I hate him for it. I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. The bliss fades, and the familiar feeling of fury and hatred reawaken. He doesn’t speak, but I feel the power bubbling beneath his skin. I can feel the desire. The thirst. The absolute ravenous beast threatening to tear from his skin. If it does, I can no longer trust myself to stop him from consuming me from the inside out. And the realization makes me want to cry. I let it fucking happen again. With the gun, and now this, why do I keep letting this happen? He’s forcing himself on me, we both know that. But in the end, he had me wanting it just as much as he did. He had me nearly begging for it. Whether it was his gun fucking me or his tongue, my legs fell open by the time it was over. Not to mention we just made out like two horny teenagers about to lose their virginity. I don’t know what the fuck to do with that information. Or how the hell to even process it. A moment of silence passes, the air disturbed only by our heavy breathing. I’m not strong enough to open my eyes and face what happened. I’m scared of what I’11 do—what I'll say. For the first time, the asshole in the sky finally listens to my pleas and compels this man to reach over, untie the ropes and walk the fuck away. I force my eyes open and watch him go, swallowing the venom that threatens to spew from my mouth. If I let it loose, I know itll just result in him carrying out another threat. He pauses at the door, turning his head just enough for the moonlight to reveal his sharp jawline, the wetness coating his skin, and a hint of a scar. He doesn’t speak, but he does bite his bottom lip hard, trapping whatever meaningless words on his tongue. Right along with the taste of my pussy. Finally, he turns, the door gently clicking shut behind him. For the second time, I'm left alone. Decimated and in ruins. And again, I let the tears fall freely while I work to pick up the pieces.