Disclaimer: This was not written by me. The woman who wrote this is a brilliant writer, but chose not to publish this under her own name. I do warn you, it is incredibly explicit at some junctures, and should be treated as such. Play nice, keep your flames to yourself. Follow the childhood golden rule: If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. This will be the only chapter of this piece.
Punishment
As if I didn't have enough anger in my life. As if every time I saw her I just wanted to scream until my lungs burst, as if I didn't lay awake at night with her face in my mind, my blood throbbing so hard through my veins I might explode. I wanted to take him and take him out, throttle him as if he were normal, as if it would hurt. And he wanted me to. He wanted me around him, inside him, pushing as hard as I could without killing him, pushing him as far as I could go, making him feel his shame. He wanted every inch of it.
It didn't just start there. It was everything. There, in that garage of theirs with all those smooth-as-silk cars, mocking my old rabbit, with their mansion, mocking my house, with their cold blood and magic powers when all I had was whiny adolescent boys in my head, with Bella sleeping inside when my bed was empty and my skin untouched. When he could leave, and touch the silk of her skin, have her touch to comfort his pain when I was left alone with mine.
It felt good, knowing he hurt, watching him suffer, feeling his body like ice against mine.
I could have ripped his throat apart in an instant, my teeth in his neck. The entire time I forced myself into him I thought only of her, her face when she left, her lips melting against mine. That didn't make him nearly as hurt as just the image of her now, unembellished, lying in bed with all the blood drained out of her face, her sunken cheeks and swollen belly.
He could do things no else could do.
It was just going to be once, him bent over the hood of the car, his guilt like a shroud that kept him from moving, from talking as I bent over that marble ass, forcing myself on him, my mind nothing but a blank, unending scream. He took it like a martyr, goddamn him, like I was a penance for his guilt. I wanted to punish him.
He knew it was going to happen. He saw it in my eyes as soon as I got out of that car, as soon as I slammed the door and pounced, throwing myself across the room, pinning him against the wall. He saw it in my mind but he kissed me first, his teeth ripping into my lips, and he wanted it just as much as I did, wanted me to feel him break him, punish him. I was the only one who could. I was the only one strong enough who had the desire, who could give him the pain he wanted, and I wanted him. I wanted him convulsing underneath me, feeling his body go rigid and his back arch, feeling him pulse in my hands, hearing him gasp with pain when I forced myself inside him.
I left him like that. Bent over the hood of the car, still naked, my semen still dripping from his ass. Did you hurt her like that? I wanted to scream at him, but it was enough to think it. I left him like he'd left me: alone, humiliated, shamed. He couldn't atone for this. Not for her.
That was the first time I fucked Edward Cullen.
It happened again. Everytime I sucked him off, it was a place where Bella's mouth had been. When I kissed him I was greedy, hungry, seeking out her forbidden taste in his mouth. He never fought back, never spoke, though at times the pain on his face was unbearable. When he came inside me, convulsing, his mouth wide open and his mind blank, that's when I thought of her, the look on her face when he came inside her. How much I wanted that look, more than I'd ever wanted anything except Edward Cullen in my arms, in my bed, knowing everything I did just hurt him more. Knowing I could hurt him like that, knowing he needed me for this self-revenge fantasy. That he wanted me degrading him, inside him, making him hurt. And I, I wanted it too.
I wanted Edward Cullen's come on my tongue and my ass, I wanted his hands on my cock, I wanted his teeth on my neck, as hard as he could give it, not caring if he drew blood from deep scratches that would too-quickly heal, not caring if I let bruises on his marble skin. I wanted him to hurt me physically the way he hurt me, and I wanted to give every inch of it back, make him want me and hate himself for it, for him to know that we needed each other for this self-revenge fantasy and the love of the same woman. I licked her taste right out of his mouth, licked her taste off his cock, explored the body she had explored. I wanted to ruin this for him the way he had ruined her for me, to make him hate himself when he slept with her. I wanted him to hide from her when he cleaned himself of my semen.
I wanted to tear them apart. And when I did, I didn't know who I wanted more.