Warnings - smut, oral (female receiving), cheating, abuse, name calling
"Y/N, where the fuck is your ring?" I heard Dillon growl. In seconds I was slammed back against the wall. My head hit it with a sickening sound. I was too dizzy to respond. His hand was around my neck.
"You really lost the ring?" He snapped.
"Let me explain," I gasped. His grip eased on my throat.
"I took it to the jeweler," I coughed.
"Why?"
"It kept slipping off, I didn't want you to have to pay for it to be adjusted. You've done so much for me already. I didn't want to bother you," I explained. The flattery worked. He was smiling, releasing me. He didn't thank me of course, just seemed pleased with my answer.
"Get a picture of it when you get it back," he requested.
"I will," I promised. I rubbed my neck gingerly. No apology came as we hung out. Dillon was becoming more and more foreign to me. I could think of a million things I could talk to Timothée about, but I couldn't think of anything that I cared to know about Dillon. The time he was over passed arduously. I was afraid to enforce a leaving time, for fear he'd hurt me again.
Finally, he was gone. I threw on pajamas and tried to de-stress. All I could think about was Timothée. I didn't know what I was going to do. Did I disappoint everyone in my life? Choose myself and what I wanted? If Dillon was like this now, what would he be like down the road? What if we had kids. I would let him push me around before I ever let him touch my child.
My thoughts were broken by an insistent rap at the door. I got up, wondering who the Hell it could be, and hoping against hope that it wasn't Dillon. I opened the door to see, Timothée.
"Timmy, what are you doing here?" I asked. I saw him grimace at the nickname. It must hurt him to hear it.
"I'm asking the board to be reassigned," he confessed.
"What?" I asked.
"I can't do this, I can't have you just out of reach, It's torturous. Maybe if I had to suffer alone, but to know you feel the same way? I can't hurt you too, I can see how hard it is for you as well."
"Timothée, you can't do this. What if we never see each other again?" I asked, and I found that my eyes were burning. Tears were falling. He moved forward, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
"I don't want this anymore than you do," he said softly. "But you said you're trapped. I'd be more than willing to help, even if you didn't want to be with me. But you've got to be willing, and I don't think you are," he said gently.
"It isn't because I don't love you," I said, through sobs.
"I know," he pressed his forehead against mine.
"I have something to give you," he said, after a moment. He pulled a thick stack of paper from his bag.
"But first, you left this at my place," he said, handing me my engagement ring. I nodded, slipping in my pocket. I felt sick wearing it, especially in front of Timothée.
"Here," he handed me the stack of papers, they were all in envelopes.
"What is this?" I asked, scanning the material.
"Ever since the day I met you, I've been writing you letters everyday. Just my thoughts. what I wish I could tell you. Stuff like that. I thought you should have them, since I'm leaving."
I looked at the effort of love in my hands. He'd taken time to hand write me letters, everyday, since he'd met me. Had Dillon ever done anything so sweet, even with prompting?
I let the letters fall from my hands and I tackled him. I smashed my lips to his as I flung my arms around him. He responded with equal passion. If our kiss before had been slow, and careful, this was hungry.
His hands were gripping my hips as our tongues danced together. My hands curled in his hair, and I pulled lightly. He whimpered into the kiss, and the sound lit a fire in my core.
"Shut the door," I told him breathlessly. "I want you."
His eyes were glittering with anticipation. I didn't care that what I was doing was wrong. I didn't care about what my family and friends would think. I didn't give a shit. All I wanted was him, him, him, all of him.
"This has to be a dream," he panted as I kissed down his neck.
"You're too good to be real," he said, as his hands crept up my shirt. He kneaded my breasts. I felt like I had been electrified. Everywhere he touched lit up.
"Timothée," I moaned.
"I want my name to be the only name you ever say that way," he said, and licked a stripe up my throat. I felt like I might die of bliss. I pulled off his shirt, my hands moving over his torso with reverence, as though I were touching Holy texts.
"It will be," I promised him. "No one could ever make me feel like you do."
I was kissing him again. His hands were unbuttoning my sleep shirt. I couldn't wait to be bare for him. I wanted him to own me.
He broke the kiss, preparing himself to look down at me. I had expected starry eyes, but there was a look of horror on his face.
"Y/n," he choked. I'd forgotten the large, shoe shaped bruise on my chest.
"What happened?" He demanded, practically cradling me in his arms. I couldn't stop the tears the formed in my eyes.
"Is this why you came to my apartment the other night?" He asked.
"No, but something similar to this," I said, moving to show him the bruises that had yet to fade from my arms.
"He did this, didn't he," he said, trying to get me to look into his eyes. "I'll murder him."
Timothée made to leave me, as if he'd truly meant it.
"No, stay here with me, love me, please," I begged. He turned back to me.
"You're not going back to him. He's abusing you. Promise you'll let me help you," he pleaded.
"I promise," I relented. I could take it back later, even though I didn't want to. I wanted to relent, to let him help me.
"I know I forgot to say it, because of the mark," he said, as he slowly reached behind me to unclasp my bra. It fell to the floor.
"You are absolutely gorgeous," he said and dipped his head so he could kiss my breasts. He gently licked my bruise, as if he would take it away from me if he could. He brought his mouth to my peaked nipples and sucked them into his mouth.
"Oh, Timmy," I breathed as he suckled. I could hardly imagine anything feeling better than this, and we'd barely started.
"I want to taste you," he said, reaching a hand down to pull off my sleep shorts. He touched the fabric of my panties and groaned.
"You're so wet," he cursed. He got on his knees, and kept eye contact with me as he slid the panties down my legs. I shuddered when his breath ghosted over my heat. I moved back against the wall to stable myself.
Once I was secure, he gave me small kitten licks. I felt like my body was becoming liquid, but I stayed standing. After the initial teasing, he began to devour me. I cried out in pleasure. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. The wonders his tongue was doing, felt supernatural.
"So good, fuck, you're so good," I praised, hardly able to get the words out. I wound my fingers in his hair, and gently pushed his head closer to me. He was ravishing me, his tongue massaging my clit in a perfect rhythm.
"You're god-like," I gasped as he hit an especially sensitive spot. "Timothée, I'm going to come."
My world shattered as my orgasm broke over me. I was seeing stars as he lapped me through my bliss. I couldn't even speak, the pleasure was far too much to handle.
"You're amazing," I said, once I could manage to get a word out. He was looking up at me adoringly. I cupped his face, and he beamed.
I offered a hand, so he would stand up. I led him to my sofa, and pulled him down on me. He still wore his pants, but I could feel his lust pressing against my thigh.
"I love you," he said earnestly.
"I love you too Timothée," I said, running my hands through his curls. "Will you make love to me?"
He closed his eyes and shivered at the idea. He nodded. He moved off me a little so he could take his pants and boxers off.
I'd never seen a cock like his. It was so hard, and long, and thick, it looked perfect. I bit my lip.
"C-can I take a picture of you?" He asked, and I knew he was scared. He was scared I wouldn't let him help me leave, and this would be the only time he'd see me like this.
"Yes," I agreed, as he took out his phone. He snapped a few pictures before tossing it back on the floor, and hovering over me.
"Are you sure," he asked me gently.
"More sure than I've ever been about anything," I told him honestly. He took my hand and entangled his fingers with mine, and pushed into me.
"Ah," I whimpered as I felt him fill me. He looked like his eyes might roll back into his head.
"I've never," he began. "It's never felt like this, not with anyone."
"I know what you mean," I said, and leaned up to kiss him. As we kissed, he began to thrust. I savored the sound of our flesh meeting.
"Y/n, y/n, y/n," he murmured into my lips, like a prayer. He was going so deep, reaching parts of me I was sure had never been touched.
"You feel like heaven," I told him, and he nodded, biting his lip. He continued to roll his hips. I was so full of him, and I never wanted it to stop.
"I want to ride you," I told him. He let out a long groan, and then he was flipping us. I bounced on his cock, drinking in his expression of pleasure below me. He reached up so he could toy with my nipples.
"I'm not going to last long," he admitted.
"Me either," I chuckled shakily.
"When I cum, where do you want it?"
"In me," I begged. "I want every part of you."
I bounced a few more times, feeling myself about to snap. However, the pleasure I expected, didn't come. Instead, I was being ripped off Timothée by my hair. I fell to the floor, naked, and injured. Above me stood Dillon, looking like a demon.
"You fucking whore," he kicked me in the ribs, and my world went fuzzy with pain.
"Don't touch her!" Timothée bellowed.
"I fucking knew it, you've been eye fucking her since the moment you met her. Well you should give up on her. She's nothing but a disgusting slut," he shouted, and made to kick me again. Timothée swung on him before he got the chance.
Dillon almost toppled over. Timothée was next to me, in an instant, asking me if I was okay. I cried out before Dillon could land a kick to Timothée's back. He grabbed Dillon's swinging foot and shoved him back. Timothée was sitting on his chest now, as Dillon cried out homophobic slurs. Timothée was pounding his face with his fists.
The next moments were wild as policemen burst into the house, pulling Timothée off Dillon. Timothée was shouting that he was an abuser. A blanket was thrown on me.
All I wanted was to be back with Timothée, but now I had to go through a lengthy process. I told the officers, as they looked at me with judgmental eyes, that I had been cheating on my abusive fiancée. That's when he'd come in and injured me. Timothée was only standing up for me. Did I want to press charges? Yes, and I wanted a restraining order.
Finally, I was released to Timothée, who had been given clothes, as had I. I rushed to him. He held me in his arms, soothing me, reassuring himself I was okay. I didn't have any broken ribs, thank God.
I looked at my phone that had been returned to me. I saw, in horror, the astounding number of notifications I had.
"What have I done?" I asked Timothée.