***Note: As in the first chapter, this story also contains elements of nonconsent and reluctance. If you're uncomfortable with that, please don't read it.***
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I woke up the next morning and immediately sat up in bed. I flushed as memories of the night before came flooding back. A draft of air hit my skin and I looked down, realizing I was still naked.
My nipples hardened and I unconsciously stroked one while I looked around my room, slightly dazed. There was no sign of Devon, though he'd been there when I fell asleep. There was no sign at all of what had happened.
My right nipple tingled and tightened even more and I realized I was still rubbing it as the tingling sensation shot down to my pussy. I thought about the things Devon said to me, the things we had done.
I became immediately wet and had to stop myself from reaching between my legs to relieve the tension. I felt out of control, more turned on than I'd ever been in my life thinking about Devon thrusting his cock into me over and over. The look in his eyes when he called me "Mine" was burned in my memory. Some part of me was still scared of his intensity and confused, feeling there were elements of his attachment to me I didn't yet understand.
More than anything, I felt overwhelmed...overwhelmed by the sudden urgency to see him, feel him put his arms around me, feel him inside me. With sudden clarity I realized he had somehow awoken something in me that must've been there all along. While I'd always thought of myself as conservative, suddenly there was nothing I wanted or needed more than Devon controlling me, using me, possessing me.
As if I'd called his name, he appeared in my doorway, casually leaning against the frame. His hair was wet from the shower and his tanned chest was bare. A pair of jeans hung low on his hips. I thought he looked beautiful.
His eyes met mine without either of us speaking and his look was guarded. His eyes showed no emotion and I was suddenly self-conscious. At eighteen, I hadn't had much experience with guys, and certainly not with the level of intensity we'd shared. I tugged the sheet up and hugged my knees to my chest, casting my eyes down.
Without looking up, I sensed him moving silently towards me. I was suddenly scared of looking at him, scared I had somehow disappointed him. He reached out and traced a finger down my face slowly, stopping under my chin and tilting my head up to meet his eyes. They were no longer flat but were instead swirling with emotion, too much emotion. I was at a loss to decipher what he was thinking.
"I know you're confused," he said softly. I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, relieved he'd at least spoken. He stroked my cheek softly and I unconsciously leaned into his touch.
"I've waited so long for you. I know it won't make sense to you but I've always known you'd be mine, ever since we were little..." he stopped suddenly and I realized I must've looked alarmed because he rushed to continue. "I know that sounds strange, it's hard to explain. That's why they sent me away. Our...our dad, more than mom. I was so possessive of you. He thought it was strange, he used to yell at me to leave you alone, he..." He trailed off, an angry look flashing in his eyes. Then it was gone and he took a deep breath before continuing.
"He didn't want me around you, said my 'attachment' to you was unnatural. But don't you see, Lizzie? You felt it, too, I knew you did. Even when I was in Texas, it's like I could still feel you, all these years. And when Mom finally called and said he was gone for good, I couldn't stay away anymore. Waiting for you to grow up, waiting to be able to come back to you...it's been agony." His voice trailed off and my face flushed again.
His words seemed disconnected to me, like he was speaking a different language. I understood what he was saying but it didn't make any sense. I searched my memories for something, anything, some frame of reference for what he was saying.
Pictures, fleeting images of my childhood came back and I tried to remember how it was before Devon left. I could see us in my mind, playing in the backyard, laughing when he chased me. I could feel the wind in my hair and his hands on my back when he pushed me on the swing.
Other fragments of memories seemed to return as well...Devon, watching me brush my hair. Rubbing my back while I fell asleep. Holding my hand while we watched tv. Those memories felt pure to me; he'd never done anything to me that seemed inappropriate or wrong. But in some corner of my mind I did remember the other looks, the ones my dad had given him...the disgust, the suspicion, the anger. Six years had passed since Devon was sent away...I'd been twelve when he left. He would've been seventeen. Surely he hadn't been thinking about me this way back then...
My stomach turned over suddenly and I had the urge to run from him, to put some distance between us. He seemed to read my mind and scooted closer to me, grasping my upper arms so I couldn't pull away.
"Lizzie, please look at me," he said softly. My eyes reluctantly rose to meet his and my immediate thought was that he looked like he might break.
"I never...NEVER...would've hurt you, or done anything to you. Even if he had let me stay, I wouldn't have touched you. The way I felt about you then, I loved you so much it consumed me. It's still consuming me. I didn't even fully understand it at the time. But you have to believe me, it wasn't...it wasn't dirty. I never would have tried anything...sexual. Not back then. I never even thought about it. He was wrong about me. I would've protected you, waited for you to grow up...please say something...say you believe me."
His breath was suddenly coming out in gasps and he abruptly let go of my arms and moved away, sitting on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn't say anything and I couldn't seem to speak. I was too confused by the conflicting emotions swirling through my head to even form a coherent thought. And then his shoulders started to shake.
I didn't think, I simply moved to the floor in front of him, still clutching the sheet around me. Seeing him this way tore something in my heart and I knew he was telling the truth.
I knelt in front of him and reached up to touch his face. His hands still covered his eyes and I traced a single teardrop as it snaked its way down his cheek.
"I believe you," I whispered, my own voice sounding shaky with emotion. He finally drew his hands away and his eyes were red when he looked at me. He looked so much older than his 23 years, like he'd already suffered so much. He looked...tortured.
That look pulled me in and I didn't think about what I was doing. I pressed my lips against his, desperate to ease his pain, to heal whatever part of him had been broken. I pushed closer, wanting to press my body against his and fold myself into him.
He seemed to break suddenly. His mouth opened and his tongue thrust against mine, drinking me in. His hands were all over me - the sheet dropped and forgotten - and we were desperate for one another. He moaned against me as his tongue thrust into my mouth over and over, his hands moving over my body too frantically to be gentle. I was pulling at his jeans, popping the button open and freeing his hard cock as he pushed me onto my back and pulled my thighs apart. In one move he buried his shaft inside me, too desperate to go slowly. It hurt for a second as my body tried to adjust but I was too frantic to care. I pulled his hips against mine, trying to drive him even deeper.
