“Cum,” she said. “Ah!” She said it as I shifted my weight. She said it as I pulled at her thick buttock and pushed up into her pussy with my hips. She said it as I grabbed her back and torqued her to the ground. The knife at my neck was there, but suddenly wasn’t. It clattered to the floor as we tumbled. We seemed to be a ball of wet limbs and tangled clothing for a breathless, sightless time, then suddenly she was on the ground, on her back, her fingers scratching at my neck, and I was on top, plugged inside her, and I reached down and pulled one long leg up against my body to open her pussy wider.
“Take it, Courtney-”
“Motherfucker,” she hissed. Her eyes went wide and to the toilet bowl just above her head. I pulled her hands off my neck and pinned them to the tile. She fought against me the whole time but my muscles bulged, hot with lust, and my grip on her wrists unyielding. Her open palms grabbed at nothing, her outstretched arms forced her exposed breasts up, so that their full, rippling bounty was flattened over her torn shirt. I heard her high heel knock the bathroom floor. And of course between her legs, between her open, limber legs, where her bare pussy shed its juices under her torn, mangled panties, was me, slipping it to her, guiding my tight, insistent penis between the hungry lips of her devious sex.
“You like it better this way?” I whispered into her ear. “You don’t have to do the work. You can just let me fuck you until I cum.”
“Can’t… make me… cum…” Courtney panted.
I laid a wet, passionate kiss on her mouth. It was devoid of love and full, bursting with all the ravenous urges I’d built up since I’d seen her this morning. I was glad the knife was now somewhere behind the toilet, but I was plunging harder and harder into her body and I wanted to cum. Yet I refused to unless I could make her do it, and believe it. The squelches of our sex only made the hot air stink more fragrantly of two angry people fucking. I grabbed her hair and tilted her head back.
“You like it dirty?”
Hands freed, she reached down between our bucking hips. I felt her fingers work at the skirt, try to free it from my pounding hips.
“You got cum all over my skirt,” she gasped.
I reached down and pulled at it. She worked it from her side. I felt something give in the material. Something snapped. Her other hand reached down to take the clasp and open it. Then it was off, ruffled and pinned under us, like the towel and the rug and the shreds of her shirt and panties. I slowed my strokes enough to savor the curved entrance to her soft pussy.
I bent my neck to pop one of her breasts into my mouth. It was dotted with quivering perspiration. Her breath was ragged.
Suddenly she reached up and clutched my shoulders. I licked up her chest to her neck and chin. And her eyes burned into me.
“Hate you. I hate you.”
I wonder how much cum I’d already spilled inside her. Every time I felt myself on the cusp of orgasm I forced my body to clamp it down, but for every strain I knew a droplet of clear precum squeezed out. It was unavoidable. It was amazing.
“You gave me everything,” I gloated to her, on top of her, my fingers biting her ass cheek and hiking her leg even higher.
“You took everything,” she rasped. “Taking it,” she panted when I thrust. “Tak-ing… it…”
“I’m going to make you cum,” I said.
“Can’t force me-”
“I’ll force you.”
“Force me,” she said. Her mouth now refused to close. Her upper lip was spotted with sweat; her pink tongue was writhing in her mouth. She had to breathe through that mouth, had to kiss me with it when I made her, but she couldn’t close it; the sound that issued out of it, a high but deep groan that pressed up against her stomach, wouldn’t allow it. Her teeth grit together for a rough instant. “Force… me…”
“You love it,” I said.
“I hate it.”
Her leg had ridden as high as I could get it with my hand in that position. I reached under so that I was now holding it up from underneath, the back of her knee between my thumb and forefinger. The sweat running down from her calves, from the tight straps of her high heels, flowed over my knuckles and to my wrist. Our hips slapped together. Her other leg went up, the knee pointed to the ceiling. The heel scraped over the floor.
“You fucking dick,” she ranted. “Your fucking dick-”
“Inside you-”
“Inside me-”
“Cum on my dick. Cum for me, Courtney.”
“Forced me…” she gasped.
“You forced me.”
“I didn’t force your dick between my tits.”
“Give it to me, baby.”
“Didn’t… ah… nah… force your… cock…”
“Into your ass.”
“My ass.” She shuddered. “Now,” she said. “Don’t stop-”
“Let me hear it.”
“Oh my God.”
My dick slid back and forth, never stopping, her ass slapped the bathroom floor. She lunged for my neck. I felt her teeth bite into my shoulder. I reached up, pushed her moist back up, curved my pelvis up to meet her bucking pussy. She came silently, biting into my shoulder, her whole body a wicked vibration.
An instant later I came as well. My penis stuck bolt upright and ejaculated, pumping Courtney full of my semen. The thick deluge that I’d been holding back, it all came, shooting, unending. Courtney let out a little shriek when it happened – nothing loud enough for the house to hear – nothing that sounded pained, but a tail added to her own unleashed orgasm, something that ended her quivering and transformed it into full body squeezes. She clamped over me, with her legs, her arms, her mouth, and released all of them. If my hand hadn’t been behind her head she would have knocked back against the toilet bowl.
The two of us shivered together without speaking, her arms draped loosely over my shoulders.
Somehow, and some time later, we got to our feet. We gathered the pieces of clothing and the towel, into the middle of the room. She bent down, her breasts hanging, and undid the straps on her heels. Then I started the shower.
* * *
It was the practical thing to shower together. We did it without speaking. I let her use the water first, then I came forward and soaped myself. Finally, however, it was just too much to see her splashed in water, the white suds dripping all down that buxom body. I pushed her against the shower wall, my hands cupping her breasts, then her bottom, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She kissed me weakly, a hand skating down my back but not knowing, truly, where to go. I thought I might even feel another tingle in my crotch. But it was Courtney pushing me away.
“No,” she said quietly. “I really mean no. No.”
We parted. She finished shampooing her hair, then she stepped out and grabbed a towel from the sink cupboard. When I shut off the water she handed me another one. She had already bound the ripped articles of clothing in another towel. I didn’t ask what she planned to do with it. The straight razor had been returned to the cupboard.
She sort of nodded, not looking at me, and reached for the door. But I stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
She didn’t say stop, she didn’t say no, she just looked at my hand, and then at me. It wasn’t really an angry look; it was tired, and more than a little ambiguous.
I started to say, “I want-”
But she cut me off with, “Yeah.” Her dark eyes burned into mine, without hate, but without anything I recognized. She opened the door and was gone, her hips under the white towel shifting, sashaying, into the shadows.
I shook my head. Well, who’s to say what I wanted, or what Courtney wanted beyond the money? I didn’t know, and other than the fact that grandmothers die and I’m a bad boyfriend, I wasn’t going to know anything more. At least not tonight. My balls ached.
I went through the door to the guest bedroom, to the little yellow light by the side of the bed. Tara was sitting up with her glasses on, reading a book from one of the ancient shelves.
“You were in there for a long time,” she said, looking up.
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly exhausted. I threw my towel over a chair and wandered heavily to the other side of the bed. I slid in next to her and turned over.
“Hey,” she said.
“What?”
Her voice rose. “Where’d you get that bite mark on your neck?”