Fragile Lives: A small-town, age-gap, brother’s best friend romance (Little Hope series Book 4)
Fragile Lives: Chapter 15

I grab her ass, lift her in the air and move to the loveseat—the name is so fitting for what I’m about to do.

When the back of my knees hit the cushions, I fall backward into the softness of the old piece of furniture that’s about to witness my ascension to heaven.

I know it’ll feel like a quick descension to hell after it’s over and the high subsides, but it sure as fuck will be worth it, I just know that.

I pull her on top of me, and her thighs land on both sides of mine, her pussy right above my cock. Her tongue slips inside my mouth, needy, teasing mine with every stroke. Her hands roam my chest, shoulders, and neck, and my body becomes sensitive, everything around me fading until only she remains.

I pull the zipper of her hoodie down and throw it to the side, leaving her in a white cami without a bra.

Fuck me sideways. Her taut, dark nipples stretch the thin material and make my mouth water.

My hand aches to feel the softness of her breasts, the hardness of the tips. And I think she wants the same, because she lets out a quiet moan and arches her back so her tits are in my face. I’m happy to oblige.

I lean down and cover her nipple with my mouth through the cami. And bite.

She moans louder and arches her back even more. My little bird likes a pain game, huh. So, I bite her nipple again, and she squirms on my lap, making me painfully hard.

I grip the edge of her cami and pull it down, exposing the tight little tips of her gorgeous tits. They instantly harden, and I lunge for them again. Biting and sucking, I pull back and lunge forward once more. She throws her head back, her fingers digging into the flesh of my shoulders. Women’s breasts are so sensitive, and it’s so easy to overdo it, so I just have to replace the right rhythm.

In the meantime, she replaces her own rhythm as she grinds on my rock-hard cock.

“What do you want, Leila?” I ask coarsely.

“Come. I want to come.” Her reply is breathy, and I like how she doesn’t shy away from what she wants.

“How do you want to come, Leila?” I place my hand behind her back and pull her into me. “Do you want my mouth on your pussy?”

Please say yes.

“No,” she whispers, and I nearly whimper in disappointment.

“What do you want then?”

“I want your fingers.” Her voice is low and unapologetic.

“My fingers?” I repeat. “You want them deep in your pussy?”

“Yes. I want them to fill me.” There’s a pause. “Do you think you can?” the little minx adds.

I let out a loud chuckle, enjoying the way she can be shy and forward at the same time.

“Archie.” Her tone is pleading.

I graze my teeth along her chin. “Say my name, and you’ll get them.”

“Archie,” she says loudly. “Archie, make me come with your fingers.”

“No. Say my name, Leila.”

I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it is. She understands it too, because her eyes sober up, and she pulls away just enough to see my face.

“Make me come with your fingers, Stephan,” she breathes out, and my name on her swollen lips does something to my heart. To the place it’s supposed to be. That empty void I’ve long but given up on.

I don’t want to pretend with her. I just want to be.

A beast awakens within me, one I’ve been scared she’d see, and my hand snakes inside the shorts that started it all. I go lower and replace her completely drenched. Pulling my hand away, I look at my glistening fingers in wonder. She watches me, unmoving. I meet her gaze as I slowly bring my fingers to my mouth and lick them clean. For a moment, I close my eyes—she tastes so fucking good. Until this very moment, I never knew how much I could love the taste of someone. The woman in my arms tastes like sweet nectar on a hot day. Like hope in a desert.

I let out a loud, unapologetic moan, and her ass clenches on my lap. I can feel her muscles contracting, and she begins squirming.

“No fuckin’ way.” I push my hand back in her pants. “You’re only coming with part of me inside you.”

My finger dips inside her wet center. I pump inside her a couple of times before adding another, but she instantly pulls her body up.

I freeze. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Don’t stop.” She pushes herself back on my hand, and I start again while pressing my thumb to her throbbing, swollen clit. My free hand wraps around her lower back and pulls her to me so I can control her movement. When she whimpers again, I lunge at her neck. And I bite. And suck. And bite. Not caring if I leave bruises.

In fact, I want bruises on her; I want evidence of my lips and teeth on her skin so everyone will know to stay the fuck away.

When she starts pushing onto my hand harder, I increase the tempo, and she falls apart on my fingers. I feel a gush of liquid in my palm, and I keep pumping my fingers. She pushes away, clearly too sensitive, but I know that right behind this moment of increased sensitivity, there’s a moment of intense pleasure, so I pull her to me, press on her clit harder, and continue for a few more moments.

And I’m rewarded with the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard and another gush of liquid onto my lap.

Feeling like a fuckin’ king, I pull my hand away and lick it clean again. It tastes so fuckin’ good, I swear.

When she stops shaking, she falls onto me. Her skin is wet and flushed. She looks satisfied, and I pray to anyone who will listen that she will stand up and go to the bathroom so I can finish here by myself. This situation in my pants won’t let me think straight.

But no one listens to my prayers as usual, and Leila leans back on my lap and looks down.

“What are we going to do about that?” Her eyes are flirtatious.

I let out a tortured laugh, “I need to take care of it. I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I say.

“Why?” Her brows draw together, her head tilting to the side.

“Because this kind of wood doesn’t disappear on its own,” I say with a chuckle, getting uncomfortable. “Not after the most gorgeous redhead just squirted in my hand.”

Her cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink. “But I’m here. Why would you need to take care of it yourself?”

I cover my face with my hands and think about how I got myself into this hell of my own creation.

“Because I need to come, Leila,” I muffle into my palms. “So my blood can go back to my brain.”

“I can help you,” she says with a smile and scoots to the side a little. Her hand goes to the waistband of my sweats, and my hand shoots out to stop her.

“No.” I hold her hand firmly.

“Why?” she asks, looking even more confused.

“Leila,” I hold her gaze, “you’ve heard about me, right?”

“That you have kinks?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Alright,” she replies carefully. “What’s your kink?”

“I like pain, Leila.” The confession brings me shame, even though it shouldn’t. “And I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

Her voice takes a questioning tone. “You like causing pain?”

“No. I like to feel pain.”

She watches my face intently. “But you like normal stuff too, right? You know, boring stuff.”

I shake my head.

“Never?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“No.” I press my lips tight. “I can’t get off without pain.”

Her eyes assess me as she observes me carefully like I’m a frog she’s dissecting—a good way to bring my wood down. But then she surprises me by saying, “I’ll do it.”

And just like that, my dick jumps again.

“No, Lei, I don’t want you anywhere near that shit.” And I don’t mean my straining cock.

“How did you think this would unfold?” She points between us, referring to what just happened.

“I didn’t think,” I answer with a chuckle.

“Let’s do it. I want to see how far you go.”

“No—”

“Yes,” she cuts me off. Her hand sneaks into my pants and squeezes my hard cock. My head instantly falls back, and I moan.

“It feels so fucking good,” I say, stretching my arms out on the back of the loveseat. “So good.”

Her hand moves up and down my dick as she pulls me out of my pants. She squeezes it at the base, lets go a little in the middle, and squeezes again at the top.

It feels so good.

But not enough.

“Dig your nails into my shoulders.”

She places her free hand on my shoulder and digs her fingers into my skin. Not deep enough. Just grazing the top.

“Harder.”

She presses them in deeper. Still not deep enough.

“Harder, Leila.”

Her nostrils flare, and she puts a tiny bit more force behind it.

But it’s not fucking enough.

“Break the skin,” I breathe out as the sensation in my cock intensifies.

“What?”

“Break the fuckin’ skin, Lei. Make me bleed.”

She drops my dick and jumps back. I open my eyes, realizing I’m fucked. Everything is fucked. I should have never opened my big mouth. I should have pushed harder when she said she wanted to try, but as I said, my blood wasn’t in my brain.

Her burning eyes are focused on my chest.

“Those,” she points at my scars, “are from those who liked to hurt you?”

“Don’t talk about other women now. Don’t.”

“I don’t give a fuck about other women right now, Stephan.” To my utter surprise, I relax a little. “What I give a fuck about is you and your fucked brain.” She points at her head.

I chuckle angrily. “Yeah, everyone is aware of that. I’m fucked up.”

My dick is deflating, and I put it back inside my pants. She gets even angrier and jumps closer to me.

“No, you idiot. You are not fucked up. You are just fucked by your own guilt. And you’ve gone so far down this road of self-hate that you don’t even see reality anymore.” She hisses as she leans closer, “You’re the only one who hates yourself.” She inches toward me even more. “Your obsession with letting others cut you is your fucking guilt talking, and I hate that.”

“That’s my fuckin’ kink, Leila. You wanted to know, and now you’re shaming me. How fuckin’ hypocritical.”

The death stare that follows is aimed to kill. “You think I’m shaming your kink?” When I don’t respond—the answer is obvious—she continues, her voice rising, “You can be a masochist as much as you want.” She throws her hands in the air. “Hell, I love pain. I like my hair pulled to the point my eyes sting.”

My dick deflates even more. The idea of her replaceing this out at the hand of some dickhead, pulling her hair behind her back, makes me cringe.

“But that,” she points at my chest, “is not masochism, Archie.” She called me fuckin’ Archie, and my nostrils flare in anger. “It’s punishment you’re inflicting on yourself. Deep here,” she taps her temple, “you only let yourself go when you bleed because guilt doesn’t let you go otherwise.”

“Oh yeah.” I push away from the couch, getting into her face. “And you got me all figured out after the five seconds you’ve known me?”

“Yep,” her face is so close, “that’s all it took because you’re not as complex and bad as you think.”

“Then,” I breathe into her face, my nostrils flared, my heartbeat crazy, “you’re dead fuckin’ wrong.”

With that, I grab her waist and try to move her away from me just so I don’t do something stupid—again—and make a move to stand up, but she presses my shoulders and pushes me back.

“Sit the fuck down.” Her voice takes a tone I’ve never heard from her before, and for some reason, I freeze on the spot.

Then she saddles me. “Sit the fuck down, and don’t you dare move while I’m fucking some sense into you,” she orders.

My heart rate instantly doubles when it’s already at its limit, and I drop my hands by my side, not touching her. My dick returns to full mast in a matter of two speedy heartbeats. I didn’t even know it was possible to beat that fast—my heart is putting in some serious work. I rest my head back on the couch and watch this beautiful piece of pure fury unravel on top of me.

Fuck common sense. Fuck logic. Fuck the consequences. For once in this lifetime, I’m letting myself just be, because she ordered me to.