Chapter 11: Raw Desires Unleashed
“No.” The word wasn’t a whisper, but a raw scrape from Sarah’s throat, echoing in the sudden silence after the canned laughter died. Jules’s eyes, dark and molten, held hers for a fractured second, seeing the shattered resolve, the hunger that mirrored his own. He didn’t ask again. His hand, slick with her arousal, abandoned her mouth and plunged back beneath her open trousers, fingers sinking deep into her wet cunt with a brutal, possessive thrust that arched her back off the leather. “That’s my girl,” he growled, the sound vibrating against the damp skin of her neck where his teeth found purchase again, biting hard enough to make her cry out, a sound that was half-pain, half-ecstasy. His thumb resumed its ruthless assault on her clit, grinding in tight, filthy circles as his fingers pistoned inside her, the wet, obscene squelch filling the room, louder than the forgotten television. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, his breath hot and ragged against her ear, “clenching on my fingers like a greedy little fist. You want to come like this? Hmm? Begging on my hand while your husband thinks you’re at home?”
The words, laced with teasing and the stark reminder of Ben, of Dr. Arlis, of the entire collapsing façade, didn’t douse the fire; they poured gasoline on it. Shame warred with a perverse, desperate thrill that tightened her core unbearably. Her hips bucked wildly, uncontrollably, fucking herself onto his relentless hand, chasing the blinding pressure coiling low in her belly. “Yes!” she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, tearing at the fabric of his shirt. “God, yes, Jules, please… make me… make me come!” Her voice broke on a sob, the plea torn from her, raw and undeniable. His fingers curled inside her, finding that deep, swollen spot and pressing hard, unyielding, while his thumb moved faster, a blur of friction on her clit. “Then come, Sarah,” he commanded, his voice rough as gravel, biting her earlobe. “Come all over my fingers. Show me how fucking dirty you get for me.” The pressure snapped. White light exploded behind her eyes, her body convulsing violently, a raw scream tearing from her throat as her cunt clamped down hard, rhythmically, desperately around his driving fingers, waves of excruciating pleasure crashing over her, drowning thought, drowning guilt, drowning everything but the brutal, claiming pressure of his hand buried deep inside her.
She collapsed back onto the couch, trembling, gasping, her vision swimming. Jules slowly withdrew his fingers, glistening wet in the dim light, and brought them to her lips once more. “Suck,” he ordered, his voice thick with satisfaction. Dazed, obedient, she took his fingers into her mouth, tasting her own salt, her musk, the undeniable proof of her betrayal. He watched her, his eyes burning, then pulled his fingers free. Before she could catch her breath, his hands were on her blouse, not undoing, but tearing. Buttons flew, scattering across the worn leather and clattering onto the wooden floor like tiny accusations. Cool air hit her skin, followed instantly by the heat of his mouth closing over her lace-covered nipple, sucking hard, teeth scraping through the thin fabric. A shocked gasp escaped her, her back arching again, the sharp bite of pain-pleasure shooting straight to her throbbing core. He released her nipple with a wet pop, his gaze locking with hers, fierce and demanding. “Tell me you want this,” he growled, his breath hot against her damp skin, one hand already fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink stark in the aftermath of her climax. “Say it.”
“I want it.”
Jules stood, pulling her roughly up with him. The movement was abrupt, possessive. He dragged her to the center of the cluttered room, books forgotten sentinels. His hands on her shoulders, fingers biting into her flesh. "On your knees. Now." The words bore down on her like low thunder. There was no question, no lingering intimacy from the couch. This was command. Her knees hit the floor, the worn carpet rough under her palms, her gaze level with the prominent bulge in his cock straining against his zipper. Her husband’s best friend’s pants. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird in her chest.
He unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his fly, the zipper rasping loud. He shoved his pants and briefs down past his hips, and his thick erection sprang free. His hard, flushed dark tip already glistening pre-come. "Look at it," he ordered, grabbing her chin, forcing her eyes on his cock. "Look at what you do to me." He pressed the hot length against her lips. "Open wide, Sarah. Take me in. Take it all." The scent of him, musk and salt, filled her nose. She opened her eyes flicking his. "Do it," he hissed, thumb pressing her jaw, forcing her mouth open, “l want to see my cock sliding in and out of that pretty mouth."
She opened her mouth. He pushed in, the blunt head sliding over her tongue, stretching wide. The thick length filled her mouth, her tongue pressed flat.
Jules thrust deeper, the swollen head hitting the back of her throat, making her gag reflexively as salty pre-come coated her tongue. "Fuck yeah, take it deeper, sweetheart," he grunted, his hand fisting in her hair, forcing a brutal rhythm while her saliva dripped down his shaft. After several strokes, he suddenly stilled, pulling out just enough to rasp, "I’m not going to last much longer like this. Where d'you want my load? Swallow it... or should I fill that tight married cunt?" Shame burned her cheeks as images of Ben flickered behind her closed eyelids, but the raw ache between her legs overrode it. "Fuck me," she gasped, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes, "Please, Jules, I need you inside me."
Jules’s laugh was low and dark as he hauled her up by her hair, ignoring her choked gasp. “You need me to fill you up, huh? Remind you what’s it like to be fucked instead of made love to” he growled, shoving her backwards until her knees buckled onto the worn, floral-patterned carpet she’d once complimented. He dropped to his knees behind her, one hand roughly pushing her shoulders down while the other guided his thick, slick cockhead to her soaked opening. “Take it,” he snarled, his hips snapping forward hard and thrusting deep.
The brutal invasion punched the air from her lungs, a sharp gasp escaping as Jules buried himself to the hilt in one savage stroke, the stretch a burning, welcome agony that tore through her lingering resistance. "Fuck, yes," he groaned, his voice thick with primal satisfaction, his fingers digging into the meat of her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her pinned as he began to move. Each retreat was a slow, deliberate drag of his thick cock along her sensitized walls, making her whimper, before slamming back in with a force that jolted her forward, her hands occasionally reaching up to brace against the couch. "Does it feel good to have someone else inside you," he rasped, the rhythm turning punishing, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the bookshelves, his balls hitting her clit with every deep plunge, the friction coiling unbearable heat low in her belly. “Yes, Jules, yes! You feel so good, your cock feels so good inside me,” Sarah panted between moans.
Her words ignited him, his thrusts turning frantic, brutal, the slap of flesh echoing off the bookshelves as he drove deeper, harder, each plunge hitting that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. "Fuck, Sarah," he groaned, his voice ragged, fingers digging bruises into her hips, "you take my cock like you were fucking made for it." She arched back, meeting each savage stroke, the friction building unbearable pressure, her own climax coiling tight, ready to snap. "I'm close," she gasped, the words ripped from her, "so close, Jules, don't stop! Oh God, I’m gonna, fuck, right there, right there! I’m coming! Oh God Jules yes! Fuck me yes!" He growled, a primal sound, his rhythm faltering, hips jerking erratically as he slammed home one final, deep time, burying himself to the root. They shattered together, her cunt convulsing violently around his thick cock as he pulsed inside her, hot jets flooding her depths, filling her up completely, the wet heat spilling out around where they were joined.
They collapsed onto the worn leather couch, limbs tangled and slick with sweat, Jules’s softening cock finally sliding free from her swollen, dripping cunt with a wet sound. The sudden stillness was deafening, broken only by their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the tv Jules had forgotten to turn off earlier. Sarah stared at the ceiling, the frantic heat of moments before replaced by a cold emptiness inside her, Ben’s trusting face flashing behind her eyelids like a cruel accusation. Jules traced a lazy finger down her sticky thigh, his voice rough but low. "That guilt hitting you hard already? Don't panic," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple, "I'll help you figure out how to make it right for Ben." He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at her, his gaze searching her face. "Do you regret it?" Sarah met his eyes, the raw need still simmering beneath the shame, and answered him by pulling his head down, her lips crashing against his in a desperate, hungry kiss. "No," she breathed against his mouth, the word tasting like betrayal and absolute truth.
The silence thickened, heavy with cooling sweat and the lingering musk of sex. Jules traced a damp path down her thigh, his finger catching on the sticky evidence smeared across her skin. "So," he murmured, his voice gravelly in the stillness, "What happens when you walk through your door tonight?" The question hung, sharp.
Sarah flinched, pulling away slightly, the rough leather cold against her bare shoulder. She stared at the scattered buttons gleaming on the dark floorboards. "I... I can't tell Ben. Not yet." She pushed herself up, gathering the torn edges of her blouse with trembling hands, the absurdity of trying to cover herself now almost laughable. "I will, eventually. I have to. But I need... I need to figure out how to explain this... mess."
A harsh, breathless laugh escaped her, devoid of humor. She avoided his gaze, fumbling with the fabric. "It's so fucked up. But... part of me... a really weird, fucked-up part..." She paused, swallowing hard. "...wished Ben had been here. Watching. Right then."
Jules stopped buttoning his own shirt, his head snapping up, eyes sharp and suddenly intensely focused on her face. "Been here? Watching us? What the hell do you mean by that, Sarah?" His voice was low, probing, stripping away any pretense.
"Watching what you did to me," she whispered, the admission burning her throat. "How you fucked me. I wished... just for a second... that Ben could fuck me like that. Rough. Like he owned me. Like he couldn't hold back." She met his gaze, defiant and ashamed. "And if he'd seen you do it... seen how I... needed it... I think he would have. He would have taken me like that too." She looked away again, pulling her ruined blouse tighter.
A slow, calculating smile spread across Jules's face, his eyes narrowing with sudden, predatory interest. He moved closer, cupping her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "Don't tell him," he said, his voice suddenly smooth, persuasive, the command absolute. "Not a word. Not yet. Go to the cabin next weekend. Do the romantic cabin getaway exactly as planned." Sarah stared at him, bewildered, her lips parting in confusion. Before she could speak, he kissed her, hard and possessive. "Just trust me," he breathed against her mouth.
“I don’t think I have a choice at this point,” she huffed, half terrified but half hopeful that whatever scheme Jules had in mind might actually work.