BLACK ROSE

The broken rule

Alex.

I wake up with a dull pain all over my body. Every nerve is on fire, and it feels like all my bones are broken.

Though that's not what disturbs me.

Staring at my surroundings, taking in the details of the unfamiliar bedroom, the memories of last night slowly reappear. The bed's comfortable and there's a pleasant smell of lilies lingering in the air. Gradually I realise the room isn't just unfamiliar, it also looks strangely female influenced. It's clean and neat, everything's put in its designated place. It resembles no room I've seen before.

I don't dare to lift my head or move my body, even an inch. Within a few seconds I have a clear image of last night.

And I want to laugh. Congratulate myself and also curse the shit out of me. And so I just smirk to myself and run a hand through my hair.

I allowed myself to get beaten up, almost to literal death. High on adrenaline I sought out the one person I should keep a far distance from. High on adrenaline I pushed myself over my physical limits. Would I repeat it? Fuck yeah.

The pain was all worth the night's pleasure.

Pondering how to exit the room, I replay the scenes in my head. They're just as good as the actual act, and I find myself craving for more. I'm a cursed man.

It takes a few minutes for me to gather the courage to look at Ashley. Her head resting on my chest, one hand around my bruised torso. Strands of her dirty honey blond hair covering her angel features. Her body's keeping me warm, so delicate and tiny. Most importantly – naked.

The vision of her dainty body under me, begging for my touch and responding to it exactly how I had imagined and wanted burns in my head. The feeling of her nails scratching down my body and moaning my name. Her voice is still echoing in my mind; it's like a broken record. The soft movements of her hips and the feeling of whole, being all the way inside her.

Nothing compares to that.

The longer I spent on replaying the scenes in my head, the more creative I get with ideas for the next time. It raises a crucial question – what does this change between us now? Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but paying close attention to the sexual tension between us, I know I'll have her begging for me again.

And I live for that moment to happen.

Doing my best to wriggle free from her warm touch, I take my time to observe her curves in daylight. If I wouldn't be dying in excruciating pain all over my body, I would've taken my time to wake her up to my teasing. Slow touches all over my body, sweet flirty words of nothing. To see that look on her face, the look of terror soon replaced with sexual consolation, those grey eyes of her rolling all the way back in her head thanks to my touch. To hear those soft moans escape her lips.

I shake my head, forcing myself to limp to the bathroom, to the place where it all started. Everything Ashley took out to treat my wounds is on display. I put it away and stare at myself in the mirror. Bloody pieces of gauze swabs have fallen to the floor, and some are still on the basin.

She treated the bruises on my face before I lost my patience. The band aid covering my broken eyebrow is getting off. With a silent grunt I quickly pull it off. Blood starts to flow down my face. I don't reach for the clean cotton pieces; I stare at it. Amazed by its colour and flow and speed, its consistency.

I attempt to inhale deeply, get a good amount of air into my lungs, but fail. My chest erupts in pain, and it occurs to me Ashley might've been right. But could a person with broken ribs be able to have sex? I doubt it.