A Nice Guy

37

We didn't fuck in the shower. Surprising right? I know. It just wasn't the best spot considering her being eight months pregnant and the space itself being so confined—it just wasn't happening. Instead, I simply washed her hair, like I said I would.

This time, I pay extra attention to the mats so they'll be easier to get rid of afterwards. I comb conditioner through her hair with my fingers, filling the air with the strong scent of coconut and pineapple. I rinse it away, messaging her scalp and her shoulders afterwards.

Once I'm done, I move her hair to the side, exposing the nape of her neck. I hear her breath hitch as I lightly wrap my hand around her throat, pulling her closer to me. My breath fans against her skin, creating goosebumps along her complexion.

We haven't fucked in so long, I can feel my dick uncontrollably throbbing against her back, desperate for her. I kiss her neck while massaging her tits, and a moan escapes her. She slaps her hand over her mouth, as if she'd just exposed herself, which she had.

She wants me to fuck her, I know she does. She's horny, but she's so fixed on maintaining this hatred for me that she won't allow herself to do anything about it. Lucky for her, I'll fuck her regardless.

I move her hand away from her face; I want to hear more of her, preferably out of the shower so I can fuck the life out of her. I turn the water off and lead her to the bedroom. We're soaking wet, but I don't care. "Lay on your back," I tell her, and she does. I get on my knees in front of her, pulling her to the edge of the bed and devouring her pussy until she's moments from coming in my mouth. But as soon as I sense that she's about to finish, I pull away.

I stand, smiling at her frustration. She's panting, staring at me like she'd kill me if I dared to take a step closer. "What?" I ask her, innocently as ever.

She bites her lip, and before she's able to reply, I shove my dick into her so hard she gasps my name. I could've came from that alone, but I don't allow myself to. I fuck her hard—harder than I've ever fucked her before. I feel her nails ripping my skin open, so I push her down against the bed by her throat. She tells me to slow down—that it hurts, but I can't. I'm so fucking close.

I squeeze her throat tighter in my hand, closing my eyes as I come inside of her. I thrust into her three more times, letting my nut pour into her. When I pull out, my dick is covered in come and streaks of blood. I look at her; she's watching, staring at the blood. Fuck. I get on my knees in front of her again, attempting to distract her by letting her finish.

I eat her out for ten fucking minutes before she comes. Her clit pulses against my tongue as she tightens her legs around my head. She holds me in place until she's finished, but she doesn't let me go afterwards. She keeps me pinned down until I'm literally suffocating. I lightly slap her thighs to let her know I can't fucking breathe, but she ignores me, tightening her grip.

Desperate for air, I tear her legs from the sides of my head, falling back on the floor as soon as I'm free from them. I stare at her, attempting to catch my breath. "What the fuck..."

She's laughing, like it's the funniest thing in the world, and I can't help but smile at her happiness. Even if it's the product of her attempting to murder me, I have to appreciate every second of her joy. Lately her smile is so rare, I'll take what I can get.

I stare at her like she's fucking crazy, but I'm laughing right along with her. "If you're trying to kill me, try harder next time," I tell her.

She looks down at me. For a moment, she doesn't say anything. It's like she's studying me; letting her eyes trail my entire body. Her eyes stop at mine. "You too."

I drop my smile, thinking to myself, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Why would she even say that? Is she insinuating that I'm trying to kill her? I drag my hands over my face, then forcefully rub them against my eyes until I see black spots dancing around. I decide not to ask her what she'd meant by that. If I pretend I don't know what she's getting at, then she's automatically wrong in accusing me.

I stand, holding my hand out for her. "Sit up so I can brush your hair."

Later that night, unbeknownst to me, she lets me sleep in the bed with her.

I hold her close to me, her head on my shoulder and her hand on my chest, and stare at the ceiling. She's sleeping, but I have the overwhelming urge to apologize to her for raping her again. I'm not supposed to do that anymore, now that she's practically mine. It's just not necessary, and yet, I couldn't stop myself.

The thing is, I love Hazel, I do. She's an amazing woman; smart, strong, beautiful... but something about her makes me want to tear her down.

Sometimes her confidence makes me nervous, like she's going to realize she can walk out of my life at any moment. She's going to realize she doesn't need me, and she doesn't have to put up with how I treat her, so I get so fucking nervous, I overpower her in any way I can.

Whether it's by manipulating her, lying to her, secluding her, or raping her, I make her question her self worth, that way she'll stay with me.

It's the only way, and I've proven that. How else would she have left her marriage? How else would she have ended up living with me? There were no other options, I had to do what I had to do.

I just hope in the end she'll understand.