Free Not Looking For Love: Episode 1 by Lena Bourne Page A

into me. I scream as my head bangs into the wall, making sparks erupt across my vision. It does nothing to alleviate the sharp pain down there. He freezes for a moment, his eyes searching my face, like he wants me to tell him I'm alright. Anger explodes inside my chest. I don't want his pity, his care, or his love. I want this pain. It's the only thing grounding me, reassuring me I'm still here, still alive.
    "That's it," I gasp and lock my legs behind his back, impaling myself further, and letting him in, "now finish it."
    He pulls out slowly and pushes back in slower, repeats, sending slivers of warmth through me, making me moan, and erasing the pain. The slivers form rivers of warmth, of safety, pleasure, and life. He runs his finger across my lips, softly, barely touching. Like he cares. I take his finger between my teeth and bite down. He yanks his hand away, and my teeth catch on his knuckle. "I'm not here to play house, you idiot," I groan, forestalling anything he might want to say.
    I know I'm hurting him, and I'm a total bitch for doing it because he's done nothing to deserve it. But I don't want to be the only one hurting, the only one suffering. It's been just me and my pain for too long. I need someone with me.
    I take his nipple between my nails and squeeze, meeting his thrust when it comes. With my legs locked behind his back, I pull my hips up, wanting him deeper, harder.  
    His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips, and he lifts me off the table, getting a better angle, forcing my legs apart with his biceps, coiled now, tense. His thrusts are faster now, angry, urgent, and hateful. The river of heat inside me is frothing now, rushing, and becoming an ocean. I arch back and let it engulf me. I open to his thrusts completely, grunting, moaning, whimpering as his cock jabs into that sensitive area inside me on the way in, and caressing it on the way out. I scream out as the boiling ocean of pleasure explodes, and spreads upward into my chest, into my mind, erasing all in its path as it swallows me whole. Spasms overtake me, and I'm shivering. But he's still slamming into me, breathing hard. The wave builds again. I close my eyes and ride it, letting it flood me a second time, part-screaming and part-groaning escaping my mouth.  
    He tries to yank his cock out, but I won't let him. I want it all. Want to finish this the way it's meant to be done. I buck hard, pulling him back into me with my hands on his ass. He shudders, and I gasp as his hot seed erupts inside me.
    "Shit," he mutters, partly collapsing onto me. "That was intense." He looks at me, searching my face, his eyes soft and sleepy like an evening in spring. I turn my head away and close my eyes. For once, he stays quiet. I squeeze my legs together as he pulls out and walks away, savoring the warmth, enjoying my racing heart, the flush in my cheeks, the sweat cooling on my back.
    A few moments later, the shower comes on. Somewhere to my left, a moth is caught in the paper lantern of the light, buzzing frantically as it collides with the bulb again and again.
    I rise and sit on the edge of the table staring at my panties. I should put them on, leave, go back home, and forget all about this. I should. But the warmth is still filling my belly, and I feel so light, so whole, and so real. I kick off my shoes and stumble over to the bed, turning off the light to let the poor moth survive its obsession with the light. This time.
    The air mattresses wobble as I climb across the bed, and lie on my side staring out the window. Scott's sheets smell like him, his cologne mixing with the sweet smell of fabric softener. Downy, the blue one, the one I always get too.
    I should leave, I should. Behind me, the moth is still buzzing, still trying to escape. I feign sleep once I hear the bathroom door creak open. I listen to Scott's footsteps as he walks into the room. My eyes are open, but I'm breathing evenly, and my back is turned to him, so he can't see me. He