Crossing the Line #WickedWednesday

“I’m going to break you,” he says.

I spit in his face like I mean it. “I’d like to see you try.”

This is the delicate game that we play: love, hate and longing all tangled together in the sheets. He has my wrists tied to his bedposts and my chin in his hand. I anticipate the slap before it crashes against my cheek, but I don’t flinch. His secret police hit me harder when they brought me in.

The governor and the rebel– what a pair we make. He steps back from the bed and puts a gold ring on each finger of his fighting hand. I utter a string of curse words in a language that he’s banned. When his troops first invaded this land I call home, we slaughtered them by the thousands. When I’m in his bed, he makes me pay for it.

“You need to be taught a lesson, girl.” He cracks his knuckles like he scares me. “We told your kind to stay in your borders. This is what happens when you disobey orders.”

He straddles my stomach and teases my breasts out of my torn blouse. I feel his cock harden as he takes my nipples between his fingers and I pretend I don’t like it. He’s rough with them, vicious, neatly manicured nails biting into each rosy peak.

“Beg me not to,” he tells me.

“Eat shit.”

I know what comes next, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. He backhands me, one cheek then the other, so hard I see pretty colors. I can smell his cologne as his rings bruise my cheekbones. I open my mouth to cry out and accidentally bite my tongue. There’s the taste of blood: bright, tinny, warm.

“Does that make you feel like a man?” I growl. It’s only half an act. I hate him like a cat hates water, but there’s no denying the wetness between my legs as he pulls his knife and cuts me out of my breeches. My cause is my curse. I’m destined to despise all that he is, and to love every brutal second of how he makes my body feel.

This is the dance of a rough man and a rougher woman: He presses the edge of his knife against the curve of my left breast. I can feel it bruise my sternum. I kick him hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and his body off the bed. He loses the knife and I pick it up with my teeth. I’m cutting one wrist loose as he pulls his gun. I drop the knife and he brings the grip down on my temple. My world is spinning and I’m swimming in a sea of hurt as the weakened rope on my wrist finally snaps. I clap my free hand to his ear and he curses in pain, recoiling. I nearly have my second wrist free when he stops me with the click of a cocked gun. There’s cold metal at the base of my skull and a hard cock pressed against my ass. No white flag needed– he wouldn’t accept a surrender if I knew how to give one.

He uses my body like a solider uses a whore. I cum with his gun against my head. He has the decency not to fill me– neither of us want a bastard half-breed tied up in this war. He shoots his cum onto my back instead. It stains his fine linen sheets as he turns me over and uses my mouth until I’ve sucked him clean. He kisses me like I’ve been conquered, but we both know better. By morning, I’ll be picking off the guards on the border through the scope of my sniper rifle and he’ll be wishing he had just killed me when he had the chance.

He holds me after and I let him. I’ve got a fat lip and a bruised ego. He’s got a conscience. I wonder if I popped his eardrum. Probably not– if I did, he’d be sobbing.

I let myself sink into him, let him shield me with his warmth, but when he says it, I tense up like a deer in headlights:

“I love you.” His voice is hoarse as he presses the words into my ear.

I push his arm away and pick myself up out of his bed. He’s looking at me with those amber eyes like he’d give me the whole world if I would just say it back.

He ought to know better. I won’t.

I walk out the door naked. His guards know by now that I’m not to be touched. A string of words follows me out. They sound like “please” and “no” and “don’t leave” but I’ve got no will to listen. There are some lines you just don’t cross.

This has been a Wicked Wednesday post! Wicked Wednesday is on Week #184, brought to you by the delectable and most admirable Marie Rebelle of Rebel’s Notes. As for me, this is week #4. We’re on the subject of boundaries this week– is there anything in bed that you just won’t do? Let me know in the comments! xxx

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