“Tell me which one or I’ll choose for you,” I say, yanking on her jeans and groaning as my cock grinds into her leg.
“Jack, this isn’t right. It’s not real,” she replies, twisting in my hold to try to turn towards me. I growl at her and push her hand to the mirror, irritated with her weakness and lack of cooperation.
“You’ll fucking stand there and look at me until you do remember,” I snap out, lifting her other hand and placing it on top of the other.
Those are the last words of discussion I have. There are only orders now, ones she’ll know well when she remembers how to answer them. I’ll fuck the sentiment into her instead, force her to remember the first time I took her ass, then maybe force her to remember the first time she felt my belt, begging for more of it time and time again after that.
She wriggles and writhes, bucking against my hold and trying to dislodge herself. It riles me up further, enough so that I clamp onto her wrists and drag them behind her back for leverage, pushing her whole body into the mirror.
“Jack, please, I don’t want this,” she murmurs, her voice wavering with every syllable as she gasps at my strength around her wrists.
I don’t care what she wants. She doesn’t know, not like I do. She’ll only know when this is done. She’ll feel it then; she’ll feel the pain, the surrender, the aches we forge between ourselves. And then, eventually, when I’ve almost exhausted the life from her and myself, she’ll feel the thing I already know. She’ll feel us again. She’ll feel the love that no other compares to. She’ll believe it. Neither of us will need ghosts or visions of mist and darkness, and neither will question or doubt the ache inside. We’ll just know, and then no one will tear us apart again.
She whimpers as my fingers bite in harder, her legs buckling a little under the pressure I’m using on her. Good. She can go to the floor where she’s most workable. She’ll enjoy it down there, labour there beautifully. She’ll groan and mewl like she used to, beg me for help like she once did. She can have all my help to remember. I’ll keep going until she understands what her coming here means and how relevant she is.
I force my hold harder, turning her as I do so she ends on her knees at my feet.
“That’s where you stay,” I murmur, pushing her head onto the floor to make her realise this is very fucking real. Nothing is changing here. The only thing that will change is her attitude. “You don’t move unless I say. You don’t speak unless I ask.” She gasps and quivers, still fighting my hold slightly and pushing her luck as my fingers wind into her hair. “Keep fighting and see what you get.”
I hear the first sniff and push her head harder onto the wooden floor, remembering her need for the tears to come first. She always cried in the first few minutes. It causes me to close my eyes as I crouch beside her, listening for the honest sounds to finally leave her body. The heaving sobs start then, her body trembling as her chest rises and falls under my hand. I will the noise inside, letting the sound revive my honour for the woman I adore. She cries so prettily in her distress, unleashing the honesty she once kept buried from me, and setting us both free of lies as she crumbles.
“More,” I bark, gripping her hair tighter and scratching my nails into her head. It was never the first ones that mattered; it was the ones that came after them. They cleansed her enough to start the process, enough for her to begin begging for help. “All of it.” She chokes on the next set of tears as they come.
Her head heaves from the floor, and she braces her hands out, searching for air as she sobs out another round and shivers. I let her carry on, soaking in the sounds and smiling as they come thicker and faster. Selma’s coming. She’ll be here soon. I can feel her in the way this body grinds itself into my fingers, feel the tension in her neck disbanding, the anger finally giving in to my power over the situation. “You done with your whining yet?”
She shakes her head, her body convulsing on the next snivel that consumes her throat. I lick my lips, readying myself for action as I stand and let go of her hair. She’s about done. Almost there, just as she always was. Time will mend this rift—time right here where it all began. It was dark that time, pitch black, the middle of the night and the dead of winter.
I sneer at the reflected image of myself as I unbutton my shirt slowly, garnering the loathing needed for this next adventure and knowing the room will darken of its own accord. I don’t need Selma’s help for that, or her guidance. Not anymore. Ghosts aren’t the thing this body beneath me should be scared of. Her reality is the thing she should concern herself with for the time being. Her reality that is about to change.
