Chapter 30: Hidden Scars: Chapter 29

It’s dark in our room and the fingers on my arm are digging in so hard I hiss. My arms are covered in finger bruises for the nightmares that wake Preston every fucking night.

“Preston,” My voice is gravelly with sleep, but sometimes I get lucky and it’s enough to calm him. Tonight is not a lucky night. “Preston, wake up.”

Rolling toward him, it breaks my heart to see tears on his face, his eyes clenched shut and his mouth open on a silent scream this time.

I reach for his arm to rub his skin but he swings at me, punching me in the chest.

It’s not a particularly hard hit, but it surprises me. He has these nightmares every night but he’s never swung at me before.

“Hey, Preston.” I call his name calmly. “Wake up, babe.”

I reach for him again, this time to cup his cheek, but he jerks back and shoves my hand away, slapping at me. Jesus. This is a bad one.

His hand snakes out and grabs my arm, squeezing it like he’s trying to pop it. It fucking hurts and I’m done fucking around.

Pulling his hand off of me, I quickly wrap my arms around him, pulling his face into my neck while he fights me off, yelling and crying.

“Preston, you’re okay.” I have to hold him as tightly as I can without hurting him. His hands slap at me, pushing and shoving to get away, but I don’t let go. Just hold him and talk to him.

“Wake up, Preston. You’re okay.”

I wrap a leg over his hip and roll him so I’m on top of him, afraid he’s going to hurt himself.

I press kisses to his forehead, hair, temple, any part of him I can reach.

Finally, he gasps awake, his movements freeze and I relax.

“Hey.” I’m panting when I pull back enough to look at him. “You’re okay.”

His eyes scan the room, avoiding me while he gets control of his breathing. He shoves a hand through his now-sweaty hair.

I shift to get off him but he grabs my thigh to keep me still.

“I—” he starts but cuts himself off, obviously not comfortable with whatever he needs to say.

“What do you need?”

I sit back on his hips and feel his dick rock hard under my ass.

I rock back on him and he clenches his jaw.

“You need to fuck?” I grind my ass over him again. “You don’t have to ask, I’m always down.”

His eyes finally meet mine, the hard steel of his dick letting me know I’m on a ride that I will definitely feel later.

Dragging my teeth over my bottom lip, I nod to him.

He shoves me off of him and I fall onto the floor with a loud thud. I don’t have time to think about it before Preston is on me, flipping me onto my stomach and ripping at my clothes.

He straddles my thighs, shoving my pants and underwear down, and slaps my ass hard enough to sting.

A moan escapes me as fear flutters through my stomach, my skin tingling as the blunt head of his dick shoves between my cheeks. Sliding my hands up, I find nothing to hold on to while I prepare for the pain.

It’s been a while since he’s fucked me. He’s not small, and he doesn’t even have lube. This is going to hurt.

My shirt is torn up the back, the cool air in the room setting goosebumps off across my skin. Preston leans down, bites hard at my back and shoulders, scrapes his nails down my body, and thrusts against my ass cheeks.

“Tell me you hate me,” he growls in my ear.

I couldn’t have heard that right. What?

Unease washes over me, cutting through the need to fuck.

“What?” I turn my head to look at him but he leans against my shoulder to keep me facing forward.

“Say it. Tell me you hate me,” he bites out the words again, trembling against me as he slaps at my ass again.

“I-I hate you.” The words are awkward on my tongue. I don’t hate him. Not anymore.

Preston spreads my cheeks and spits against my hole. His cock pushes against me and I force my body to relax.

“Say it again.” He pushes forward, only making it part way in before the burning pain is too much and I clench around him. He pulls back, spits on my hole again, and thrusts in.

“Oh fuck,” I groan in a pain-pleasure mixture and my dick is rock hard, trapped between my body and the carpet.

Preston leans forward, shoving his hand under my chest and up to my throat.

“Say. It. Again,” he seethes, setting a hard, deep pace.

“I hate you,” I choke out past the grip he has on my throat. His thrusts hurt but that doesn’t seem to dissuade my cock at all. Arching my hips as much as I can, the angle changes and he’s dragging along my prostate.

“Lube, please,” I whimper.

“Shut up,” he growls, releasing my throat and shoving his fingers into my mouth. I suck on his middle fingers like my life depends on it.

He bites the muscle that runs along the top of my shoulder and groans.

“I hate you.”

His free hand holds my hip as a shudder ripples through him a few seconds before heat floods my ass. His cum makes the slide of his dick so much easier, so much hotter. I love being used by him, claimed, owned.

Preston rests his forehead between my shoulders, breathing hard and trembling.

I’m panting and aching to cum, afraid I’m going to have carpet burn on my dick.

Slowly, he pulls out and lifts onto his knees, still straddling me.

“Roll over.”