Her Innocence His Desire

Chapter 7

I told y'all  I would update more lol.  I made a few changes. They're not that big but I thought the changes were necessary for the story and it makes it a little more interesting and somewhat different. Enjoy 💚.

My body twisted in discomfort. Trying to catch my breath or even keep a steady flow of my breathing had suddenly become my hardest task. His muscular weight pounding on to my tiny fragile frame  with every movement he made inside of me. My stomach cramping up, the deeper he penetrated me.

His size was nothing to exaggerate and after two years of being forced to handle it or "take it."as he would always grunt out, my weak side always had a way of showing when it came to what nature had, as some will say, blessed him with, but those people never had to deal with this kind of torturous, careless, vile, gruesome act of sex. My private felt inflamed, it throbbed and pulsed. My small hands attempted to reach back and push on his built chest, only for him to fling it off of him like a pesky fly and continue. My voice barely audible, trying my best to speak as my ears caught on to our son desperately crying out as most babies do. "A- A- Ahmad please."

My voice was defeated. Only for him to lift us both, without ever removing himself from inside of me, wincing as he positioned me on top and gripped my hips. His large hands engulfing them fully, as he guided me up and down while moving his hips upwards. Gripping his shoulders, my chin resting on his shoulder, my face grimacing in pain. He never said much during sex. A few groans here and there but it seemed as though his concentration was solely on breaking my body down, painfully, with every motion he made inside of me.

Our son was still crying. I could hear as he got louder and can only imagine how red his tiny face was from the non stop screaming. He isn't use to me not being right there by his side within seconds after hearing his tiny squeals. Rather it was because he needed a change of diapers, a warm bottle or because he was tired/sleepy I couldn't stand to hear him cry out. His  father, can and does ignore him until the sky turns blue.

His heavy breathing was felt down my neck tickling it. His nails leaving marks in my hips,from penetrating them so deeply, as he removed them. He tapped my butt meaning "Get up." My body shaking, dried up tears painted on my cheeks. I was looking down. My legs crossed over one another . My natural curls were a mess. My naked body in full view of his eyes. Tears continued to drop even hitting and staining my inner thigh as well as my feet. Crying had been non stop for me. Even if I didn't want to sob and weep, I still would.

I can't begin to tell you how jittery I've become. Every sound puts some kind of fear in me. Even the slightest drop of a pen will make me my heart rate fastened. He has completely changed me for the worse. He forced me out, of the Southside of the city to up North. Sure it was the better part of Chicago. Where you could smell the money and wealth in the air but money couldn't  even get a giggle out of me at this point in my life. Money isn't happiness.

I often see my restless mother still crying out on the news. She hasn't given up and it's been months. She's great at what she does as a parent. I attempted to hold on to the ways she installed in me but after a while of being talked down on and broken down inch by inch night and day.

You can't help but to believe that you deserve this misery. I wanted my mother. I needed her scent, her warmth, her smile. I needed her to rid me of this life I was manipulated into. She pleads for me to return and I so desperately wish I could.

Ahmad will see me. Leaned over, spilling my heart into my hands and just say "Turn this shit off!" I try to go against him and "I said now." His words are always stern and never meant to be repeated.

He pulls his boxers up. His veins popping out of his chocolate muscular arms. His dark chest  tattoos protruding out with his heavy breathing. His high top cut had grown out more with a lot more kinks. Along with his beard. His high cheekbones were the finishing touches to his perfectly structured face. Handsome, that he was, but even the devil can be a sight to see.

I hear his husky voice say "Go shut him up and start the shower."

I slowly move my sore legs. Searching for my underwear and top. That is if he didn't tear them both into pieces. His phone was going off with texts, calls and Apple mail alerts. You'll be surprised at how many murders I've overheard him plan over the phone. My spit sometimes got stuck in my throat hearing how nonchalant he was about it.

I hate it. I randomly cry out to the heavens sometimes. I begin to digest the fact that this was the life I was probably destined to have. My stomach twist in disgust at the thought.

Even when I was just a innocent child, not knowing what life would bring, this was probably planned for my life from the beginning. If only we weren't so naive as little children.

Maybe we'll be more prepared for such nightmares. Then again, I feel some sort of weird passion sometimes. As if I don't want to be away from him like I say I do. I feel protected from others when I'm with him but a terrifying chill still goes through my body when he's near me.