TWENTY-TWO: He Doesn't Show Me Any Mercy

And then, within seconds, and without warning, I feel him breach my entrance and press into me.

I gasp at the intrusion; it is unexpected, but I can't say it is unwanted. The breath I suck into my lungs is sharp and loud and he is moving before I'm ready. He groans at the tightness and I hiss at the stinging pain in my core.

But he doesn't show me any mercy.

His thrusts are quick and sharp and give me no time to adjust. I gasp again and whimper. "Harlan, I can't."

"Yes, you can," he growls, voice dripping with apathy. He completely sheathes himself into my underworked cunt and presses against me harder for good measure so I feel him deep, far deeper than what feels normal. I can practically feel him in my throat. I sputter and cry, tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

"You're gonna take my big fucking cock, like the good little whore you are."

My eyes roll back in my head and I moan at his words. I'm unprepared to be fucked to the point where my cunt aches around his cock, its sheer size stretching me out as far as possible. But within a few thrusts I'm practically dripping, and I moan lowly when I feel him fully coated in my wetness.

He is still fucking me roughly. I feel him impossibly deep, and I still stretch out around him a hair farther than what actually seems feasible.

But it feels fucking divine.

He groans loudly as he feels the shift too, growling as he fucks me rapidly and without mercy. His jaw falls open and he moans, long and sustained. The sound is music to my ears and sends electric jolts through my core.

His hips thrust against me, skin coming to touch skin, the forcefulness of his movements filling the room with an obscene smacking sound that echoes and fills my ears. I feel one of his hands pressed into my lower back and the other is fisted in my hair. He suddenly yanks me upward and I cry out, head lifting upwards as my ass stays pressed against him for his pleasure.

"You like getting fucked like this?" he growls, hip slapping against my ass.

I "hmmmm" in response, bringing up a hand to graze his cheek.

"Don't," he snaps sharply. "Keep your hands on the fucking desk." His voice is violent and dark, as he seizes my wrist so roughly I don't have a doubt that he could snap it in half.

He returns my palm to its place against the top of his desk, bending me over, his stomach now flush with my back.

I can feel his cheek pressed against the back of my head, and one of his hands moves to wrap around my throat, the other moving to work rapid circles around my clit. I sputter and my air supply suddenly dwindles. I try to gasp, but the sound comes out like a strained, dying breath. Harlan squeezes the sides of my neck with rough fingers and I can feel the blood pulsing in my cheeks, throbbing and making me dizzy.

His hips snap against me with increasing pace and intensity. I can tell he is close, and I am too. His hand lifts from my throat and I gasp for air. Immediately, I feel the same hand press a light smack against my cheek.

My breath hitches in my throat in surprise and intrigue.

"You like that?" he whispers hotly against my ear.

I whimper and arch my back further, trying to take him deeper despite the pain. I never thought I would like this sort of thing. I never thought that I would even try it with anyone. But suddenly, here is Harlan, opening me up to a world of pleasure and vulgarity that I don't even know exists, and fuck, it hurts, but it is so fucking good, I can't imagine stopping.

"Yes," I breathe.

He slaps me harder.

His palm lands against the side of my face with an obscene smack that makes me feel sick and delighted and dirty all at once. The skin of my cheek stings and throbs. I can't explain it, but I want him to...to mark me. To leave me with scores on my skin, scarred redness. I moan as he draws me closer to release.

“Yes what?!” he growls into my ear as he pummels deep into my cunt.

“Yes, professor.”

He strikes me one more time and I cry out when he does, my head whipping to the side from the impact. My skin burns long after his palm has struck my cheek.

"Harder. Harder please, ohmygodHarlanpleasefuckinghitmeharderohmygod."

Harlan buries his hips against mine, releasing himself with a violent roar. I feel hot spurts of him flood me as he draws out my own orgasm, which is unlike anything I'd ever felt.

My whole body trembles uncontrollably as string after string of unintelligible expletives dribbles from my choke-swollen lips.

He slows against me, hips rolling lowly until he rides himself down completely.

And I, exhausted, collapse against the top of his desk, body tired and worn. Suddenly, I can't remember how to move, or how to think.

I twitch as I feel his hand rake through my hair and stroke its length. And then a kiss against my shoulder. I can hear him panting from behind me. I want to see him, look at him, see what he looks like after what we just did, see how his eyes glow in the moonlight from the window and how the sweat glistens off his skin.

But I can't lift a finger, let alone stand up and turn around.

"Harlan," I whisper, body wracking with a slight sob, feeling exposed and vulnerable, cold and tired.

My body is spent, and suddenly I feel insecure, having previously been unaware of how dirty I could be, and suddenly worried that I'm not good enough. If I have spent all my energy and it hasn't been enough for him.

I burn and ache, and I can't move a muscle to shield or cover myself.

I feel his arms wrap around my waist and he gently turns me around before lifting me into his arms.

I open my eyes to see his face, sharp but gentle, stoic but tender. Understanding.

"Time for bed," he whispers.