Hurt So Good Read online

  Is it possible that I’m just… me? That I’m not my father’s creation, doomed from my very DNA? But if I thought that, then I’d have to believe the same of Darren, wouldn’t I? And he came out okay. Better than okay.

  Jesus, I don’t know a more carefree person than my little brother. I love that damn kid. He’s not a kid anymore but to me, he’ll always be my little brother. I kept him from the worst of it, and that last, terrible revelation— I shudder. He’ll never know, not if I can keep it from him.

  Both Dad and Mom are gone. Maybe the past really can finally be buried.

  Easy for you to say. What about Chloe?

  I pull out my phone and click ‘Contacts’. There’s Chloe’s number, just where it’s been all these years. Transferred from phone to phone as I upgraded over the years. Never dialed.

  My thumb hovers over the call button.

  When suddenly the phone buzzes with an incoming text message.

  Saved by the text. I breathe out and switch over to look at the text.

  It’s from Miranda.

  There are three addresses with a short note under each.

  The first says: Any night this week after 8pm except Fri. Key under the doormat.

  The second reads: Tomorrow, 6-8. My car will be ‘stalled’ on the side of the road.

  And the third: Friday. 11pm. Back alley behind Club Chandelier.

  Followed by: My safe word is red.

  My blood immediately fires red hot. My cock goes stiff and I’m completely fucking pissed. Is this what she would do with those fucking guys off the internet? Give them locations to ‘attack’ her? Did she let them know where the fucking key to her house is?

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Somebody needs to teach this woman a fucking lesson on safety. I hiss out a long breath at the possibilities that immediately begin flashing through my mind. Followed by the revulsion that’s a knee jerk reaction.

  You are not a sociopath.

  Before I fully admit what I’m doing, I’m in my car, punching her address into my GPS.

  Chapter Six

  MIRANDA

  I was distracted for the rest of the day and barely got anything done after going to Dylan’s office at lunch. I think I answered some emails. Then daydreamed about Dylan. Maybe scheduled a few meetings? Daydreamed about Dylan some more.

  I cancelled happy hour plans with Daniel and came home early. After today, I just wanted a glass of wine and a long bath. But Daniel is my bff and I know I’m gonna hear an earful about it on Friday when we’re planning to hang out again.

  He’s having drama with his new Domme, shocking, and I know he wanted to tell me all about it. Frankly, the fact that he’s been in a semi-stable relationship for as long as he has—a whole three months—is one of the things that gives me hope for myself.

  Maybe not with Dylan. He never responded to my texts. Though I guess that’s part of the point of those kinds of texts. I just put them out there and not knowing whether the guy will pick up the ball or not is part of the thrill of it.

  With guys online we usually play over video chat a few times and then I meet them at the The Dungeon, my favorite local BDSM club, at least once before I send out the kind of open invitation I just sent Dylan. And I’ve never invited anyone to play at my actual house before.

  But I’m breaking all the rules with Dylan. Which I guess is part of the point. I don’t want rules. I want to be free. Free to be as fucked up as I can be with someone who knows the score.

  Outside The Dungeon. Outside sane. Outside safe.

  All I need is consensual.

  Is that fucked up?

  I never pretended to be anything else.

  I open the fridge and bend over to reach for the leftover fried rice from yesterday. Maybe if I—

  I screech as I’m suddenly grabbed from behind.

  A huge hand clamps over my mouth and an arm tightens like a steel band around my waist, pulling me into a body. A large, male body. A large, aroused male body.

  What if it’s not Dylan?

  Leaving the key under the mat is stupid. Really stupid. Everyone puts their spare key there.

  It could be anyone behind me. It’s dark out and I always leave my shutters open because I secretly like the thought of someone watching me. Looking in when I can’t see out.

  What if someone’s been watching me?

  What if someone saw me put the key under the mat?

  “Don’t say a word, bitch,” comes the growl in my ear. Low. Gutteral.

  I can’t tell if it’s Dylan or not.

  The hand not at my mouth grabs at my breast with a bruising grip and I cry out.

  “What?” he sneers. “You aren’t even going to fight me?”

  What if it’s not Dylan? What if it’s not fucking Dylan? Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.

  I start freaking the fuck out, fighting and screaming and biting to get away. The man behind me, oh shit, he only gets harder as he yanks me out of the kitchen and shoves me to the carpeted floor of the living room.

  His cock digs into my ass.

  I twist my head to get a look at him. I just need to know it’s Dylan. I just need to know. Then everything will be okay.

  But he’s wearing a fucking ski mask.

  He does let go of my mouth as he shoves me face first to the carpet, though. And when his big, brutal body leans over mine, I ask in a desperate whisper, “Dylan?”

  There’s a brief pause though his grip on my wrists he has wrenched behind my back is no gentler.

  “You want to say a color, little girl?” he barks. But the growling rasp is gone from his voice and it’s recognizable. It’s Dylan. I bow my forehead to the carpet as my heartbeat slows. It’s not real. It’s Dylan.

  It’s Dylan and I could end all this with a single word. Red.

  Instead, I arch my ass up and start to fight like a wildcat at the same time. I’m suddenly furious at him for scaring me. Furious at myself for my fuckedupness and how thrilled I am by the fear. Furious at everything.

  “No, you fucking bastard,” I spit. “I don’t need to say a fucking color. I need you to get the fuck out of my house. You can’t fucking have me.”

  I twist against his grip and his knee in my back even as I hear the noise of his zipper coming undone. My belly swoops at the sound as he laughs in my ear.

  “You think you can get away from me?” The rasp is back in his voice. “You’re all alone. Your neighbors are too far away to hear you even if you scream. You’re at my mercy. I can do anything I want to you.”

  As if to punctuate his point, he reaches up under my skirt, wrenches my panties to the side, and shoves three fingers up inside me.

  I can’t help making an oof noise at the intrusion. I’m not wet yet and it stings. I scrabble at the carpet, trying to crawl away from him. It’s no use, though.

  He just grabs hold of my leg and drags me backwards toward him. I cry out, letting all of it go. Letting all of it fucking go.

  Probably a really dumb move. I don’t know Dylan. Not really. But still, just like last night, I give myself over to him in complete trust.

  Which doesn’t mean I submit. No, the struggle is part of what I love, what I need.

  So I kick at him and scream. I must land one especially good kick because he grunts loudly and then launches himself at me as I make another attempt to get away.

  He lands on top of me, his whole body covering all of mine.

  His erection is bigger and harder than last time, though I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “You think you can fight me, slut?” He laughs humorlessly. “I’ll show you what sluts like you deserve. To have their cunts full of cock.”

  And with that, I feel him bare against my ass. He reaches one hand around my hips, yanking me up just enough to expose my pussy.

  And then he jams inside me.

  We both cry out at his entrance and I squeeze around him. Because it feels.

  So.

  Damn.

  Go
od.

  He is everything I’ve been missing. That emptiness I’ve been walking around with years. For years. But now I’m full in every way.

  He drags out and then shoves in again and I come.

  Two thrusts and I come.

  That’s how badly I’ve needed this.

  I scream into the carpet with my orgasm, thrashing on his cock. I hope he thinks its because I’m still trying to get away. He can’t know how desperate I am for him. How goddamned needy.

  I should know better, though.

  “You think it’s that easy? You think you get off that easy? You don’t know how this works, little girl.”

  He bottoms out inside me, so deep it makes my breath catch. And then he pulls all the way out and flips me so that I’m on my back.

  Immediately, though, he’s back on top of me, grabbing my ankles and lifting them up so they’re up near my head. He plunges in again relentlessly. One stroke, then two.

  His cock is big, but for me, it’s the perfect size. Wide enough to stretch me and provide sensation to every part of my sex, and long enough to hit all the important bits inside when he thrusts deep.

  But when he withdraws and I feel the head of his cock nudging at my ass, my eyes fly wide open.

  “No!” I shout, looking him in the eye.

  His dark eyes are piercing as I frantically meet his gaze.

  But then he just reaches down and continues feeding his cock into my asshole.

  Will I let him do this? I haven’t let other men. No one since…

  I whimper but don’t avert my gaze from Dylan’s. Shit. Oh shit, oh shit, am I really letting him do this?

  He’s a thief. You don’t have a choice.

  But that’s just the game. We both know that he’s waiting to see if I’ll say the safe word or not.

  Isn’t this what I wanted, though? Not to be in control? For a man to be able to take me to all the darkest, deepest places?

  So I purse my lips tight, lay back, and close my eyes.

  He doesn’t wait. He immediately surges deeper.

  Oh God! Ow, fuck. Ow! I cry out and my eyes fly open, because fuck, it hurts. He’s going to split me wide open.

  “Look at me,” he barks. “Eyes on me or I’ll fucking kill you.”

  I nod obediently, both thrilled and terrified at his words.

  But his cock, oh God. It was the perfect size for my pussy, but my ass? It hurts. It hurts so bad.

  Tears spring to my eyes but Dylan doesn’t stop.

  What he does do is yank the mask off his head and throw it to the side. Then he bends over, my legs sandwiched up between our bodies, crushing me to the carpet with his weight

  “That’s right,” he whispers, rasp gone.

  It’s just the two of us in this moment. Dylan and Miranda.

  “Let me see you cry. Show me how it hurts.”

  So I do.

  I let it all go. I fucking sob as he continues breeching me, inch by terrible inch until he’s finally buried in my ass.

  He jams in the last bit and I cry harder. He smiles in satisfaction and leans over to kiss my face. Kissing my tears. Licking them.

  “That’s right. Cry for me, little girl.”

  He pulls out and then his hips thrust back in. I screech at the repeated invasion and he grips my hair at the nape of my neck, gathering it in his hand and jerking my head so that I can’t avert my eyes.

  “Fucking look at me while I defile you, angel.”

  So I do. Tears pouring down my cheeks, I look up at him and wonder who this cruel and terrible and fucked up and perfect man is.

  Perfect for me.

  I’ve had men who wanted to hurt me before. With whips and paddles and canes. But this is what I’ve needed. For the sex itself to hurt.

  For my partner to want it to hurt.

  And I see it so clearly in his eyes. He wants to punish me. He wants to fuck me until I sob. The satisfaction and intensity and pleasure burning in his eyes as he looks down on me, our faces so close we’re sharing a breath—

  A shudder wracks my body as I come again, harder than before.

  I see his surprise as he feels it. His eyes widen in wonder.

  And then his mouth comes crashing down on mine. His tongue is as invasive as his cock and I bite and suck on it as I continue coming, the wave hot and sharp and bright, fizzling out through my limbs as we continue to kiss and fuck.

  It’s only seconds later when I feel him stiffen and then his fingers clench my hair even tighter and he kisses me harder then ever as he pumps cum deep in my ass.

  He rolls us to the side, cradling my head on his arm as we both gasp for breath in the moments afterwards.

  Holy shit.

  Did that really just—

  I mean… holy shit.

  That was the hottest and best sex of my life, bar none. And most of it was anal. What the hell? I hate anal. I’ve always hated anal. Haven’t I?

  I’ve only done it a few times before. All with Bryce and all when he was punishing me with some new mindfuck.

  But this… this was something altogether different.

  Dylan kisses the top of my head as he cradles me to his chest and I feel like bursting out in a fresh round of tears.

  A few minutes later, he gets up and gently helps me to my feet. Without a word, he finds my bedroom with attached bathroom and starts a bath running. The water quickly steams the mirror and hairs on my arm prickle. I feel cold as my sweaty skin cools.

  A minute later, Dylan takes my hand and together, we step into my large bathtub. It’s one of the few luxuries my house affords. All property in the Bay Area is ridiculously expensive, but I chose this house in particular because, even though smaller in square footage overall, it has this extra-large bathroom, including the jacuzzi tub. I’m so busy at work I’m rarely home, but when I am, I like to enjoy the creature comforts.

  Dylan fiddles with the settings on the jets. I’m about to offer to turn them on but the next second he’s got them bubbling away and I sink back in the water against his chest.

  We were frantic earlier but now our movements are languid, like we’re both moving in slow motion.

  His hands, so brutal only fifteen minutes earlier, are now gentle and soothing as he runs soap down my bare shoulders. He lathers the soap and then cups my breasts and runs his thumbs over my nipples.

  I can’t help arching into his touch and I feel his erection stir back to life beneath me. I’m not sure I can handle another round at this point, it’s so intense with him, but when he gently moves my hair off my shoulder and his lips come to the nape of my neck with whisper kisses, I melt back against him.

  I move restlessly in the water against him, rubbing my ass against his cock. Shit, I’m not sure what I’m doing but I suddenly can’t think of anything other than having him inside me again. Maybe I don’t know what I’m asking for. I’m sore down there and I can’t do any more anal—

  But when he reaches down and guides himself inside me, it’s into my pussy. And he doesn’t do it roughly.

  For the first time, he’s gentle.

  He wraps his arms around me, the side of his face pressed against the back of my neck and shoulder and he breathes roughly into my ear, “What the hell are you doing to me?”

  He fucks me slow and deep, the already roiling water sloshing slightly more with his movements.

  And oh—

  The fullness of him.

  The rightness of it.

  I let out a little keening cry and he twists one of my nipples. I hiss and he pinches it harder while reaching to stroke my clit with his other hand.

  I cry out in pleasure while he drops kisses along my shoulder. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

  And then I’m crying again. But not because it hurts. Or maybe it does. Hearing those words that are always so impossible for me to believe, from him, in this moment with everything stripped down between us.

  Does he know what he’s doing
to me?

  Does he know that in this moment he could break me with a single word?

  Because right now, right here, I’m raw.

  This is the same place Bryce Gentry used to take me. But after Bryce got me here, he never told me I was perfect.

  He brought me to my most vulnerable and then let me know how worthless I was. Useless. Ugly. Cheap. Over and over. He took me to the brink and then instead of lifting me up, he’d stomp me under his heel.

  But when Dylan cups my face so that I’m looking back at him, his eyes are full of the wonder from earlier.

  He swallows hard, not uttering a word as his eyes search mine. That’s when I see it. I’m not the only one raw right now. I’m not the only one cut open like a heart patient on the operating table with their ribs spread wide.

  I reach a hand around to touch his face, too. I scrape my thumb down the stubble on his jaw. I run my forefinger across the slight lines on his forehead. He can’t yet be thirty but he looks older. Weary beyond his years.

  He snatches my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. And then he sucks my fingers into his mouth, all the while moving slowly but forcefully inside me.

  I shudder and feel my eyelids flutter closed.

  Oh God.

  I thought hard and brutal was the best sex I’d ever had but this? This passionate, slow intensity?

  “Eyes,” he demands.

  My eyes spring open and go back to his. He doesn’t offer more. He just holds my hand to my shoulder, a subtle sort of bondage, and I kept my head twisted round to look at him.

  The position makes my neck ache and eventually I have to look away.

  But Dylan’s not having that. He lifts me off of him and moves us in the tub, twisting me so that I’m facing him, my legs straddling him. We’re no longer along the back of the tub but in the center.

  His cock nudges at the lips of my sex and slips back in like it knows exactly where home is. I can’t help grinding down on him, rubbing my pelvis to get friction exactly where I need it most.

  He hisses and grasps my shoulders from behind, pulling me down as far as possible on his cock.

  Then he loops one arm around my waist and uses the buoyancy of the water to help lift me up. He pulls me back down and I squeeze my walls as tight around him as possible. The corresponding strain on his face is so satisfying I concentrate all my strength on my core, squeezing and tightening with every downstroke.