I noticed the smile on his face. It wasn't his usual cruel, evil smirk. This was new. It was almost like... genuine satisfaction. As if he’d not just taken, but truly received what he wanted. And as I rode that devastating wave, he retook control, fucking up into me harder, using my trembling body as his perfect pleasure tool, and in that moment of complete annihilation, I couldn't have been happier. The thought was a fresh wound.
My body shuddered with the aftershocks of my release, my heart pounding wildly in my chest as if it was trying to escape the chaos within. His fingers gripped my hip, steadying me as my arms and legs trembled with a weakness that felt both physical and spiritual.
Sione's hand found my hair again, this time not pulling, but almost gently stroking the sweat-soaked strands. Our breaths were loud and harsh, filling the room with the echoes of what we had done.
I lifted myself off him, feeling his cock twitch as it slid out of my sore, throbbing, and utterly spent pussy. A rush of his cum spilled out of me and onto his thick, muscular thigh. The sight was lewd, undeniable. My thighs were on fire, muscles screaming from the exertion of riding him.
He looked down at the mess we had made with a slight, possessive grin. “That's hot.”
His words made my already heated face flush with a fresh wave of shame—and a traitorous pulse of desire. I stumbled off the bed, gathered my clothing from the scattered pile on the floor, and dressed without saying a word, my movements frantic. I had to get out. I needed space between Sione and me, between me and the person I became in this room, before he found a way to pull me back into his orbit.
As I tugged my shirt over my head, I saw my phone buzz on the TV stand where I’d left it. My heart stopped.
He got up from the mattress and walked across the room, snatching the device before I could. As he looked at the screen, his eyes flicked up to me. I couldn't quite place the look. It seemed to mix satisfaction with a flicker of contempt, and I wanted to disappear into the floor. “Oh, my boy, Jake, wants to hang out with you tomorrow.” His voice was a mockery of concern. “He says he misses you.”
Oh God. He had gone through my texts. He’d seen the loving messages, the pet names, the concerned questions about my well-being. Now, he knew everything. He held the proof of my double life in his hand.
“You know,” he continued, looking back down at the messages, his thumb scrolling through my intimacy, “I never really asked you why you let me do this to you. It was obvious you liked it and didn't need much prompting.” He looked up, his dark eyes pinning me in place. “Why do you fuck me? Do you enjoy lying to your boyfriend?"
His voice carried a note of cold, clinical triumph, and it made me shudder with dread—and a shameful, undeniable arousal that coursed through me, tightening my nipples and making my stomach flutter.
"No, Sione. It's not like that," I protested weakly, even though a part of me, the part that was still throbbing and wet, knew it was a lie.
"Oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow, a predator playing with his food. "Then, why not just break up with him? If you love him so much, why are you here, dripping my cum down your leg?"
He knew. God, how could he see right through me? Panic fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. I stammered, trying to find the words to explain, to defend the indefensible, but they caught in my throat like a lump. I couldn't bear to tell Sione how I had pushed Jake away, how I’d used headaches and periods as excuses to avoid his gentle touch, all to preserve the evidence of Sione’s rough ownership.
Sione sneered, his dark eyes piercing mine, seeing the ugly truth I couldn't voice. "I knew it! You're a filthy slut, Lia. You want it rough. I could see the look in your eyes when I took you just then. You fucking loved it. And to think, you still pretend you can't stand it and that you love your poor, clueless boyfriend!"
"No!" I cried, shaking my head in a panic, but the denial was hollow. My mind was in utter chaos.
He laughed cruelly, a sound that felt like it stripped me bare. Then, in a moment of cold sobriety, he tossed me my phone. I looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, begging him silently to release me, to absolve me, to tell me I wasn't the monster he saw. But he wasn't going to make it that easy. "I am going to keep fucking you, Lia. But it's up to you if you keep cheating on him."
The statement was a sentence. I shuddered at the thought of more rough, painful, soul-crushing nights. Yet, deep down, the twisted, addicted part of me clenched in anticipation. It couldn’t help but want them.
I ran from that house and didn’t stop until I reached my own. It was dark when I finally sneaked into my room, the silence a stark contrast to the noise I’d just left. The shower beckoned, the water stinging my skin as I watched Sione’s fluids—the physical proof of my betrayal—mix with the water and swirl down the drain between my bruised legs. I scrubbed my body furiously with a rough loofah, as though trying to scour away the guilt and the shame, along with the memory of his touch.
But even as the steam filled the room and the water turned my skin red, the memories clung to me. His hands, his words, his mocking laughter—they left an invisible mark on my soul that no amount of hot water or soap could wash away. And I felt it, the persistent, humiliating tingling between my thighs that came with that mark. I felt myself getting wet all over again, my body craving the very thing my soul was begging to escape. The war was lost, and I was my own prisoner.
