Free Because He Torments Me by Hannah Ford Page A

understand?”
    I nodded.
    He pulled me toward him, until I was straddling
him.   He was still inside of me, and
now I could feel him against my clit, and my breath hitched in my chest.
    He stared into my eyes and began moving slowly
inside of me, using his hands to hold my hips and pull me down on his
cock.   I didn’t move , letting him have complete ownership of my body, knowing if
I didn’t the punishment would be swift and severe.
    My hands wrapped around him, feeling the hard
ridges of his muscular shoulder blades, the perfect smoothness of his golden
skin.
    He pulled me toward him, my breasts rubbing
against his chest, my nipples standing at attention.
    “Sir,” I begged.   “I need to come.”
    “Come, baby,” he said.   “I want to feel you come on me.”
    His words pushed me over the cliff, and I came
for the second time, my previous orgasm doing nothing to diminish the ferociousness
of this one, and I called out his name as it pulsed through me.
    “Good girl,” he groaned and then he was looking
at me, his eyes on mine as he began rocking himself harder into me.
    “Look down,” he said.   “Look at my dick going inside of you.”
    I looked down and watched him disappearing
inside of me.   He was so hard, so
big, and I had a hard time believing I was able to take him all.
    “Tell me how bad you want my come.”
    “I want it,” I said, panting.   “I want to feel it.”
    He grabbed me around the waist, pushed me down
on the bed, the soft romantic rocking he’d just been doing replaced with
animalistic thrusting as he used my body for his need.
    A moment later I felt him release inside of me,
and when he collapsed on top of me, sweaty and panting, I wrapped my arms
around his body and held him to me.
    I could feel his heart beating against mine,
and when he pulled away from me, I instantly missed him, wanted him back next
to me.
    He rolled to the other side of the bed, reached
down and undid the cuffs around my ankles.
    He crossed the room to the dresser and pulled
out a pair of track pants, pulled them on, then pulled out a long t-shirt and
set it on the end of the bed, I assumed for me.
    “Would you like some water, Adriana?”   His tone was slightly detached, and I
didn’t like it.   It reminded me of
the way he’d talked to me that morning in Florida, when I’d come downstairs and
he’d been sitting at the table reading the paper.
    I didn’t want any water.
    “Sure,” I said anyway.
    He nodded, then turned and walked out of the room.  
    The apartment was small, and I could hear him
in the kitchen, the creak of a cupboard opening, the sound of water running.
    I sat there for a moment, my heart pounding.
    Then I grabbed the t-shirt and pulled it over
my head.
    I waited for him to return.
    I waited.
    And waited.
    Eventually, the apartment lapsed into
silence.   But he couldn’t have
left.   I hadn’t heard the front door
open.
    I waited another moment or two, then got up and
padded into the living room.
    Two glasses of water sat on the tiny kitchen counter.
    Callum was in the living room, sitting on the
couch, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.   I watched him for a moment, so
beautiful, his hair mussed, his body so cut it took my breath away.
    He didn’t look like a man who’d just had
incredible sex.   He looked like a
man who was in the midst of emotional torture.
    I took a step toward him.
    “Callum?” I tried.
    “Adriana,” he said, his voice even.   “I’ll be back to bed in a minute.”
    “Is everything okay?”
    He didn’t answer, and I hesitated, afraid that
if I pushed him, he would shut down.   But when he didn’t tell me to go away, I walked over to the couch and
sat down next to him.
    I put my hand on his knee.
    “Callum,” I said.   “What is it?   Is it me, did I… did I do something
wrong?”  
    He looked at me sharply.   “No.”   He shook his head.   “No, Adriana, God, no, you were
perfect.   You are