SO MAYBE I'M A MASOCHIST

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Face down with her ass high in the air. He's taking her to church, dragging her to hell through a rapture of fire.

Gasping for air as she chokes on his belt, sheet pressed down on her cheek, she clenches her eyes shut and fists her hands in the damp sheets. Right now he's the law and his thrusts are so visceral, so primal they have her soaked and drenched like a pig in Nola. It surprises her at first, this feeling of complete abandon that takes over her as he buries himself inside her. He's in so deep that they're both breathing for this and little else. When she inhales, he exhales, he gives and she receives and thrusts deeply into her but there's serenity in their madness. There's serenity in the way he grabs her hair, the way his fingers tangle into its damp strands before he begins pulling it in order to bring her mouth against his. She tastes the sweat that's been stinging his eyes since they started this violent dance.

"Look at me"

He tilts her head up, spits into her mouth before directing her chin back into the pillow and away from his face. When he begins to pound into her with feral urgency, Bonnie bites into a pillow. He presses himself harder against her, one hand around her throat, the other stroking her soaked clit as he continues his primal thrusts. She's short of breath when he flips her over and tears the belt from her throat but before she can catch her breath, his mouth is closed over hers in an urgent kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, she spits on his face, saliva trickling down his cheek before she licks it off. His face, charged with blood contorts into an expression that resembles pleasure. Bonnie takes his hand and puts it on her neck directing him to choke her again. He can feel the warm wetness of her pussy as he slides in and out of her, wet and warm all around his cock.

"Harder!" she commands, barely a whisper with his hand around her throat but Kai pumps harder, harder and harder, harder and harder until she digs her nails into his broad back, biting the side of his neck. In this moment she forgets about his marital status, the blonde she's seen him with or maybe she doesn't care. There's no decorum, just her wet pussy and his rock hard cock making her squirm. It feels so fucking good but she has to remind herself not to come which only makes her want to come some more. There's a moment, just when she feels his breathing escalate, when she thinks that he's going to come, this moment that he pulls out, eyes locked onto hers, his cock tracing the outline of her swollen lips with the head and she thinks fuck him, fuck him in all his beautifully hard glory, fuck him for making her weak, fuck him for being this in control, fuck him for everything and in this moment as he plunges back inside her, she forgets her own name.

When he finally collapses on top of her, the salty hardness of him spent and drained while his teeth graze her shoulder, making her heart skip in her chest.

"Did you come?" his voice is thick and soft, making her eyes close involuntarily. She tells herself to get up, peel herself off the wet spot they created and leave the hotel room. Her eyes finally shoot open and she glares at the ceiling with its ornate patterns and the late afternoon light playing tricks across the spent limbs.

"You don't pay me to come." She replies, her voice curt as she sits up and swings her legs to the side of the bed. She can feel his eyes on her bare ass as she moves to the bar where the comforting drinks are lined up. They're still fixed on her as she pours herself some vodka, no ice. She feels the sting at the back of her throat and coughs, swinging her eyes back to him. The way he stares at her unnerves her. It's not the usual glare clients give her after a session, the glare that attempts to peels away her layers in an effort to figure her out. It's not even the glower of asking when the fuck is she leaving so that they can forget their shame. Kai's stare is primitive, savage, like an anthropologist observing unfamiliar human behaviour.

"I should go" she whispers, staring into her glass before she drains its contents. At first he doesn't say anything, merely watches her closely as she slips back into her pencil skirt, buttons up her shirt and slips back into her stilettoes.

"Stay" he murmurs, his hooded eyes tracing every line and curve on her body. He rises up from the bed, sheet trailing the floor behind him and grabs a water bottle on the counter. He screws the top off the bottle and takes a sip.

His gaze strays to her lips before returning back to her eyes and her breath stills as his hands circle around her waist. The scent of his sex dampened skin envelops her, a visceral energy as his fingers rake through her tousled hair.

"Carla, "he begins but she places her index finger on his mouth.

"I had a great time." She tells him as she brushes past him to the door. When he looks at her, he feels likes he' connected to something greater than himself but the moment the door clicks shut behind her, the feeling fades. There buzz is gone and he's empty again.

..

Inside the elevator, Bonnie finally looks at herself in the mirrors covering the interior. There's a red mark on her neck, a bruise from his belt as if he was trying to leave an imprint of himself on her skin, tattoo himself on her like a memory. Gently, with trembling fingers, she touches the bruise and wonders when it will fade.