Merciless Union by Faith Summers

22

Lucca

Aria lies on her back, and I slide into her warm pussy, sinking deep until I’m buried to the hilt.

Fuck me. How does this feel better and better every time?

I should be used to her body by now.

Having sex with her shouldn’t leave me like I need to have more of her when I’m already inside, but it does.

I grip her hips and start pumping into her, and I’m already thinking of how I plan to take her next time.

In the same breath, I’m desperate for next time to happen fast because I don’t want to break this spell we’re in where she’s giving in to the fact that she wants me.

She arches her back against the sheet, and her glorious breasts bounce with every powerful thrust I give her.

I can’t help myself. I have to suck them. I lean forward, pulling out of her a little so I can feast on her breasts. There’s no way I can see tits like that—ripe and succulent with her rosy, pink nipples erect—and not suck.

There’s also no way I can act like I’m the dominant party in this when her hand strokes over my head.

“You like that,” I say, knowing she does. I just want to hear her say it.

“Yes,” she mutters. “Don’t stop.”

“A little more, and then I’ll fuck you properly. Is that what you want?” I thrust hard into her pussy, so hard her body jolts, and she sucks in air.

“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”

Fucking hell, listen to her. I could listen to her say those words until the end of time.

She squirms beneath me when I pin her arms above her head and return to her breasts to suck.

I suck her until I feel the walls of her pussy spasming around the head of my dick, then as she comes, I straighten up to fuck her.

I push my dick deeper into her sweet cunt and claim her again.

I act like I’m so in control.

Normally I am. I can talk my way out of anything, and I’d like to think I can do it with everything.

But not with her. My only saving grace is she doesn’t know I’m obsessed with her.

She doesn’t know I can’t control myself when I’m with her no more than I can control the fucking weather.

This craziness that takes us when we’re together isn’t just because I like fucking her. It’s because I don’t want to stop. It’s because I can’t stop.

It’s gone past merely saying I can’t get enough. That part is a given I already knew.

This is something else that I’m calling obsession for the sake of naming it.

If she ever saw the moment of weakness, I’m not sure what she would do, and I hate that shift in power that makes me drop my guard.

Most of all, I don’t want her to see how her departure from my life would fuck me over.

I don’t want her to leave, and I don’t want to fail.

The girl she was years ago would never leave me, and now I want her to remember that. It’s the opposite now when it comes to any memories she may have of me.

I want her to remember every fucking one of them, so she’ll stay.

She comes again, but I’m not done with her yet.

I could go on for another few hours, and I have the perfect idea to take things up a notch—something outside the vanilla for us.

She’s breathing hard when I release her, but that wild sexual spark is still flicking through her eyes.

I flip her over on her hands and knees and run my finger over her tight little asshole. The memory of the way she responded to my touch there earlier hardens my dick. She’s responding the same way now as I fondle her rosette.

She likes me playing with her there, so she’ll like what I’m about to do next.

“Printsessa, I want to take you here. Will you let me?” I only ask because I don’t want to freak her out.

She glances back at me, and the shadow of worry crosses over her face, but there is also curiosity. Curiosity always wins in the end.

“Will it hurt me?” she asks.

That answers my next question, which might have been a foolish one considering what I know. I was going to ask if she’d ever tried anal sex before. Either she wouldn’t remember, or she just wouldn’t have.

She’s a good girl. I don’t think she would have, and she already told me she spent the last couple of years recovering from the accident.

So, I know what I’m about to do is claim the last virgin passage in her body.

“Yes, but it will feel good. I promise. Say no, and I won’t do it. There is always next time.” I want her to know there’s always going to be next time with me, and I want her to try to resist that desire to refuse me.

She glances in the mirror on the wardrobe to our left, and I catch the trepidation on her pretty face.

Anyone would assume that’s for the worry over the pain she might feel. I know her too well, however, to make such an assumption. My wife looks that way because she wants to say yes to me, and she’s struggling to say no. All fucking night, she’s been saying yes to me, and if she agrees to this, it will be one more thing I own.

Like the devil I am, I slide up to her so she can see me in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, wife, you can pretend you don’t enjoy it.” I wink, and she winces, looking away from the erotic reflection of us in the mirror. “What’s your answer, Printsessa?”

“Yes.”

Of course, it fucking is. I never got to dirty up the princess in those missing years. I can make up for it now all I want.

I smile wider and rub her juices over her asshole, pushing in deep so that it gives me enough lube to enjoy her and for her to enjoy me too.

Once I give her what I think is enough, I take my dick and push into her asshole.

She’s tight as fuck, and any thoughts I had of lasting for hours, fade when the pleasure tightens my balls.

I don’t fucking care, though, if I last one minute. She feels amazing.

She moans and grips onto the sheet when I inch deeper.

“It’s okay, you’ll feel good soon,” I assure her, and as her passage opens to take my length, I check her expression in the mirror. When I see the pleasure on her face, I start a slow pump until we both get in a rhythm I can no longer control.

Her mouth falls open when I start to fuck her ass harder.

The insatiable pleasure paralyzes me. Being inside her feels too good.

I’m too close to a climax to think of trying to garner my lost control.

The building pleasure erupts inside me moments later, making us both cry out from the intensity.

I blow into her, thundering my release into her tight hole. And fuck me, as I pull out of her and she collapses onto the bed, I’m already thinking of doing that again.

I move closer to check I didn’t hurt her. My loss of control meant I couldn’t gauge my movements.

“Are you okay?” I rasp.

She nods slowly and pants. “Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“Yeah…” Her eyes lock with mine, but she turns her face away.

That’s fine. I can see her reflection in the mirror. The conflict is back.

“Do you want to do that again next time?”

“Yes...”

I smile as I slide off the bed and make my way into the bathroom to clean myself off. Then I turn on the cold tap and wet one of the towels for her.

When I get back out to the room, she’s in the same position. The chandelier above beams down on her glowing skin that’s stained with the same afterglow as mine.

She couldn’t look more beautiful than she does now. I don’t think I could want her any more than I do now either.

She catches sight of me as I move closer to her, and her gaze shifts to my reflection when I climb on the bed behind.

I notice the blush that sweeps down her cheek when she catches sight of my half-erect cock. She looks away from that too but loosens her tense shoulders when I start cleaning her off.

Once I’m done, I set the cloth on the ground and lie next to her. I slip my arm around her tiny waist and look at us as we both stare in the mirror.

This was what happened to the boy and the girl who used to play in the meadow.

Me, her Peter Pan, and her my Wendy. But we can’t seem to find Neverland, and I wonder if we ever will.

“Did you ever come and look for me after you gave me the rose?” she asks, breaking the silence. “Was that really it, until you wanted to kill me?”

I consider the question. Once again, there are many answers I could give. None will suffice or redeem me, so I don’t try. I can’t tonight.

“Yes, that was it,” I rasp.

She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and when she opens them again, tears make them look glassy.

“So, I never knew that day was goodbye or what happened to you?”

“No.”

I saw her after her accident, but that doesn’t count. That’s not what she’s asking me. That part is almost irrelevant now.

“She missed you,” she says after a long pause. “I feel it. The girl I used to be misses you, but I don’t remember being her. It’s strange feeling like this, and I can’t remember how I got here. I think I would have eventually hated you for what you did. I know myself; I would have looked for you everywhere for years, and I wouldn’t have stopped until I was made to stop. Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t remember.”

A tear drifts down her cheek, and she closes her eyes. I stare at her until her breathing stills, and I know she’s asleep.

Again, she fell asleep disappointed in me and who I used to be.

I know back then, I didn’t just turn my back on years of friendship; I turned away from her.

Maybe the reason she can’t remember any of that time, and it comes to her in dreams, is because I was the first guy to break her heart.

I’m a memory by itself she’s trying to suppress, and right as I watch her, I feel like I’m fighting the one battle I just might lose.