Chapter 5

Her feet did not want to move, and he half turned and repeated the word in a harsher tone. Amelia dragged in air and walked over to the bed. He pointed again with the same word. She crawled onto the bed, her limbs feeling as if she swum through tar. Amelia turned onto her back, her thighs firmly pressed together, and her eyes fixed to the ceiling. The paint overhead had been touched up, the tone and texture not an exact match to the original. She could see the edges of the roller marks and traced their lines with her eyes as she felt the mattress depress as he joined her on the bed. How many strokes of paint had it taken to cover the patch? She felt his hand part her legs, and the brush of his skin against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. What had happened to the ceiling that had caused a repair to be needed? Amelia felt the touch of liquid, and knew he was using more oil. She was thankful for that small mercy, hoping that it would make what would come easier. Why did the colour match and yet not? His lips brushed over her cheek, and his eyes blocked her view of the paint, the dark fall of his hair over his shoulder brushed along her breast. She closed her eyes seeking solace in the dark. He said something, his fingers closing on her jaw. He said it again and she opened her eyes. He nodded, satisfied. Look at me. He was touching her, trying to bring her pleasure, and she wished with the entirety of her soul that he would be successful, for surely that would be better than pain, but her body stubbornly refused to acknowledge the potential to be seduced. It would be easier, Amelia thought, with her eyes closed, but he wanted her to look at him, and she feared what he would do if she refused. He did not try to kiss her. She was grateful for that. The thought of his tongue in her mouth was even more intrusive than his c-k in her. She locked her eyes on his and began to count the flecks of gold that ringed his pupils, hissing out a breath as she felt him begin to push into her. His pupils dilated, and she felt the press of his chest against hers as he inhaled, filling his lungs, releasing the breath with a moan as he worked himself deeper. Her fingers clenched the bedclothes and she exhaled, trying to relax and release the muscles that wanted to refuse him entry. She could feel the different textures of the bed cover. It was striped, in the same colour, an effect achieved through satin and matte thread sewn in contrast. Perhaps that was the problem with the paint on the roof, she thought. They had chosen the wrong gloss. He said something, his tone soft and he eased out, before pushing in again, and she felt her body stretch and give. She closed her eyes, biting down on her back teeth. He said the same phrase again, and she opened her eyes, tears of pain escaping down her cheeks. He caught one on his fingertip and tasted it before leaning forward and running his tongue over her cheeks, lapping up her tears, the surface of his tongue on her skin abrasive. She could feel his scars, the raised ridges of them, as he pulled back and rocked forward again. "Oh, god," she gripped the bedclothes like they were a lifeline, her body strung between discomfort and pain. He murmured something, a low growl of sound that was oddly soothing and she felt her body respond, easing his passage. He felt the reaction, and repeated the sound, ducking his head and pressing his lips to the pressure point beneath her ear. He breathed the growl into her ear, and her vision glazed, her body finally relaxing. He chuckled and murmured something, before repeating the growl, stroking out and into her with more force, sinking so deep, she felt the strike of him against her cervix. He caught her hands in his, threading his fingers between hers, and holding them imprisoned to either side of her head as he worked his hips against her, the growl almost a constant purr of sound in her ear. She felt her body melt, the release within her, the heightening of sensation, the tingle across her skin, and the feel of him within her changed from a discomfort. She could almost count the ridges of the scars on him as he thrusted into her, and each seemed designed to rub her in just the right spot. Her fingers closed around his, gripping him back, as she arched into him. "Oh, f-k." The exclamation was dragged from her, her body flaring to life beneath his with a ferocity that had her heels digging into the mattress as she sought more. She freed her hand from his in order to hold his hips to her, her fingers sinking into the muscles, as she arched breathless. His eyes were locked on hers again, the pupils almost eclipsing the iris. She came, clutching him to her, astonished, and felt him push deeper as he jerked within her, and the spill of his seed, in quantities that she was sure wasn t shared by her people. He groaned as he came, the cords on his neck standing out and his forehead against hers, maintaining the eye contact that seemed so important to him. He remained deep in her as he sank over her, and she could feel the quick and hard beat of his heart against her ribs, feel the drift of his breath against her skin. He murmured something into her ear, with that same throaty growl of sound. She shuddered in response. He chuckled and lifted onto his elbows before dragging his nose from the corner of her jaw to her hairline near her brown and down again, his breath and stubble grazing her skin. He rocked his hips against hers, and she realized that he had not moved within her, somehow fixed into place. His eyes hooded, and the expression on his face was one of pleasure. He continued to push against the binding of his flesh within her, testing the give, until he groaned, and she felt him come again, pushing off his toes, and driving his hips against hers. He stroked his tongue up her neck, the roughness dragging against her skin, and growled again, a constant rise and fall of sound that seemed to trigger a reaction in her body. She sobbed in a breath, pushing her body against his wantonly, and he pressed back, seeming to know exactly where she needed the pressure and how, until she came again, and she felt the spill of his seed as he followed. This third orgasm seemed to slicken her enough to release him and he eased out with a moan, rolling onto his back and closing his fist about himself. He rolled back onto his side and pushed his fingers into her whilst he stroked himself. His thumb pressed against her clitoris, and he watched her face as he drove his fingers into her, before withdrawing and stroking the wetness over her skin, massaging the combination of them into her as he had done the oils. His growl was fierce, and he returned his fingers into her, pressing upwards as if he knew exactly the erogenous zones of her body. She gripped his forearm, not sure if she did so to try to hold his hand against her, or in protestation of the almost brutal delving into her flesh. His growl changed tone, and he thrusted his slickened fingers into his mouth before closing his mouth over hers, his tongue stroking against hers so that she could taste the bitterness of his seed as he gripped her hips and drove himself back into her. She sobbed in a breath, the changing tone of his body against hers frightening her, his entry this time rough and demanding, causing hers to rebel against the invasion, muscles locking. He growled darkly into her ear, his hand closing on her hips and his nails digging into her skin. She saw the fight play across his face, before he relaxed his grip, and the growl changed tone, gentling again, until her body sung beneath it, its rumble broken only by his moans, and his hands closing on her shoulders, holding her still as he pushed into her, his eyes locked to hers. He came, and this time she felt the pressure of him within her increase, the slide of him grip, and he pushed against this tightened hold, so that his seed pressed against her cervix, as if he sought its entry to her womb through penetration. He collapsed onto her heavily, the growl a distant purr that sent gentle shudders through her, echoes of orgasm. Like a cat, she thought. A well sated cat. His breathing evened, and his heartbeat slowed, and she sensed that he had fallen asleep. She stared up at the patch of paint and wondered if the experience had been worse or better than her fears.