The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

36

I feel Jonathan everywhere as he leans over me, kissing me furiously until I can taste myself on his tongue. He tilts his head and the firm line of his jaw catches the light. I drag my finger across it, admiring him, wondering how anyone could be so inhumanly beautiful.

He breathes, "I won't be able to last long in you, Sienna."

Something about it lights everything in me on fire, recalling the way the Scarecrow came as soon as he bottomed out.

"After what you just did to me, I'm not going to complain," I whisper.

His eyes darken as he moves a hand between us. "You think I'm done with you already?"

He pushes two fingers into me and I moan softly, his words echoing in my ears. He drags his fingers out then fills me with them again, and my pussy begins to ache sweetly for him. I'll never get used to this, never understand how I managed to exist for so long without it.

His fingers continue to fuck into me as I hear the click of his belt, the drag of his zipper. He pulls his pants down and I can feel the heat of him, the fucking length of him, against my thigh as he works deep inside me until I'm trembling and ready to explode.

"You have no idea," he groans, "How much self-control it takes not to come in my pants every time I fucking touch you."

Boldly, I manage to gasp, "I believe you have my underwear for that."

At my words, he can take it no longer, and his fingers leave me aching until he pushes inside with his cock. I fight not to scream out as he stretches me, long and engorged and hitting every spot deep in my core. I tighten and come around him, and he pulls back to fuck into me once more, until he's completely buried and filling all of me with his come. His hips fit perfectly between my legs, his lips crushing mine, his breath heavy in my mouth.

"Oh, sweetie," I manage to say, caressing his face as he pulls out and leaves me empty. "You lasted two whole strokes longer than last time."

His responding glare makes dread pool in my stomach. Shit.

His voice is ice cold as he says, "I left you unsatisfied?"

"No," I whisper. Definitely not.

His fingers find my throat, brushing, a threat. "I didn't fill you with enough of my semen?"

"I didn't mean it like—"

"I think you did, Sienna. I think you meant it exactly like that. There's so much I want to do to you..." His eyes light up with excitement. "Can I wear my mask?"

Terror runs through me.

Or it might be excitement.

I nod. "Go get it."

He kisses me passionately, pausing to look me in the eyes, then gets up and wraps himself in a robe and leaves the room. I push myself up, sitting in the bed. With a glance to the bedside table, I see he's left us two water bottles — written a J on one, and an S on the other.

I smile stupidly and take mine, bringing it to my lips. Pull my hair over one shoulder and sigh. Listen to the quiet notes of music that continue to play. Close my eyes.

The music stops.

I glance up.

The Scarecrow's stood in the doorway. Head tilted slightly. Watching me, just as he always has. Sending the familiar ripples of terror and anticipation through my body.

I smile. Wrap myself in the bedsheets and stand to my feet. Take slow steps towards him.

"Come here," I say softly.

He approaches, each footstep echoing through the room. When he reaches me, he pulls my hair and tilts my head back, exposing my neck for him.

He says, "This would look better in purple."

I scowl at him. "So would yours."

"You misunderstand me. I don't want to hurt you." Burlap scratches against my throat before his next words. "At least, not in ways you won't enjoy."

He lifts the bottom of the hood and bites gently below my ear. A gasp escapes me, and he groans in appreciation, locking his teeth and lips over my throat and sucking, nibbling, devouring. I feel the pull of blood beneath my skin, the dull ache.

The almost unbearable pleasure.

He covers my entire throat while I'm helpless in his arms, feeling every mark he leaves on my skin, feeling it so deep in my core for a moment, I think it'll be enough to send me over the edge again. A part of my mind vaguely notes I'll regret this when I'm fighting to hide it for the next week — the rest of my mind tells it to shut the fuck up.

He drags his lips down my chest and tears the bedsheet away, before claiming my breasts in exactly the same way. He gets closer to my nipple, and my breath increases, my legs clenched as I get ready to —

And then he stops.

"What?" I whimper. "No fair."

In one swift movement he bends me over the bed and says, "Do you want it?"

Oh my god. He cuffs my wrists with his hand, holding them firm at the small of my back so I'm helpless, pressed into the mattress.

I tell him, "Yes," and he laughs softly, and I feel the head of his cock against my entrance.

He drags it up and down the length of my pussy until I'm trembling for him, whimpering something unintelligible.

Then he pulls away, and his palm slaps against my ass, and I cry out and then he's pushing his way into me, stretching me, filling me.

As he begins to rut into me, I realise how lightly I've gotten off every time before. With him pounding me like this, I can feel the bruising beginning already, dull and desperate.

With every thrust, between heavy breaths, he says, "Look at that. You're still dripping with my cum from last time."

I moan out as he continues to take me, pounding me, his balls slapping against my clit until I'm about to lose control.

"Is this enough for you?" He asks through clenched teeth. "Are you satisfied yet?"

I can't speak, can only nod my head, as I fall apart for him.

"Take it. Take it for me, Sienna." He grinds into me and I feel his cock twitch deep. "Take all of my cum and make a fucking baby for me."

He spills into me again and my mind's gone completely dumb by this point, aware only of every pleasure still coursing through my veins. Of the way he pulls out of me, the slip of burlap, and then he's holding me and lifting me into bed and wrapping me up in his arms. Pressing soft kisses against my forehead, stroking my back, tilting my chin until I look at him.

Jonathan says, "Worried I'd killed you for a moment, there."

As much as I long to retort, I know doing so will earn me another round — and my body still needs to recover from this one. I give a small sigh of contentment and lean into him, eyes closed, ready to sleep against him.

"Is this how you do it?" He asks me quietly.

My voice is a sleepy murmur. "What's that?"

"This," he says, with a twitch of his arms. "Hold someone."

I tell him, "Yeah, sweetie. This is how you do it."

He pauses. "It's nice."

I smile. "I think so too."