That Sik Luv

Briony

I’m just not sure anymore.

I used to feel so sure. Confident in what I knew to be true. But from the moment Aero began pulling the veil back on my existence, I didn’t know what to think.

I once believed I could do right by God and be saved. That if I loved others as I loved myself, if I became the image of Him, worshiped Him, and abided by His commandments, that He would reward me in the afterlife, never living in fear of a detrimental hell that awaited. A place where suffering plagues you persistently. Eternal damnation. Where hope goes to die and sinners reap what they sow.

But these sins they speak of; masturbation, fornication, erotic thoughts… They don’t feel sinful to me. They feel natural. Biologically natural. As if some force deep within my genetic makeup is driving me towards the inevitable. I feel uninhibited in a way I’ve never known, and free from restraints around me. I crave the sensation of touch from a man. I yearn for the passion of a kiss. I have an overwhelming desire to touch myself and explore these ever-changing thoughts and feelings.

But planted there in the back of my mind are the thoughts that haunt me. Sin. Sinful. Sinner.

Who determined what was morally right and what was morally wrong? Would an almighty God truly not want me to explore feelings and emotions that connect me deeply to another human or humans before signing a paper, chaining myself over to one of them for life? Why is even thinking about sex considered immoral? Am I not an intelligent being who thirsts for knowledge of the world around me? Am I really expected to sit back and keep my mouth closed about the atrocities happening in the academy? Do I not have every right to question these sins they say I’m committing when theirs are horrifyingly worse?

My mind is a mess. Confusion swirling as I try to calm myself from the events that just took place.

I engaged in premarital sex with a man I don’t even know, and the most terrifying aspect is nothing felt more necessary.

Feeling slightly disturbed, I recall what I enjoyed most about it. The rough aspect of the hand to my face, the despicable words he uttered, the forcefulness of him filling me past the point of comfort, the crude way he finished. It felt so morally wrong, and yet the excitement of being taken by someone who can’t seem to control themselves around you left me feeling needed in a way I’ve never experienced. Wanted. Desired. Claimed.

I’m feeling myself spasm again, just rehashing as chills sweep across my body. The need to squeeze my thighs tightly together and cover my nipples that are forever hard in his presence, an absolute must.

I understand the piercing now. I felt it in a way I couldn’t even explain. Aside from the burning pain of being stretched to accommodate his size, I could feel the end of the piercing rubbing somewhere internally. A place that gave off little bursts of pleasure amidst the excruciating pain of it all.

I’d wanted my first time to be with a man that loved me. A man who was respectful and receptive to my needs. But Aero is none of those things. He’s rough, raw, and gritty, and as he said, he enjoys pain with his pleasure. I’m sure a man like him has never known love, the word withdrawn from his vocabulary.

We’re in the bathroom where he’s warming up the shower for us. I’m just following his lead at this point, as I’m not sure what normal is anymore. He removes his mask and I stiffen in place.

The lights are out and the minimal moonlight coming from the tiny window is doing nothing to help me see.

Grabbing my upper arm again, he roughly pulls me beneath the warm water along with him.

Without words, he grabs a bottle, opening it and smelling the contents. He places it back, repeating the process until he finds the right scent.

My scent.

That he can tell which is my shampoo and which is my body wash just from the smell of me has my stomach twisting in a nervous knot.

I forget how well he knows me. It terrifies me, especially acknowledging the fact that I literally know nothing about him. Which is why I can’t seem to understand why I’m drawn to him in such a way.

He lathers my naked body with soap, his hands running gently and carefully over me. His erection is back like it never left, the massive organ bouncing in the air between us, rubbing against my hip as hands wash away his remains on my chest, before gently massaging my breasts. Thumbs gently flick my nipples as he seemingly studies my body in the darkness with his touch.

As sore as I am, there’s a sick part of me aching for more. I want to experience that feeling of being full again. That feeling of being so closely connected to someone in physical form to the point of losing myself into a pleasured-filled fog. The euphoria; unmatched.

I want to experience that sensation of bliss again. It’s a high, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. A feeling of finally breaking through that tightly bound mess of lust, and achieving the ultimate reward.

I clench my legs together as the water bounces off his back, hitting me indirectly. I shiver, and he notices immediately.

He’s breathing harder than he was a minute ago, as he continues running his soapy hands all across my bare body. Turning me so my front is in direct line with the showerhead, he steps behind me, placing more soap in his palm. I flinch when his fingers meet my inner thigh.

“You should know you’re safe with me,” he whispers in my ear, his fingers trailing up to my center. “I haven’t fucked in years.”

My heart drops at the comment. Here I thought he meant he would protect and care for me in my vulnerable state, but no. He wanted to give me reassurance on STDs, now that there’s nothing I can do about it, anyway. I’m such a fool.

My frustration with myself takes over, and I elbow him, pushing him off me to distance myself beneath the water. Grabbing the soap, I lather myself up, rewashing my body with my own hands, rinsing myself clean of him and his touch.

“Briony, don’t,” he warns, grabbing my hand before forcing my back against the shower wall, his body pinning mine. “Allow me this.”

I stare up into the shadow of a man, wondering about his need to care for me in his own peculiar way. Relaxing, I allow him to wash me clean. He takes his time, almost memorizing every part of me as those rough hands now caress my chest, stomach, arms, even my hands lacing his fingers through mine.

I squint as I look up at his shadow again, trying to make out his face, but it’s useless. I can’t see anything.

But I can feel.

I reach my hands up after he washes them of the soap, cupping his chiseled jaw. I feel it clench beneath my palms as he stiffens in place, frozen like a statue. Water splashes me in the face, so I close my eyes, leaving my mouth parted as it runs down my lips.

I touch him, my fingertips running the bridge of his nose, down to his parted full lips. His breath is coming out in hot waves, his erection now resting against my stomach.

I reach up, finding his eyebrows with my fingertips. I feel a smooth rise towards the outside of his left one and my finger lingers there. It feels like a deep scar by the fleshy protrusion. Trailing the length of it, I find it reappears high up on the sharp curve of his cheekbone. Internally, I make up the image of him in my mind. The sharp cut of a powerful jaw, the dark hair, the large scar slashing across his beautiful hazel eyes, the additional scar down by his full bottom lips, and the faint one trailing along the right side of his jaw. I’ve seen pieces of him behind different masks, and putting it all together, I attempt to create his image in my mind.

I’ve just never seen anyone like him before.

“Where did you come from, Aero?” I whisper, my fingers trailing down from his jaw to his neck. I feel the scars littering his flesh, covered by the ink he’s painted over a past too harsh for the likes of me.

“Nowhere good,” he answers, leaning his head against mine as the water trickles down his locks over me.

I gnaw on the corner of my lip, wondering what that could possibly mean. What has this man been through to mold him into the ruthless, psychotic killer before me? There’s a presence of a heart in there. He has some semblance of a soul. It’s evident in the strange way he cares for me, the odd way he protects me from elements unknown.

“But it doesn’t matter where I came from. Because we’re here. We found each other,” he says, his hands sliding down my arms until they reach my wrists. He lifts them above my head, sealing them to the tile behind me. “And you won’t live without me now.”

My eyes widen slightly at his directness.

“I mean it, Briony. You’ll need to aim better next time,” he says in a taunting tone. “If you want a life that doesn’t have me in it, you’ll have to fucking kill me yourself. I’m yours, and you are forever mine.”

My chest caves at his words. It’s so much. The obsession. It’s crazy. It’s toxic. It’s making my body come alive again.

He leans his neck forward, turning his head to the side.

“Lick me,” he demands, placing the wound from my little stabbing incident before my mouth. “Heal your harm.”

He’s so primal. So animalistic by nature. He’s asking me to lick his wounds. The wound I created. He’s insane, and I can’t seem to get enough. Drawn to him like the suicidal moth to a knowing flame.

His hands tighten around my wrists as he nudges his head into me, opening himself for my healing. I stall for a moment, breathing heavily between us. Parting my lips, my tongue darts out, and I lick across the area with a flat tongue. Tasting the bitter metallic of his blood, he groans, grinding himself against me, his erection pressing into my hip.

Standing straight before me again, he drops my arms and they fall hard to my sides. Bending down, he grips behind my thighs, lifting me and slamming my back against the tile wall of the shower as all the air leaves my lungs. He wraps my thighs around his hips before gripping my wet hair with one hand and pulling it back, giving him my neck.

My face is entirely under the shower head now, as I cough, spitting out water. He holds me beneath it, watching, listening with fascination before I feel the head of his cock lined with my entrance. Pushing himself back inside me, a strangled noise leaves my throat. The inability to breathe has my focus elsewhere as the pain of stretching around him again catches up with me. He grips my thigh near my hip, thrusting himself into me again and again as I hang defenseless to his pleasure.

“Show me you can handle me,” he grunts, our skin slapping together violently as he fucks me at his pace.

The pace of a madman.

I feel like I’m drowning. The inability to breathe has me choking on water. His hand releases my hair, only to cover my mouth and nose with his palm. Air is taken completely as I feel myself clamp down on him internally. He groans loudly, the sound somehow entirely exhilarating, causing me to squeeze tighter, the burning pain slowly being replaced by an electrifying reminder of the euphoria I’d experienced.

My vision is blurry, and just as I’m feeling everything around me darken, the burning in my chest and lungs melting into a numbing sensation, he releases his hand, slapping his palm against the tile behind me. Thrusting his hips into me with long, hard strokes, my heavy breasts bounce wildly between us. I gasp for air as he holds me up against the wall with his long, thick cock spearing through me.

I feel the piercing rubbing against that spot again and my eyes roll back in my head as I work to focus on that and not on the sensation of being torn apart by a ruthless man taking what he needs. Primal. Animalistic. Nothing can keep him from me.

Like lightning, I’m struck with the pleasure that overtakes me. It’s quick, but hits me harder than ever. I cry out, piercing my nails into his shoulders, before dragging them down his arms, as sounds escape me I’ve never imagined I could.

“Fuck,” he hisses at my need to tear into his flesh, becoming sloppy with his motions.

He presses into me hard, stilling himself deep within, as he releases inside me.

My back hurts from the friction of the wet tile, my pussy feels swollen, raw, achingly sore, and I’ll surely have bruises from where his fingers dug into my thighs. I’m out of breath entirely as he pulls out of me, setting my feet back down on the shower floor.

He bends down, hands spreading my thighs again, and I tremble against his touch. This really might never end. He may never stop. He told me I’d thirst for him, but it appears that I’m the meal he endlessly hungers for.

He can’t get enough.

Soft lips surround my swollen clit, and he sucks it into his mouth hard before grazing his teeth.

“Ah!” I cry out at the sensitive pain. “It’s too much, please!”

My palm hits the wall behind me as the other grips the long hair at the top of his head. With his warm tongue, he licks the length of me before sticking the tip of his tongue inside me. My knees feel weak, and just as I’m about to slide to the bottom of the shower and collapse in exhaustion, he stands, wrapping an arm around my lower back, holding me to him.

Grabbing my face with one hand, he pushes his fingers hard enough to the divots of my cheeks until I’m forced to open my mouth for him. Unsure of what’s coming next, I feel him spit in my mouth.

Before I can even react to the crude action, his mouth is on mine, his tongue seeking my tongue in the most erotic, most spine-tingling kiss I’ve ever experienced.

His lips part as his skillful tongue runs the length of mine. I taste his cum on my tongue and smell my scent on his lips as the aftermath of what we’ve done swirls between our tongues. A delicious dance to the music of sweet, seductive sin.

He pulls back, breathing heavily. “We taste so good together.” He gently smacks the side of my face with his palm before holding my jaw tightly. “A fucking delicacy.”

I stand there, leaning back against the wall for support, wondering how I could’ve ever fallen into this mess. The centripetal force of my actions has my head swirling in a newfound heaven. One that allows for the bonding of two beings through explored sexuality and freedoms from the idea of sinful restraint. We are in our own space now. A combination of Heaven and Hell, created especially for the saints and sinners like us.

My exhaustion finally takes me and the last thing I remember is his powerful arms carrying my limp body to my bed.