice, as if the resentment of the past five years of frustration and miscommunication was bubbling up in him, too.

      ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Slap me because you want to. You’ve always wanted to. You want to slap the smile right off my face, don’t you? You want it so bad you can taste it like you can taste my pussy on your tongue.’

      His hand cracked across my face before I even had time to blink. It wasn’t hard, less sting than shock, but it shut me up. I gasped, or maybe he did, and we sat there blinking at each other. I instinctively raised my hand to cup my cheek, but he pulled it away and put it on his bulging crotch.

      ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?

      I nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Want me to fuck you, little slut?’

      ‘Oh God, yeah,’ I groaned. I pulled off my raincoat, stifling under the weight of it. Still kneeling in front of him, I stripped my gown over my head. ‘Fuck me.’

      ‘I’m not done yet,’ he said.

      This time, I was prepared for the slap across my cheek. Same spot as before, so I really felt it this time. Felt the heat in my face, the throb of the sting corresponding with the throb between my thighs. I stared at him, naked except for my soaking wet panties, thinking I didn’t even know who he was. Thinking I loved him, wanted him, needed him. Thinking, if he stopped now I would die.

      He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me down to the floor with him. ‘Little bitch,’ he growled, dragging me across his lap by my hair and smacking my ass hard with his other hand. ‘You fucking little bitch, driving me crazy all this time.’

      I whimpered, my ass burning with every hard slap. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you!’

      He flipped me over on my back and palmed my pussy through my panties. ‘Your pussy is so fucking wet. You love this.’

      ‘Yes,’ I gasped. ‘I do.’

      ‘Good,’ he said, roughly stripping me of my panties with one hand while he got his pants undone and his cock out with the other. ‘So do I.’

      He was in me with one quick thrust. I gasped at the onslaught, the sudden sensation of fullness. He sat up, taking me with him, so that he was on his knees and I was wrapped around him as he buried himself inside me. He caught my hair in one hand and pulled it back until my neck arched painfully. Then he slapped me again – not my face this time, my breasts. First one, then the other. I gasped at the sensation, my nipples tingling in pain and pleasure, my clit throbbing, his cock hitting just the right spot.

      I came, moaning, crying, as he slapped my face, then my breasts, then pinched my nipples hard, once, twice, all the while whispering filthy, nasty things to me. Telling me what a whore I was, what a fucking slut, what a nasty, dirty girl. I eagerly agreed to all of it as I came on his cock. I even gave him a few more words to use, which only made him fuck me harder.

      As my orgasm ebbed, he lowered me back to the floor gently – gently, after all he’d said and done to me – and covered my body with his. He fucked me with hard, steady thrusts to get him where he needed to go, to bring him to where I already was. His breath coming in fast pants, his cock swelling inside me, his balls slapping my ass. Brian. Solid, dependable Brian. My boyfriend, my love. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding him to me, clenching my pussy around him, surrounding him with my passion.

      ‘Fuck your slut, baby.’ I whispered the words like a love poem again and again. ‘Fuck your little whore. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Fill me with your come.’

      He came with a bestial moan. Body tense as he arched up over me, he thrust into me one last time before putting his full weight on me, our hot, damp bodies pressed together in a way that was so familiar, after an experience unlike any we had ever shared.

      He whispered something in my ear, so soft I couldn’t hear him.

      ‘What, sweetheart?’

      ‘I said, I love you,’ he whispered again. ‘I love you, I’m in love with you, I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you. Whatever this is, however fucked up we are, I love you. You need to know that. You need to believe it.’

      I cradled his head against my shoulder, shifting my hips so that I could bear his weight for as long as he needed to lie there. ‘I do, Brian. I know it. I really do. And I don’t think we’re fucked up.’

      ‘No?’

      I pulled his head down and kissed him hard. ‘No. We were made for each other. I have never loved you more than I do right now.’

      And as I said the words, I realised how true it was. It didn’t matter if everyone else thought we were fucked up. I didn’t believe that any more and I would make sure he didn’t believe it either. He was mine, I was his and whatever ‘this’ was, it was our story and ours alone.

      And that was all that mattered.

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