Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

Some days I’m the ocean. Some days I’m the ship. Tonight, I’m the lighthouse: at the edge, alone, and burning.

I still don’t know his name, but his cock is nice, and that’s all that really matters.

Cigarettes are also unforgivable, with the way they eat at you from the inside out. Kill you slowly, and then all at once.

“Don’t you feel bad for me, young lady. It’s a blessing to be old, and every blessing is a little bittersweet.”

“Never hurt a fly.” I nearly choke on the blatant lie, and my mood plummets with the reminder that I only hurt people for a living.

“You put any money out and I’ll shove it down your throat,” he warns, his voice deepening dangerously.

“Jesus, if you want to be a gentleman, just say that. Weirdo.”

“You coming in?” “Only if you promise not to touch me,” I call back. “I promise not to do anything you don’t beg me for.”

“Are you going to murder me now?”

“Would anyone be looking for you?” he retorts. I smile sardonically. “Yes. I have people looking for me right now.” He’ll never understand the truth of that statement. Not until it’s too late, at least.

I shrug. “I never want to be found.”

“Then I suppose I have you right where I want you,” he drawls lazily. I’m in trouble, but it’s the type of danger that makes you smile uncontrollably as you ride the line between life and death.

“Want to know what I thought of you when we were in the bar?” I quiz.

“That I could get you pregnant with one look,” he reiterates dryly.

“I’m not the type of man you want to doubt,” he says, his voice deepening.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs before placing a slow, soft kiss directly on my clit, glancing up at me as he does. I inhale sharply, disappointed when he retreats. “Is that the type of kiss you wanted?” he taunts, sparing me another glance before his eyes gravitate back down like he can’t stand to look away.

“No,” I whimper. “You can do better than that.”

desire. “And now I want to see you come like that all over my cock.” He leans down, sending chills skating across my flesh as he whispers, “I won’t stop until you do.” Oh, fuck. I’m dead, aren’t I?

He looks at me as if I’m a masterpiece, a shrine to worship, and I can’t deny how invigorating that feels.

“Thank you. I grew them myself.”

I revel in the feel of his hands marking me. I want to be covered in bruises by morning.

I absolutely will destroy him, and later, I’ll hate myself for it more than I already do.

He’s not just long but incredibly thick, with veins threading throughout the length.

“Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. “No. No way. I change my fucking mind.” I point at it. “That will puncture a lung.”

Sliding a hand between the valley of my breasts and up my throat, he grips the underside of my jaw and swipes a thumb across my bottom lip.

“Does it hurt, bella?” “You’re so big,” I choke.

“And you’re going to fucking take it,” he snarls.

My eyes threaten to find a new home in the back of my skull

“You know what I think? You take me so fucking good. But I want to see how good you take me after you’ve been coming around my cock for hours.” I wouldn’t survive that.