Parting Gifts

Work had been difficult today, it seemed as though everything that could go wrong went wrong, and Luke felt like he was on the very edge. Angrily, he kicked the door shut and pulled at his tie, tossing it on the kitchen table before opening the refrigerator to pull a soda out.

Scowling, he glared at the contents of his refrigerator, noting the week-old spaghetti that hadn't tasted right the first time around. Cursing, he tossed the bowl and its contents into the trash and slammed the door shut, feeling his anger mount. Man, he needed the feel of pussy, he thought, reaching down to rub his swollen cock through his pants. Smiling wryly, he picked up his cell phone to call Annabelle.

Fifteen rings later, Luke was even more furious. The bitch wasn't home. Picking up his keys, Luke left his apartment and headed over to see her.

The compact house sat on the end of a quiet street, surrounded by a colorful flower garden and neatly trimmed grass. Everything about Annabelle's house was like her—warm, inviting, and pretty. Luke smirked to himself as he pulled into the driveway next to her sedan and unfolded his long legs. Glancing in the mirror, he admired his profile and the icy blue of his eyes. Annabelle would do anything for him, he knew. It was nice to be adored.

The solid oak door seemed to mock him, and briefly Luke hesitated, his finger poised over the doorbell. Usually Annabelle was already at the door when she heard his car. Luke frowned, his quick anger beginning to mix with an unfamiliar dawning panic that made him even angrier. Feeling weak, instead he struck the door with his fist three times, the sharp rap startling his own ears.

The silence seemed to echo even louder than his knocking. Luke was about to leave when slowly the door began to open. Luke's eyes narrowed and he felt mystified as he took in Annabelle's pale face. Her silence lingered, and irritated, Luke responded in the only way he knew. "What the hell is going on?" He growled, pushing his way past her.

He heard the door close behind him and her footsteps following him down the hall. Her silence seemed as abrasive as her voice had seemed two weeks ago when he had last spoken to her. She was punishing him, he realized, infuriated. She was angry that he had not called, but what had she expected, pressuring him like that?

"Annabelle, knock it off. I hate when you get so fucking moody." Luke snapped, glaring at her. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and began to unbutton his shirt. "I feel like shit today. I need you," He continued, walking over to her couch and sprawling back on it. He reached down to lower his zipper and then reached out his hands to her. "Come here." He said.

Again, silence. Luke hesitated and then looked at her. She had not moved, her face, so delicate in the soft light, was pale but filled with resolve, and her gentle green eyes seemed vacant to him. She stood silently, her arms crossed protectively over her small but perfectly formed breasts.

"Annabelle." Luke repeated.

Those eyes rose to meet his, and Luke inhaled sharply, feeling as though she had slapped him. Gone was the look of longing, the soft admiration, the slow and loving smile. Annabelle looked back at him with eyes that told the impossible—she had let go of her passion, her desire.

"Why are you here?" She asked, her voice lower than he remembered. Her tiny hand reached up to cover her eyes and he saw her brace herself and then lift her shoulders back. A small smile came to his lips as she drew herself up to her full—if diminutive 5'1. "I told you I don't want you here anymore." She whispered.

Luke sneered, his handsome face twisting into an ugly look as his eyes raked over her, the denim cutoffs, the white shirt, the pale blond of her neat braid. Her feet were bare and she wore no make-up. He had never seen her look this way, so unready for him, so unadorned. Still...she was even more beautiful then he remembered. Something stirred within him. Slowly, he smiled, feeling the rage coil dangerously within him, but carefully he concealed this.

"Annabelle, Annabelle..." He murmured, looking at her closely. "You didn't answer the phone, you haven't called...and here I am, and you act like it's nothing. Don't you love me?" He asked, his voice smooth, controlled, and very, very dangerous.

"It's never been about my love." Annabelle denied her voice soft, aching. "You don't love me, and you never have." Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "I need more than this, it isn't enough, has never been enough."

"That's a lie." Luke said, flatly.

"Everything about us is a lie." She answered, crying. "I can't, anymore. Everyday I think to myself I can't, that you are killing me. I love you, I let you take me, and every time you leave me with less and less for myself." She turned from him, pressing her hands to her face. "I want you to leave me alone, I want it to be over. You are killing me."

"Stop this bullshit." Luke snapped, feeling impatient and irritated by her dramatics. He stood and crossed the room quickly. He grabbed her arm and lowered his mouth to kiss her but she turned from him, pulling away briefly. Her eyes were fearful but determined, and her voice was hoarse as she yanked away from him.

"No more." She said, fiercely. "I've had enough."

Luke studied her face for a moment, stunned by the rage in her eyes. Fear seized him, and he fought the unfamiliar emotion by tightening his hand on her arm. "I haven't.' He answered, just as fiercely, furious at his own weakness.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Annabelle jerked, trying to free herself. Luke smiled grimly as he held fast to her, and then, slowly, he reached up to stroke her cheek. "Beautiful." He murmured, meaning it. She truly was, he realized.

Then, he slapped her.

Annabelle reeled back and fell to her knees, her expression stunned. Before she could get up, Luke grabbed her by her shirt and hauled her to her feet, feeling his heart race. He had never been as hard in his life! Laughing, he kissed her, crushing her mouth beneath his and forcing her mouth open with his tongue. She fought him, her movements suddenly panicked, and Luke felt himself grow dark as something primitive and intensely male seemed to take over his soul.

With one movement he tore her shirt from her, revealing her smooth white flesh. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, sucking at her nipples as she struggled beneath him. Her fists work spastically, beating fiercely at him, but he held her beneath him easily, tearing her shorts from her body despite her desperate struggle to fight him. Hundreds of times she had give herself willingly to him, allowing him to use her over and over again. Images of her trembling and wet beneath him filled his mind, and the memory of her tight pussy wrapped around his cock made him ache with desire for her. He remembered her soft hair on his belly as she took him in her mouth, the soft cries as he rode her...

Luke felt himself swell, and brutally he tore the plain white panties from her, yanking them down her beautifully shaped legs and throwing them to the floor with the rest of her tattered clothes. His hands moved over her, seeking out the tight and secret places of her, the gentle curves of a body he had enjoyed any time he chose, a body she would now deny him.

"You belong to me, Annabelle," he murmured into her ears, licking at her tears, "You don't get to say 'No'."

Luke jabbed his knee between her legs and forced her open, exposing her body to him. She jerked, crying out as he lowered his hands to stroke her glistening lips. Her nipples hardened in response and she began to cry pitifully, closing her eyes and shaking her head pleadingly. Luke laughed and began to rub her, feeling her wetness spread.

He smiled to find her ready for him, and turned to kiss her again, feeling her go limp beneath him as he forced himself into her. She seemed tighter than he remembered, and he groaned as he brought himself into her until he was buried in her as far as he could go. The walls of her pussy seemed to pulse and the trembling of her body sent jolts of pleasure through his cock.

"You can deny me forever, but I will always possess you." He whispered, thrusting into her, feeling his pleasure mount and he stroked her softly.

He rode her gently, easing his hips into her in a way he never had before. She kept her face turned from him but he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids as he made love to her, taking her with a gentleness he had never offered when she had given herself willingly. Her body was sweet and offered him a release from his anger, and Luke felt love for her unlike what he had known before as he sought to give her the pleasure she had always given him.

Her face was strikingly beautiful and drenched with tears. Despite himself, Luke felt his heart falter and he paused, groaning as he stared down at her face and at her tightly closed eyes. It was no use. "Annabelle..." He whispered, feeling suddenly ashamed, cursing himself.

Her eyes opened to stare sorrowfully at him, and Luke turned away, withdrawing from her body with a groan of disappointment. His cock burned, and he tried to ignore the intensity of his desire as looked down at her crying beneath him. Tears filled his own eyes and he covered his face. "I'm sorry..." He whispered, meaning it. "I didn't know I really loved you."

The silence between them lengthened and then her hands were on his arm. Luke looked up at her tear-stained face and felt his heart seize. "I hate how you've treated me, what you have done." She said.

"I know."

"I hate you as much as I have loved you." Her voice broke, "I hate that I want you despite this..."

Luke reached out to embrace her and she took him into her arms and drew him down and into her. "I hate you..." She repeated, and both them cried out as he made love to her for the first time in all the time had known her.