Page 67 of Retrograde

He yanks me forward until I’m on all fours. Before I can process what’s happening, he pulls my trousers off and slaps my ass—hard, the impact echoing loudly. I yelp, then yelp again when he does it a second time.

“What a fucking sight,” he mutters.

Without a warning, he loops the belt around my throat, pulling at it with a force that nearly crushes my windpipe.

He unzips and circles my entrance with the tip of his cock, spreading my arousal all around, until I don’t know whether I should be gasping for breath, trying to break free or moaning for him to fuck me.

“Please,” I choke out, digging my fingers into the dirt.

He aligns his cock with my pussy and starts putting pressure on it rhythmically, so that each time he moves it feels like he’s about to push it in. And each time my nerve endings sizzle, my blood boils, and my heart begins to race, only to be frustrated over and over, until breathing seems completely unimportant and escape is as far from my mind as can be.

“Aron ... fuck ... please.”

My lungs are burning with the lack of oxygen, and the pressure at my temples is making me dizzy. But I forget about all that when he dips inside of me just a tiny bit—spreading me apart just a touch, causing only the slightest friction. I nearly black out.

“Please what?” he asks, his voice cold and cruel—now he even sounds like the Necromancer.

He allows me to get a few wheezing breaths before he tightens the belt again. Then he withdraws what little of his cock he let me have, and I start sobbing.

“Please fuck me!” I yell. “Now. Please. You don’t know what it’s like for me to need someone this way.”

He chuckles, still teasing me, torturing me. “See, Hotshot?” he croons victoriously. “I told you I’d have you begging for my cock. Was I right?”

I groan, the leather cutting into my skin. “Yes, you were,” I concede, abandoning what pride I had left. “Now fuck me.”

He eases the pressure on the belt, letting me breathe normally. “But it’s going to hurt.” His voice is laced with mock concern.

“I don’t care!” I scream.

“Because?” he nudges me.

I turn around to look at him in confusion—I have no idea what he wants me to say.

His breathing is shallow, his exposed chest and shoulders are glistening with sweat, and the eyes sunken in the eyeholes of his mask are lined with a triumphant smile.

“Because I’m just your filthy whore, Aron,” he prompts, tilting his head to the side.

“Fine, whatever. I’m your whore, Aron.”

The tip of him slips back inside, setting my skin on fire.

“I’m just a leaking cunt. I exist to swallow your cock.” He sways his hips, and the friction yanks my lids up and nearly has my eyes rolling to the back of my skull. “Say it, Riley.”

“Yes, I’m just a hole,” I hiss. “Holes exist to be filled. Just fucking do it already.”

The belt coils tighter and tighter around my throat until it’s cutting off all air.

“Riley, Riley, Riley ...” Hearing him say my name in that raspy, muffled voice sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

My lungs are on fire, my head is exploding from the pressure, and my vision is going black at the edges.

“What?” I mouth, but no sound comes out because of the belt crushing my voice box, the noose around my neck tightening and tightening.

He’s going to kill me. Whether he means to or not, he’s actually going to kill me.

I try to claw my way forward and away from him, needles getting stuck under my nails. But the belt around my throat is like a leash, keeping me in place.

What the fuck am I forgetting? What is he talking about?