Author's Note: I've done a very naughty thing. It's definitely on the "What Not To Do" list that I'm sure all writers have. I am posting this part of the story without my editor's (a.k.a. my beta) knowledge. I KNOW! I KNOW! I KNOW! It's totally wrong of me.
As I mentioned in the comment section for the first chapter of "Skin to Skin", I have changed the ending to this short story, which inadvertently made the story longer in length. So this chapter is the second chapter... out of three chapters. The third chapter is finished. Now, my lazy ass just have to type it up and have it edited... if I still have an editor.
Sorry, emeraldmbuku!
Okay, "warning-parental advisory" time!
In this chapter of "Skin to Skin" there is some violence (which is why it is posted in the 'Non Consensual/Reluctance' category'). It is nothing to horrible. Just some flogging. So, if you're uncomfortable reading about beatings, then I suggest for you to skip the some sections of the chapter.
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"Wake up," I heard a voice whisper into my left ear. I groaned in response and turned my face away from the bothersome object. Then I felt something grab my chin and turn my face back into that direction. "Wake up, baby."
"No," I groaned. I had gone to push the offending person away from me, but I couldn't move my hand. Hell, I couldn't move my whole arm.
'What the fuck...'
I tried to move the other arm and it couldn't move either.
"What the fuck," my mouth had spoken.
I opened my eyes, only to see me; well actually, it was my reflection. There was a giant mirror mounted on the ceiling, above his bed. 'How freaky,' I concluded.
Then I remembered the events that had taken place before I passed out from his chokehold. My fear re-emerged. I started to struggle for my freedom. I was thrashing against the bed as I tried to free my hands from their bindings. I tried freeing myself by slamming the metal chain, which connected the cuffs, against the headboard's metal dowels. I hoped that one of the metal links from the chain would break apart and then I would be able to free myself.
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK..." I screamed in frustration as I jerked my arms. I failed with each attempt.
After experiencing failure for so many attempts, I stopped struggling. My wrists ached and I was sure that I managed to nick the flesh on my wrists. The biceps in each of my arms was sore. My lungs were feeling as if I had just run the ING New York City Marathon. I felt tingly all over as well. I didn't want to stop attempting to remove the handcuffs, but my arms were hurting. Plus, I didn't want to cause a muscle strain or worse. So, I lied back down on the mattress and relaxed my limbs. It was during my moment of resting, when I started to focus on the ceiling's mirror.
It was because of the mirror, I learnt a couple of things about my current state of being. I was naked as the day that I was born. My legs weren't bound. In fact, they were open, in a lewd way, spread-eagle style. I immediately closed them tightly.
"Oh---
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, don't you dare."
I turned my head and looked to my left, only to see Malachi lying beside me, in bed. There was almost a foot of space in between our bodies. He was lying on his side, facing me and staring at me with intensity. His eyes no longer appeared soft and the eye color wasn't a pale shade of grey. Now, his irises' color were silver and there wasn't a single iota of warmth in them. He looked angry, but I didn't feel any angry vibes radiating from him.
"Malachi---
"You don't know how much you're turning me on right now," he declared. Now he has managed to receive my full, undivided attention.
His declaration of having lust for me also gotten something else's attention. I felt my clit swell in excitement. Then there was a dull throbbing occurring in between my lower lips and it increased by every passing millisecond. I crossed my legs at the ankles and squeezed my thighs by contracting the muscles inside of my thighs. I tried to reduce the sensation. I noticed that his eyes had left my face and stared at my thighs. A smirk and then a chuckled escaped his lips as he stared at the legs. I blushed as I felt ashamed for my body's reaction.
"You have a beautiful tattoo," he said to me and then begun to explore the artwork, by touching the tattoo with his fingertips. Goose pimples had grown onto my skin as his fingers traced the outline of my tattoo. "When did you get it done?"
"W-w-when... What did you say?" I asked, heavily distracted by his caress. I heard another one of his infamous chuckles. His fingers stopped admiring the colorful fish and came to rest on my lower belly.
"I asked you, when did you get your tattoo?"
'What the fuck is going on?' my conscience screamed. 'This crazy motherfucker had just kidnapped you and he's about to rape you...'
"A-about three years ago, when I was on Spring Break, in San Francisco," I answered.
'And yet, your dumb ass answered his question as if you two are having a nice conversation while sitting in the a park!'
Malachi grunted in response. Then, I felt the old mattress shake. My eyes moved in their sockets and stared at him. He was in the process of scooting his big ass closer to the area where I was laying. He went back to lying on his side and placed his hand back on my stomach. He also, thanks to his new position on the bed, his face was a few inches away from my left breast. He resumed his conversation.
"Was this the trip that you had taken with Lynn?"
My nipple puckered, once it felt the warm air from his breath. I was a witness to his ogling of my tit's reaction to his innocuous ministration. In response, the tip of his tongue drew a circle around my nipple, before taking the hard piece of flesh into his mouth. His lips, tongue and teeth worked over the sensitive flesh for a few seconds before releasing it. My clit pulsed as he sucked on my turgid skin.
'O.M.G.,' I shouted inside of my mind.
I had to bite my full, bottom lip to keep from crying out in pleasure. His hand left its resting place and took a tour of the lower part of my body.
First, his fingers were caressing the tops and the outer sides of both of my thighs. A low whimper penetrated itself from my mouth, a result of his ministrations.
"No," I sighed. The word came out of my mouth with a gust of air. I didn't realize that I was holding my breath. "Lynn and I had gone to Mexico."
"So, how long did this baby take?" he asked, referring to my tattoo.
His left hand, the hand that was the curious one, drifted further upwards, onto my torso. He continued his exploration. I felt his fingers make imaginary circles on my stomach and then travel up to my breasts. My nipples tingled with anticipation. I waited for his hands while I held my breath. But before his fingers could make contact, they drifted right back down to my stomach.
"It took..." I started out saying, but I ended up losing my voice because it turned into a moan. I heard him chuckle once more. "It took four hours to get it done," I managed to say, in a husky tone.
"Did it hurt?" he stopped his rubbing, just so he could stare up at me.
'What the hell?' my brain mumbled. 'What kind of dumb question is that? What the hell do you think?'
"What in the hell do you think?" I blurted out to him. "I would rather get a pap smear by a blind man than to experience that pain again!"
I realized what I had done. Then I let out a squeak of surprise.
I wasn't expecting for me to act so sassy towards him, while still being in this state. His response was a laugh, one of those types of laughs that come from the deep part of a person's soul. Then I was rewarded with the ability to see a full-blown smile from Malachi. The smile made my heart fluttered. With that smile, he looked like the Malachi that I knew from yester-year. He reminded me of the sweet boy, who protected both me and Lenora from neighborhood bullies. The boy who made Lenora and I grilled cheese sandwiches, as well as, baby-sat us latch-key kids until our mamas had come home from their perspective jobs. He looked like the same boy who helped me and his sister, when we asked him. When Lynn and I were ten years old, we wanted to perform a B-Girl routine for our elementary school's annual "Student Talent Show" (please, don't judge us). Malachi offered to help us. He was the kid who taught us how to do the 'down rock' and the 'top rock' as well as, other dance moves. As he smiled, he reminded me of the same boy who held me in his arms and consoled me, after I learned that my father refused to develop a familial relationship with me.
'Oh my sweetness,' I thought as I stared at him. 'He could cause me a bunch of troubles, but all he has to do is smile at me and I melt like butter.'
He sat up and straddled my thighs. He peeled off his tank top and tossed it onto the floor. I, then, became an eye-fucking rapist once again as I unashamedly stared up at his physique. My eyes briefly stared at the swastika tattoo that he had on his left pectoral. There were defined pectoral muscles, four rows of defined abdominal muscles that made me want to lick or take a bite out of each one and he possessed that 'v' thing that a lot of sculpted men possess. He definitely was making good use of that weight set. Malachi silently stared down at me for a moment. After a minute of his appraisal, I became unease. Suddenly, he ended the silence.
"I always thought you were strong," he stated before laying his body on top of mine and having his mouth possessed mine.