Pain and Pleasure

Sarah

Matthew's hands grip my waist roughly, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me flush against his body. His lips crash against mine, hungry and demanding, and I meet him with equal hunger.

We stumble backward until my back hits the wall. Matthew's hands roam over my body, tugging impatiently at the fabric of my dress. I arch into his touch, a gasp escaping my lips as his hand finds my breast, kneading it roughly through the thin material.

With a growl, Matthew rips the straps of my dress, exposing my skin to his heated gaze. His mouth trails down my neck, biting and sucking. I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him close, needing to feel him against me.

I don't think I can stop him tonight. I don't think I want to.

Matthew lifts me suddenly and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the mattress. He sheds his shirt before crawling over me, his eyes dark with lust and anger.

I reach for him, my nails raking down his back as he settles between my thighs. I can feel his hardness pressing against me and I buck my hips. Matthew hisses through clenched teeth.

"Is this what you want, Sarah?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," I breathe, too far gone to care about anything else.

With a muttered curse, he thrusts into me, filling me completely. I cry out, my back arching off the bed at the sudden intrusion. Matthew sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against mine with bruising force.

It hurts. It hurts so much it makes my head spin. I feel like a worm on a hook, but I ignore it.

All that mattered was the feeling of him inside me, stretching me, filling me so completely that I thought I might shatter from the sheer intensity of it. I am willing to endure any amount of pain because he is finally becoming one with me.

Pathetic, I know.

"Is this what you wanted?" Matthew growls against my skin, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. "To be fucked like a whore by the husband you trapped into marriage?"

Tears sting my eyes at his cruel words, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.

Even now, in the midst of this brutal, punishing act, I can feel the pain radiating off him in waves. It's in the tension of his muscles, the harsh rasp of his breath against my skin.

This isn't just anger. It's anguish, raw and bleeding. The anguish of a man whose heart has been shattered into jagged shards. And I put those shards there.

"Matthew," I whisper, my voice breaking on his name. I reach up to cup his face, my thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. He flinches at my touch, his eyes squeezing shut as if he can't bear to look at me.

"I'm sorry," I breathe, the words tearing from my throat. "I'm so sorry for everything."

He stills above me, his breath coming in harsh pants. For a long moment, he doesn't move, doesn't speak. Then, slowly, he opens his eyes. They're dark and stormy.

"Sorry isn't enough," he rasps. "Sorry will never be enough."

He starts to move again, but the frenzied urgency from before is gone. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, my legs wrapped tight around his waist as the pain slowly starts to turn into pleasure.

I know I should hate this, hate him. But I can't. Even now, even like this, I love him. I love him so much it consumes me. He is mine. MINE.

"I know," I manage, my words hitching on a gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot deep inside me.

Matthew thrusts into me again and again. The pleasure builds inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally shatters. I cry out, my body arching off the bed as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me.

Matthew follows a moment later with a guttural groan, his hips faltering against mine as he finds his own release. For a few blissful seconds, we are lost in the haze of pleasure, our bodies still intimately joined.

But then the moment passes, and reality comes crashing back in.

Matthew rolls off me, his chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling. I turn my head to look at him, taking in the sharp angles of his profile, the clenched set of his jaw. He won't meet my eyes.

Matthew sits up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sudden movement makes me flinch, my body still raw and tender from his brutal possession.

He stands, his back to me, as he reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor.

Matthew pulls on his shirt, his movements sharp and jerky. I watch him, my heart in my throat, waiting for him to say something, anything.

But he doesn't. He just stands there, his back to me, his shoulders tense.

"Ma-tthew…" I start but stop as he speaks.

"So you were a virgin, huh? I have to say, I'm surprised. I thought for sure you would have spread your legs for someone by now, given how desperately you threw yourself at me."

I flinch at his cruel words but don't make a sound.

"I guess Daddy's little princess was saving herself for her wedding night," Matthew continues, his tone dripping with contempt. "How sweet. Too bad it was wasted on someone who hates you."

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously, refusing to let him see how much he is hurting me.

"You seemed to stand the sight of me just fine a few minutes ago," I manage to say, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts.

Matthew scoffs, finally turning to face me. His eyes are hard and cold, no trace of the passion that had darkened them earlier. "Don't flatter yourself. A hole is a hole. Yours was just…convenient. I needed to take my frustration out on something, that's all."

I recoil as if he had physically hit me. I knew he was cruel, but this…this is a new level of heartlessness, even for him.

He turns away again, zipping up his pants and buckling his belt with quick, efficient movements.

"Where are you going?" I ask quietly.

"To sleep in the guestroom. You didn't actually think I would sleep in the same bed with you, did you?" he asked mockingly.

I look down. "No, of course not."

And then he's gone, the bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

I should feel used, violated even. And part of me does. But beneath the humiliation and the hurt, there's something else. A tiny, treacherous spark of…hope?

He had wanted me, even if it was just for a moment. Even if it was fueled by anger and resentment and the ghost of a love he'd once felt for someone else.

It's twisted, I know. To crave the touch of a man who despises me, who makes no secret of his loathing. But I can't help it.

I'm drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even knowing that he'll burn me to ashes in the end.