He slides two fingers inside me and my breath hitches. Tank licks up one side of my pussy and down the other, and then he twists his fingers inside me, and presses against my G-spot.
“Oh fuck,” I moan, unable to control the way my legs shake as he fucks me hard with those long, thick fingers of his, and hits all the right places.
“Come for me, baby.”
Tank’s coarse beard adds to the sensation as I slide my cunt against his mouth. With one big hand he shoves my writhing hips down on the mattress and sucks my clit into his mouth. “Oh fuck, Tank,” I pant, as I grab his hair and practically scalp him in the process.
I squeeze my thighs together in an effort to lessen the pressure or intensify it—I’m not sure which. All I know is that I feel too much right now. I also know that Tank has no intention of letting me go until I come for him. I know this, and yet I still try to squirm away.
He tries pinning me to the bed with his huge arms, but I struggle. It’s too much. Too sweet. Too gentle. When he gets tired of fighting me, he growls and gets to his knees, slides his arms underneath me and lifts my arse off of the bed. He doesn’t just lift my arse, but my whole body, and settles me over his shoulders, burying his face in my pussy again while he supports me with firm hands at my back. He sucks my clit into his mouth and I come, hard, scratching his head, neck, and anything else I can find purchase with. Tank grunts as I practically suffocate him with my thighs, and then he unceremoniously dumps me on the bed in a heap of shaking limbs and weightlessness.
It’s as if he’s sliced me open from forehead to toes and yanked out all my bones, and I’m left with muscle and sinew that clings to nothing. I should be unnerved, but instead, for the first time in my life I feel free. Even if only for a moment. Even if the hurt and pain and torment of my father comes creeping back in as soon as this bliss disperses, I’ll still have the knowledge that for one fleeting second I escaped him. Tank gave me that when no one else even bothered to try.
I laugh at … well, I’m not even sure what I’m laughing at. The endorphins? The way he just tossed me around like a ragdoll? Or the fact that I just had three of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, and they had nothing to do with pain.
When I quit giggling like a fucking schoolgirl I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me in awe. My laughter stops short. “Sorry.”
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ apologise. I don’t know what the hell you’re laughin’ at, and so long as it’s not my cock I don’t care.” He climbs on top of me and spreads my legs apart with his knees, fitting himself into the space between my thighs. His cock presses against my clit, making me slowly arch up against him. Tank rests his weight on bent elbows and smooths the hair back from my face. The way he looks at me makes me feel nervous for the first time in a long time. I shouldn’t get too used to this. I shouldn’t get too used to him, because even though I want to, the idea of trusting in this, of falling in love with him, frightens me more than being alone and on the run.
“I’m never gonna let you leave this bed,” he whispers.
“You’re not, huh?” I snag his earlobe in my teeth and bite down hard.
Tank growls, and his full lips twist with a wry grin. “Don’t plan on it, nope. I was just makin’ you aware.”
“I think I can take you,” I say, flexing my hips so his cock slides over the hood of my clit.
“Can you now?”
“You bet your arse I can, Mr Whitecross.”
Tank chuckles. The sound resonates through his big barrel chest and my nipples turn to hard, tight little buds. His mouth covers mine as he slides one arm beneath me, cupping my arse. I kiss him back and use the distraction to roll us so that I’m lying on top. It’s graceless and not without a lot of effort on my part—because like I said before, he’s heavy—but his brows arch in mock surprise.
“You know I helped there, right?”
“Shut up,” I warn, but he doesn’t say a thing, just grins and takes hold of my waist when I push myself into a sitting position. I lift my hips and reach for his thick cock, guiding it slowly inside me until he’s seated balls’ deep and I can feel every inch of him stretching me wide. He’s so big it hurts, and my instinct is to ride him harder, to make it hurt even more, but this isn’t about punishment.
Tank groans, “Jesus, fuck. You’re tight.” He slides a hand across my hip and down to my pussy where he rubs my clit with the softest of touches. I rock back and forth on top of him. I need to come again. I need to come with his cock buried inside me, opening me, stretching me. I need to feel his release as I pulse around him. But I know it’s far too soon for that. I move my hips, matching the rhythm he creates with his hand. It’s such a simple thing, and yet it feels as though I’ve never experienced pleasure like this before. And maybe I haven’t. Maybe I never really knew what pleasure was.
He pulls me down and threads his hands into my hair, smothering my neck and shoulder with kisses. There’s an urgency to his touch that wasn’t there before. “Babe, I’ve gotta fuck you now.”
I nod, rocking my hips in time with his, coaxing and willing him closer to the edge. I can’t think when he’s inside me, can’t form words. Not after he blew my world wide open with a few well-placed touches and that very talented tongue.
I deliberately clench my muscles and he hisses as if he’s in pain, and then his hands are gone from my hair. They grip my hips. His fingers claw at my soft flesh as he pumps in and out of me. Tank intensifies his pace, and I can’t hold back any longer. With a cry, I come. I shatter into a billion tiny pieces. I’m suspended around him, above him, and I’m spent. I’m undone.
Somehow, I keep time with him and, rocking my pelvis against his, I ride out my orgasm with my eyes closed and tears streaming down my cheeks as pleasure forces my body to jerk and quake and completely let go. Tank trails a hand up my back and grasps the nape of my neck in his hands. I open my eyes and smile down at him.
The reinvention of Ivy.
That’s what this is. That’s what all these gentle, sweet and achingly tender touches are about. He wasn’t kidding when he said he intended to show me something other than hurt. And I should be angry at him for wanting to change the way I’m hardwired, for wanting me to be something other than a fucked up pain junkie, but I’m not. I’m not anything but a boneless pile of muscle, tissue, sinew, and nerve endings. And I don’t care that he wants to put an end to all that mercilessness, because sometimes you have to break even the most wilful of things to make them fit back together whole, complete, and stronger than before.
Tank continues to move inside of me, and though I’m spent, I writhe against him, with him. When he finally does slip over the edge, I take his face in my hands and crush my lips to his. I kiss him so deeply I don’t know how we ever kissed any other way. I swallow his primal grunts and cries of pleasure, and he wraps his huge arms around me like a vice and squeezes me until I can’t breathe.
When his body goes lax and his breathing turns from heavy and strained to a light snore, I pull away a little, in order to see his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and his face is slackened with sleep. Tank has one of those too-square jaws with sharp cheekbones, and dark, intense blue eyes that can be so full of emotion one second, and so devoid and cold the next. His full lips are always red from riding in the wind. His beard is dark and unkempt, and his hair too, most of the time, because he crops it himself with a rusted out old pair of clippers. When I met him it was down past his shoulders with natural light brown highlights from the sun. He looked a lot younger then, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being able to tug on it while his face was buried between my legs.