John wanted to hear her whisper she needed him in her breathy voice, he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss away every single tear she shed today.

He should let go. 

He shouldn’t stay at the inn as she requested. No, he should go there, be by her side at their home.

He should apologize for running to Hope’s whenever she called him. 

But he couldn’t.

She needed time, but he couldn’t stay away.

Because who wouldn’t love this gorgeous creature? This over-educated, over-sexed woman who oozed intelligence and sensuality? This woman of white skin and red lips and a brain built for running financial empires? 

 

He sat in the chair by his bed and unzipped his jeans. He had been in a state of semi-hardness all day. He gave himself a couple of pulls until his cock was pointing straight up, remembering how it felt to have Marlena’s wet center pressing against him. He leaned back, his jaw tight, finally giving up and reaching for his phone.

She picked up on the second ring. 

“Doctor Evans” That voice. 

It was even huskier on the phone. 

He wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly stroked himself.

“Where are you?” 

“John? I thought we’d talked about you giving me time.” 

He could hear the sound of silverware and glass. She was at the pub.

“Doc, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He could hear her moving around as if she were walking into a more private place to talk. 

“John please, don’t make it harder than it already is.” 

 

He hesitated. 

 

God, this was so fucking crass, but he wanted her voice in his ear as he did this. “I’m hard, Marlena. I’m so fucking hard that I can’t think straight.”

She could hear the alcohol in his tone.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said. And then, her voice filled with understanding, “Oh, John, are you—” 

“I’m trying to do everything I can for all of you,” he told the darkened bedroom. 

“I know you are,” she replied softly, running a soft hand through her hair. 

“I love you so much it scares me.” he breathed heavily.

She let out a light laugh. “I know the feeling.” As she ran a hand down her cheek, he muttered, “I just want you to look at me and not see the man who slept with Hope.” Tilting his head back to lean against the heavy headboard, he asked quietly, “How do I do that?” 

 

Marlena was his entire universe. 

The thought of someone trying to keep him from her was unconscionable. He would do anything to be near her. Nobody could keep him away. He’d fucking like to see somebody try. 

She stated firmly, “Time.”

When he didn’t reply, she leaned into her cell phone, putting her lips to the receiver. “I need time.” 

 

“I need to see you, Doc, I’m in our bedroom. My jeans are pulled down, I need to touch you.” 

 

What the fuck was he doing?

 

“Oh God, John...this is not the answer to our problems” Her words were laced with want, with hunger. 

It made him grip himself harder.

“I’m leaning back. My legs are wide. It makes me think of when you knelt between them and sucked me off. You know you want it Doc...I know you. I know who you are.” 

“I want to do it again,” she admitted, and somehow he knew that she wanted to touch herself too. 

“I know you do...tell me..” He breathed. “Or better yet, come home and show me.”

“This is inappropriate.” That was the fucking understatement of the century. “I...I cannot go back home,” her voice set to a whisper, “you know why.” 

 

“Come back home, Doc,” He said, uninterested in her opinion. 

“No,” she said firmly. 

She was feisty and bordering on pissing him off. 

But he’ll keep his cool. It was going to be fun to make her think she has a say in any of this. Then he’ll take that shred of autonomy she thought she had and own it. He couldn’t wait to destroy the look of fierceness she has in her eyes right now. 

He was going to piss all over her fire. “If you are worried about your safety, I can assure you, Brady won't hurt you.” 

Finally, emotion ripped through the shock and her tone became indignant. “Your son threatened my life, he is volatile and I am not coming back home to his abuse...” 

“My son...are we ever gonna get past this? Or do I need to remind you of how much I love you again, just like I did at Salem Place,” He said, recalling that night. Aaaaand fuck, here came the throbbing sensation of his cock hardening. 

He stilled, to give her the illusion of control. She sneered at him, because every word of what he just said was true. 

That night, she screamed please every time he thrust into her pussy. If she didn’t say it loud enough, he would stop and she would beg again. The globes of her tight, round ass quivered every time he slammed his cock into her, her tits jiggled as he pumped. 

She was made for his fucking.

“Doc, come on...” He wanted to kiss that part of her wrist, press his lips against her pulse point, right before he tied a rope around it.

He wanted to dive into her, unfold the mystery that was Marlena Evans. 

They stayed like that a moment and then, “I can’t...I love you, I need you too..but not like this...I’m sorry. Goodbye”

The line went dead.

 

*****

 

Marlena pulled her room keys out of her purse and let herself in. She turned the lights on.

She kicked off her shoes and turned on the cd player.

She made her way to the small fridge to grab a bottle of water, mouthing the words to Skyfall- Adelle. Just as she opened the fridge and poked her head in, the music stopped. She stood tall, hoping it’ll play again.

“Oh man,” she said to herself. The cd player was old and occasionally the music skipped. But this time, the song didn’t start up again. This time, what should be a minor inconvenience sent chills up my arms; the fine hairs stood at attention as if she touched static. Then the living room light turned off. 

She didn’t even have time to get scared or analyze what was happening. She turned her head to investigate and she saw a dark shadow hanging over her. 

He was tall and his shoulders were broad. She opened her mouth to say something. 

What? 

She didn’t even know, and he put a gloved hand over her mouth. 

“Don’t say a fucking word.” 

 

***

 

It was already 11 pm and John's patience was growing very fucking thin. He knew she was at the pub, but he didn’t give a shit. 

He wanted her here now. 

Finally, he heard a car pull upfront. 

A taxi. 

Perfect. 

She was alone just as he expected. 

He watched Marlena from a closet as she entered the room and locked the door behind her. It was tempting to jump out now, but he needed to be patient. He has to catch her completely off guard and without warning. She wobbled a little, she must have been hammered. He couldn’t have asked for a better setup: drunk people were easy to overpower. Not that he was worried about her putting up a good fight. 

She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her blouse, and he admired the curves of her body in her white bra and tight jeans. Her tits were perfect, full but still perky, and right now her nipples were hard, poking right through the thin material of her bra. Her ass was round and tight. Her body has changed over the years, filling out in all the right places. His dick throbbed thinking about the things he would do to her. 

 

Now if she would just go to the bedroom, he could get started. The living room window faced the main street and she will scream. The bedroom, on the other hand, was towards the back of the Inn and faced the backyard. Wrestling on a bed was much quieter than in a living room full of lamps and bookshelves filled with random bullshit. 

 

He wanted to take his time with her, so he needed to wait just a little bit longer. 

Shit, he’d already waited enough. 

She was so carefree. She thought she was safe. 

 

***

 

​

Marlena cried out, but the sound was muffled by his hand. 

He holds her, firmly against him, waiting out her thrashing. Her legs flailed into the fridge, knocking over a tub of cottage cheese that exploded on the kitchen floor. Another kick dislodged a shelf and Tupperware containers slid to the floor. 

 

Her heart revs up. 

She felt stronger, like her muscles were supercharged, but even still, his grip on her was immoveable. And while she was more alert, there was a strange fog surrounding her thoughts. She has all this fresh mental energy from the terror, but she was unable to focus on anything other than his hand on her mouth. She just needed to get his hand off her fucking mouth. 

 

But this guy was made of stone: heavy, massive, dense. She could tell he was only using a fraction of his strength against her, while she was using everything she had, and losing energy with each kick. Then her mind jumped to something John mentioned.

 

“You know you want it Doc...I know you. I know who you are.”

 

Suddenly, she realized her only way to freedom was passivity. She couldn’t say a safeword unless she calmed down. Then he’ll move his hand so she could speak. It made sense, this whole thing relied on anonymity, if a neighbor heard her scream and called the cops, then their cover was blown. 

She breathed heavily into the gloved hand as she tried and relaxed her body. In that moment, her senses become acute. She could feel the bulges of his muscles pressing against her body. She could smell him: slight hints of musk, pine, and vanilla mixed with his body chemistry.

 

He was warm, and his warmth spread to her exposed shoulders and through the fabric of her clothing. As she relaxed, the tension of his grip subsided and she noticed they pant in unison, his chest expanding into the curve of her upper back with each breath they took. 

 

Eventually, aside from her heavy panting, she become still. “I am going to move my hand from your face, but don’t fucking scream. You scream and I will fuck you up. Do you understand?” he asked. 

His voice was deep and rich; his words sent chills through her core. Not of terror, but arousal. She hasn't gotten a good look at him, but just his stature, strength, smell, and voice screamed masculinity. 

Dominance. 

Ferocity. 

The things that made John Black who he was. 

 

She already felt at that moment a blazing in her core that she has never felt before and he had barely done anything. Goosebumps raised on her arms and neck, her nipples tingled against the fabric of her bra. 

She nodded her head frantically. 

He slowly slid away his hand. 

He was here. 

She could say their safe word. 

She could scream it, but she didn’t have to do it yet. She could do it at any point. And right now, for some inexplicable reason, Marlena didn’t want to. 

 

And that was when she felt the thick rock-hardness pressing on her backside. There was something primal about this encounter. Their last encounter was savage. How he carried her through the streets of Salem, just to have her thrown into bed, arms pinned, breath taken.

 

The way this massive man stood above her, his scent, the baritone of his voice, the feeling of his desire for her pressing into her back. There were no pleasantries, no small talk, it was a man who wanted to fuck his wife. 

Not just fuck her, but take her. 

She held onto the safeword, it made her feel safe. 

It reminded her that she still had ultimate control. But right now, at this moment, she wanted more. She pressed her ass against him and craned her neck back. His firm grip on her loosened as she spun to face him. 

 

The glow of the fridge light cast on him and gave her a shadowy view. He was well-dressed, in a black tailored suit with a white shirt, no tie. Through the unbuttoned top of the shirt. But She couldn’t see his face, because it was covered in a ski mask. All she could see were two blue eyes staring back at her and two full lips peeking through the mouth hole. There was a moment of stillness. 

 

It may have only been a second, but the adrenaline made everything feel fast and slow at the same time. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the mask and his large hand snapped up and snatched her wrist painfully, twisting it.

“Ohhh,” She called out in pain. 

But the pain was fleeting, it was more of a reminder than it was meant to hurt. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he said coarsely. 

And She did. 

She didn’t say a word, but their heavy breathing filled the quiet air of her hotel room. The fridge closed with a thud and the entire room went dark. The leather glove slid up her stomach, over her hardened nipple, up her neck, and roughly yanked her golden hair. 

Again she called out. 

His other hand covered her mouth. “Shhhhh.” 

 

The length of his erection pressed against her stomach and again, almost involuntarily, she snaked against it. 

“Is this what you want?” 

Marlena bit her lip. 

She could stop this, she could make him go away. 

She could say the word they agreed on in the past, convinced this was something she absolutely did not want. 

She nodded. 

 

He pushed her against the fridge, the cold stainless steel contrasting with the warmness of his body electrified her. She mewled, a combination of arousal and passivity to his overwhelming will. Then he bit her neck. At first, it felt nice, like a love bite, and then he dug in hard, so hard, an alarming pain jolted through her flesh and instinctively, she flailed her fists at him. 

He caught them and twisted them behind her back. The spot where he bit radiated with pain so that she felt his mark on a spot where he wasn’t even touching her any longer. The way he branded her with his mouth like that made her hot. His dark figure dragged her to the living room, bumping into a lounge chair as she fought to free her arms, and threw her down on the rug, face first. His hand pressed on the small of her back to still her as she felt the cold blade touch her flesh. 

 

“John…” Her almost passive acceptance up until this point made way for defiance as she bucked her ass against his crotch. She was surprised that she was able to move his solid mass, a side effect of the adrenaline coursing through her muscles. But he reacted by bearing his weight down on her, rendering her unable to budge. Frustration and anger boiled through her. 

She wondered if she should say the word and end this. 

 

They fucked up, betraying her trust by bringing the implement she banned. Images of slits on her skin and blood pervaded her thoughts and she gasped for oxygen, choking on panic, unable to push out air to form a word. Finally, a sound emerged from her throat. Just as she was about to scream something about knives, she heard the threads of her bra tearing as the stretchy material snapped away from her body, the knife cutting through it like warm butter. 

 

The drafty air ran over her exposed skin and in that moment she realized this was really happening. There she was, a respected psychiatrist in the fine city of Salem, face down, and topless with her husband. This was arriving at a point that she couldn't simply write off as poor judgment, curiosity, or even a few glasses of wine. She was making a clear decision if she didn't put this to an end. But she still didn’t want him to stop. 

 

He rolled her over on her back, her eyes have adjusted to the darkness and the street light sifting through the windows gave her another view of him. His suit jacket was now gone, and she had a better view of his body: the strong v-taper of his wide shoulders and narrow waist. His collarbone was chiseled and prominent. It was not a feature she ever noticed on a man, let alone found sexy, until John. 

He straddled her, heaving like a beast in heat, and it awakened a surge of tingling warmth that emanated from between her legs. 

The pressure built. 

She needed to be touched, to be relieved of the tension that was blooming from this area to the rest of her body. She reached out for his belt, accepting her role in this whole thing, and again he grabbed her wrists. There was another moment of stillness, as she waited for what he would do to her, and then he slammed her hands on the floor above her. He collected her wrists into one hand, while reaching down to her breasts, firmed with arousal, and pinched her nipple. 

She moaned and gyrated her hips in response. She wanted his mouth on her. And she wanted him to remove the fucking mask. 

“Stay still,” he commanded, squeezing hard on her wrists. She winced in pain, but it only made her more sensitive to the brewing erotic warmth below her belly button. 

“Please, suck them,” She begged submissively. 

And instantly, she realized the other component that made that so fucking hot: Yes it was the primal, animalistic abandon of it all, but it was also the mercenary role he assumed tonight: She could say whatever she wanted, because she knew it was only a game. 

 

He made a throaty sound. 

One of hesitation. 

 

“I want your mouth on me. Without the mask,” she begged. “You can do everything you want,” She said, her voice quivering from a vague sense of fear and intense arousal. It surrendered to his will. 

He leaned over her, his hand still pinning her arms to the floor, his bodyweight straddled over hers, and there was just a hollow silence in the darkroom. But after a few tense seconds, her ears trained on the sound of their breathing, her eyes scanned the outline of their chests, nearing and distancing with each inhale and exhale. 

 

It was a cappella song of sexual intensity and fear. 

 

Fear is an illness.

That can consume you.

Their best chance was to face it.

 

Then without warning, he thrust the mask up, wearing it like a hat, so that she could make out some of his face. It was shadowy and hard for her to get a clear view, but there he was, her striking husband: an angled jawline, full lips, a Roman nose. Before her eyes could focus any further, he dove down, mouthing her breasts, his stubble scratching against her soft skin. He bit her again so that she writhed against him, both fighting and receiving him. 

 

“Oh, God!” She called out. 

His mouth was all over her torso, savagely kissing, biting, consuming. Marlena couldn’t tell what stung and what pleased her as he mixed softness with savagery. She wanted it so much that her body fought him, again trying to buck him off of her. She knew it was pointless, but she wanted him closer, she wanted his body on her body. Every action of hers received an equal but opposite reaction. The more she fought, the closer he got. 

 

His body pressed against hers, rendering her helpless, but she didn't feel helpless because she chose this. Despite what she told herself last week, a part of her that had been hiding, tucked away by civility and propriety, had the guts to break out when he carried her through the streets of Salem in a fireman hold. She tried to put her back in hiding, but that man on top of her was dragging her out, kicking and screaming. She wanted this big, rough man, taking her body for his pleasure. 

 

He pulled both of his hands away from her to unbutton her pants and then he reached for the knife. Her eyes grew with fear. 

The knife has already been used, it wasn’t as threatening as it was in the mental images she had created. In fact, in that darkness, it glinted, reflecting the amber light of the street lamps. Ironically, the most sinister tool was the only source of light between them. 

He slid the flat side of the knife under the open crotch of her pants and then turned the blade up and out, cutting through the fabric. Once there was a slash, he took his two strong hands and ripped the material effortlessly, tearing the fabric away from her body and exposing her to him. A flimsy piece of lace was now the only barrier between her and this intoxicating man. He used the knife to pluck at the two strings securing the tiny fabric to her hips. 

They snapped away effortlessly and he balled up the panties in his hand and squeezed her cheeks roughly.

 

“Open your mouth.” She relaxed her jaw, as he used his leather-covered hand to shove her panties into her mouth. It was almost too much: the filth, the excitement, the trepidation. It was like she was teetering on the edge of a building and losing her balance. It was that heightened feeling of terror and excitement you feel as you fight to keep your footing, except, while that feeling usually lasted just a second or two, this was persistent and unrelenting. 

 

She wanted to kiss him, but he won’t let me touch him. 

“Don’t move your fucking hands, Doc” he said.

 

She hasn't moved them since he pinned them overhead. His message was loud and clear long before he had to utter the words. She watched in heady, adrenaline-fueled lust as he pulled open his belt, and the leather-clad hand reached in to pull out his cock. She caught herself gasping at the outline in the shadowy living room: it was thick and long. 

John reached down and grabbed her by her hair, pulling her to a seated position. He glided the panties out of her mouth, like a magician would. 

“Lick it.” 

 

She hesitated, her head spinning from the constant level change, reminding her that she was married to that beautiful man. He still held his hard dick in his hand, just in front of her lips. With each deep breath she took, they grazed his head before her mouth shrank away from it. He tightened his grip on her hair, jerking her head ever so slightly in silent insistence. Until that point, this was a violent dance, with her husband taking the lead. 

But that was all it was. 

 

Like bobbing in an ocean current, she had drifted into this man’s ferocious grip, and she didn’t even really feel herself moving. She was already there, so far away from someone who wouldn’t consider taking this man in her mouth. There was no going back. And then hesitantly, but obediently, she faintly stuck her tongue out right at the very tip of his cock, and she tasted the fluid of his arousal lingering on its tip. With each lick, she was a little more generous. 

And he became greedier. “Suck it, Marlena.” She snarled at that word. She hated that fucking word and he kept using it against her. But the anger, it made her more heated, more wanton, and she found herself pursing her lips around him. She’ll show him, he’ll be moaning her name. 

 

His hands reached back and his fingers combed through her hair, leading her head at the pace he wanted. 

He wanted. 

But she wanted to, so she sucked vigorously, passionately, because she wanted to tempt him to give her more. The scent of his groin, a faint mix of soap, and his natural pheromones make her pussy swell with need. 

She was all in. 

He guided her hands up, giving her permission to use them on his cock and balls. She cupped and massaged his balls with one hand as she used the other on his shaft. His mouth was closed, but raspy groans escaped the back of his throat and she feared he might come before she had any satisfaction. 

 

She pulled away. 

 

She knew he would be angry, but she didn't care. She looked straight into his dark eyes, and she begged without saying a word. 

“You want me to fuck you,” he replied. 

It was not really a question, it was more of a confirmation. She didn't say anything, but she continued to plead with her eyes. 

He smirked a smug, cocky smirk. 

Then he shoved her mouth back onto him and she continued licking, sucking, rubbing. He fucked her face with no concern for her comfort, shoving himself to the back of her throat. 

 

The ferocity only made her desire his cock in her pussy even more. Then he pulled out of her mouth. He was going to fuck her, but on his terms. He placed his cool leather hands on her inner thighs and angrily pushed them apart. Her initial reaction was to resist, a sheer reflex to the force of his movement, but her inner thigh muscles relent to his strength almost instantly. His face disappeared below as she felt his tongue slide inside of her. 

“Oh, John” She moaned loudly, her legs reacting by trying to wrap around him, but he clamped down on her inner thighs with his fingers and the sensitive nerves in that area screamed in pain. She mewed like a cat in heat, as the alarming pain dulled into warm waves of wetness from her pussy. She could feel herself readying, but it was more than ready, it was as though her pussy was willing him, inviting him with slick warmth. 

 

John ran a flat tongue up her entire opening, lapping up the juice he had summoned from her body. She shuddered from the overwhelming eroticism of the act, the way he was tasting the fruits of his complete tyranny over her body. Then he ate her, with abandon, like someone who has thirsted for her for so long and was finally able to quench himself. It had been so long since she had had the warmth of his mouth on her pussy, and this feeling, this level of arousal and passion and heat was something she had never experienced. 

 

She bellowed his name like an animal. They weren’t even people, they were just sex. He sucked on her clit, and though she was not supposed to, her hands reached down to him, squeezing the fabric of the ski mask that rested on his head as an explosion of relief and energy erupted from her clit. Pulses of electric warmth rolled away from her core like a shattering earthquake. 

 

She called out his name, as her hips thrust against his face. His tongue and lips continued to dance along her center as each wave became fainter. 

“We’re not fucking done.” His words vibrated into her sensitive flesh. 

 

Thank god. 

 

She needed to feel that beautiful cock inside of her. He pulled her up to her knees, and she fell forward into his chest. It was like a wall, and it reminded her how vulnerable she was. He handled her like she was a doll, like she had no substance, just useless filling. 

 

Her neck was whipped back by a firm tug on her hair. “This is my last warning. Do not kiss me and keep your hands to yourself.” He stood and brought her to her feet by her hair, dragging her to the couch. 

John threw her face-first onto it, so that she was on her knees, her chest resting against the backrest. His hands roughly pulled on her hips to prop her ass out. His swollen head rubbed up and down her slippery slit. She bit her lips and scrunched her face from the agony of his teasing. Marlena stopped thinking about the fact that this was a rape roleplay as soon as her tongue lapped up his precum. 

She stopped considering using the safe word as soon as he put his mouth on her center. All logic, common sense, and morality have escaped her thoughts. Her hotel room was dangerous right now, like the tattoo on his back. His fingers raked through the base of her hair. 

“Beg for it, you little slut.” 

Her chest quivered. 

How did this happen? 

How was she here, begging her fake rapist-husband to fuck her? But he had got her in a corner: She could feel the warmth of his head resting against the hypersensitive lips of her pussy; the muscles of her inner walls clenched around emptiness begging to be filled. 

 

Her body won’t let her stop. But, she hesitated. 

How much more can he taunt her and degrade her? 

She has been thrown around, called names, her clothes have been torn, bite marks lingered on her skin. 

He slid it up and down again, slowly, teasing and enticing her. All of her muscles melted, almost dissolving her into a puddle on the couch as she purred. He pulled her hair again, awakening all of my muscles, making me taut and ready to receive his violence. His stubble flared the nerve endings on her cheek and his lips caressed the curve of her ear, “I said beg.” 

 

His fist gripped at the roots of her hair painfully. A throbbing deep inside of her stubbornly insisted on release. It was no longer a desire. It had become a need, absolving her of the burden of free will. 

 

“Please...” She whimpered in a shaky voice. 

“Louder.” His low, gritty tone was a thin veil for the note of pleasure in his voice. 

“Please,” she said more firmly. 

“Louder,” he said cruelly. 

“Please,” She projected. 

He slipped his head inside of her as she gasped and then he stopped. 

“Louder, Doc.” He won’t be satisfied until she was completely stripped of dignity. 

“Please!” It was just below a yell, but her voice was jagged with shame. 

 

He pushed his entire length into her, wrathfully. She cried out, throwing her head back and gripping the top of the couch. His cock curved into her deeply, painfully. “Don’t stop begging, and loud so I can hear you cry.” He pulled out almost all the way and impaled her again. “Please!” She cried, arching her back to brace for the impact of his cock. He hit a rhythm, each thrust complete with her vocal begging. The more she begged, the louder she begged, the more he fucked her. The otherwise silent room was filled with the sounds of his hips slapping the soft flesh of her ass, the sounds of her juices sloshing around his cock, and her loud, crying pleads: “Please! Please! Please! Please!” 

 

Her voice vibrated from John’s violent thrusting against her body. “That’s right,” he grumbled. If she stopped begging, he would stop. 

It was humiliating, it was dirty, and yet it somehow turned on every erogenous zone in her body. His balls violently slapped against her, reminding her of his conquering with each tap and awakening even more nerve endings just behind her pussy. 

He violently thrust into her as she shamelessly begged for his cock made her feel like a star bursting bright. Like sex was pouring out of her every orifice, every pore. Marlena’s mind was honed in on him and only him. This was the abandonment she had been looking for. 

Shame and decency have long gone out the window. 

She could be freely sexual. 

She could admit she wanted his cock, She wanted her hair to be pulled, she wanted her nipples to be pinched. She could howl as loud as she wanted. 

Nothing else fucking mattered but the feeling of this man’s cock pressing against the walls of her pussy. 

 

Eventually, he stayed inside of her instead of pulling in and out. He maintained a steady contact and friction with her walls as his cock rubbed deep inside of her. The tension build and build. Everything tightens: every pore on her body shrunk, her nipples minimized to their smallest, most sensitive point, his stubble burned against her neck, the muscles inside of her thighs clenched, his warm breath blew against her cheek. 

 

“Please!” she begged at her loudest, the scratchy husk of certainty cloaking her voice. He couldn't stop now, he had to take her all the way. His hand reached around and he rubbed her mound, giving the perfect amount of attention to her overstimulated clit. She tightened, and tightened, everything shrunk to its most compact point around his hard cock, and then everything released. 

 

Everything burst, erupted, shattered. 

She heard her own voice fill the room: a shaky, quavering cry. 

 

He covered her mouth with his gloved hand, because it was so loud, it might grab a neighbor’s attention. As her walls contracted around him and her body erupted, his cocks swelled in her, his grip around her tightened. John kept his pace, covering her mouth with one hand and clenching a breast with the other, rolling a nipple between his fingers. And before she was even done coming down, she started to build again with him. 

She couldn’t believe she was about to have another orgasm before the first one had even finished. This time his groans almost became growls, he bit her neck, stopping right at the pressure before she would scream in pain. He squeezed her breast so hard she yelped and then his cock pulsed inside of her as he grunted into her neck, his warm groans enveloped her. 

His warmth shoots inside of her, and she came again around his throbbing cock. 

Reckless. 

Irresponsible. 

Dirty. 

Dangerous. 

Exhilarating. 

Erotic. 

Wild. 

Euphoric. 

 

How can one thing be all of those? How can peering into the gutter of her soul feel like she just touched heaven? 

 

“Get up,” he said between breaths as he pulled down his mask to cover his face again. Her ears rang from the intensity of the multiple orgasms. Her hearing was dampened, smothered. John’s voice sounded distant, like she was underwater. It was like a nearby bomb went off. 

She swallowed hard, desperately trying to regain her bearings and clear her hearing. 

“John?” she asked, exhausted and mentally shattered. 

She guessed his act wasn't over. 

 

She tried desperately to cope with the physical aftermath of what just happened, while still trying to be present with the man who just lit her world ablaze. She glanced over to the floor and her clothes were shredded and strewn about. A lamp was turned over along with some bath supplies, and the rug was warped. 

Maybe a bomb did go off? 

 

He yanked her by her elbow and up to her feet. 

“Come on.” His voice was deep, gravelly, and devoid of patience. He dragged her to the bathroom, wiped open the shower curtain, and turned on the shower. 

“Get in.” 

She looked at him hesitantly as he gripped her upper arm and she stepped in. John yanked the curtain closed except for a small gap so he could watch. 

“Wash yourself.” 

 

He peeked through the opening and watched her as she soaped herself up. When he appeared to be satisfied, he closed all the way. Finally alone, she looked down at her hands and they were still trembling from their encounter. She thought about what she should say. Should she tell him she was coming back home with him? 

What the hell just happened?

What was happening? 

Who the fuck she was and what did she just do? 

 

She just let her husband fuck me raw, rapist syle! 

Oh my god. 

Holy fuck. 

Holy fucking fuck. 

 

The shower was sobering and panic hit her hard. Her chest tightened as she leaned against the cold tile and aggressively scrubbed her skin with a bar of soap. Her legs were still jello and she could barely keep herself up. Shivers ran up and down her body like aftershocks, reminding her of the intense pleasure at the hands of her man. Her sympathetic nervous system fired on all cylinders, rendering her unable to relax or complete a coherent thought and reducing her to a ball of nervous physical energy. 

She didn’t know how she felt about anything right now. What she did was stupid, thoughtless, and fucking crazy. And yet, it was the most insane, erotic, exhilarating, and sensual experience of her life. She has never come that hard that many times. She has never just let go the way she did in that living room. She has never had a man just fuck her like that, with pure lust and physical desire, without either one of them giving a single shit about convention or feelings or propriety. 

It was rude, vulgar, wrong...immoral. 

There was no discomfort or awkwardness. 

Shame did not exist when he took her. But now, alone behind the shower curtain, she couldn’t wash off the fresh coat of shame no matter how much she scrubbed. 

 

Her logical mind pulled her back into the present. John was still in her hotel room. She thrust the curtain open and the bathroom was empty. She turned off the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and cautiously stepped out of the bathroom, dripping wet. The room was still completely dark. 

“John?” she called out. “Are you still here?” She tiptoed through every room, leaving a trail of water in her wake, reminded of a pointless attempt at washing the filth off of her flesh. But it was too late, he was already inside of her and under her skin. Despite all the meticulous planning, she sensed the irrational threat of danger. She shouldn’t, this guy was her husband. But still, he disobeyed her request for time. 

 

She paced silently from one empty room to the next, ending up in the living room. A chair was on its side, a lamp turned over, the rug was crumpled, her tattered clothes were in a heap, the adjoining kitchen floor was a mess of food and cups. There he was, in the darkness of the tiny kitchen. Turning to face her, she got a glimpse of his eyes. They were red and puffy.

“What did you do?” She asked, her voice dangerously low. 

“Helped you remember.” They stayed like that a moment, their eyes locked, his hand gripped her wrist, and then—may he be forgiven—he slowly ran a thumb along the underside of her wrist, a motion so insignificant, but she definitely felt, because she took in a shuddering breath. 

Fuck, she was so smooth, her skin so silky. 

The neighbors leaving their room next door, brought him back to his senses. 

 

What the fuck was he doing? 

 

He closed the distance and she could feel her wet skin on ablaze. She shivered. It did not go unnoticed.

“What have I become?” He broke. 

She stood there unable to move. “…I fucking love you, Doc…” He was utterly ruined. Her stomach twisted as the man she loved came completely undone. She couldn't let him grieve on his own.

But she didn’t understand. 

​

Why did he do it?

​

Pulling away, Marlena put a discarded robe she found on the chair as she stared at him, her sadness seemed to ebb. Her outer shell had cracked, broken, wide and gaping, and the inner part of her was no better. Her soul shattered, her spirit was battered, and she hated him for that.

She knew she’d have to say something soon, anything. Her lips moved, but no voice came out.

 

Oh, my God. 

 

Her heart began to race. 

How could he? 

How could she? How could she stand here, blaming him for his actions when she enjoyed every second of it, and yet, there they were. The room stilled, the air around them solidified. 

Her chest ached painfully, and her throat tightened with anger, fury, and fear. 

How could he? 

She closed her eyes and lifted her face, trying in vain to steady her breathing. 

 

“Marlena,” he tried once.

 

Oh my God. 

 

She could barely take in a full breath. She was fuming. Her jaw tightened. She paced the small room, her entire being stilled when she heard him.

“Doc, talk to me.” 

So warm. 

So familiar. 

As if nothing happened.

 

John stood in the darkroom, looking down at his feet, his jaw tight, and she took that moment to roam him. 

Why? 

Why did he do it? Her throat tightened in a way that cut off her air supply. It was so cruel. In her mind, she’d imagined their lives together, how she was always happy to see him. Running a hand through his too-long hair, he paused to scratch his sharp jaw and peeked up at her through his lowered gaze. He ran a nervous tongue across his full bottom lip, his hands clenching, then unclenching in a move that told her he was anxious. 

 

This man had always been good, her knight in shining armor, and now she was scared, she wasn’t sure who he was anymore. 

“Doc...I don’t know what came over me...I’m sorry.” 

The intense fury that lit in her belly was warm but soon raged into a fiery inferno. She found the fucking words. Her voice was quiet, giving off false calm. 

“You’re sorry?” A single step closer, a whole new level of rage. 

“You’re sorry?” Another step, another internal meltdown. 

Eyes wild, she whispered, “Is that what you said just now? You’re sorry?” Her heart was beating so fast she thought she might be having a heart attack. Who wouldn't after the night she had been through? It wouldn’t have surprised her, given the circumstances. It was already broken anyway after realizing Hope and John had a baby together, and her house was now ruled by none other than Brady Black.

 

John looked her right in the eye, that rough whiskey voice floating over her as she seethed. “Oh my god Doc, I didn’t know what else to do, we’ve been drifting apart for weeks now. I can’t lose you, baby” 

Her neck began to heat with raw fury. Her hands shook, and when she took the final step over to him, she looked up into his face and blinked. 

 

When she lifted her hand, reared back, and slapped him across the cheek as hard as she could, the sound echoed in the space surrounding them. Panting, she gritted her teeth. The pain was a welcome change to what she’d been feeling the last couple of days. It was nice to feel something other than numbness. Before she could hit him another time, he caught her wrist, gripping it tightly in his grasp, staring at her penetratingly. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He gently ran his thumb over her thumping pulse and softened his tone. “I’m so sorry, Doc.” Her eyes flashed, and her voice quivered, not from sadness but from unsullied anger. “You do not apologize for this. Do you hear me?” Her breaths started coming in short, rapid pants. 

 

“You say sorry for accidentally stepping on somebody’s toes.” Lifting her hand, she smacked him across the arm.

 

Smack. 

 

“You say sorry for buying the wrong brand of coffee.” 

 

Smack. A harder strike. 

 

Her voice lifted an octave. “You say sorry for coming home late, John.” 

 

Smack. 

 

Her eyes stung with the force of her tears as she shook all over. “You do not say sorry for raping me.” 

 

Smack. 

 

Tears fell from her lashes and trailed her cheeks. John’s body tensed with every hit she landed, but all he did was back himself into the wall, his jaw steeled, his brows drawn as he took what she needed to dole out. He moved away, and she followed in an unconventional dance she didn’t even know the steps to. Every stroke she dealt felt like a punishment on herself. This was not who she was. 

 

This was the person she turned to in the last few weeks. And she hated Brady and Hope for it. The blows came faster and faster, and he moved slowly, his body rigid and unyielding, allowing her to back him up against the wall. Her shaking arms flailed in all directions, not caring where the knocks landed, only that they did. 

 

A distressed whimper left her. “How could you do this?” 

 

Whack. 

 

The words were rough. “How could you do this to me?” 

 

Thump. 

 

Her voice cracked. “To us?” 

 

Smack. 

 

Her body shook as she wept, and her blows weakened as her grief drained her like a cell phone battery. “I love you, you..” 

 

Thwack. 

 

When his eyes closed and he swallowed hard, she held her arm up, ready to strike again, but held it midair. Her voice was weak, and she focused on the rapid beating of her heart, taking in a slow, trembling breath. 

 

“You can not apologize for this.” she dropped her arm. “I don’t know what is going on anymore, you’re not the only one to blame in this, but I know one thing, you manhandling me is not the solution. I’m not coming back home with you tonight, I’m sorry.”

 

They stood in silence for a long moment, the way her feet shuffled across the floor, the only sound between them. He ached to wrap his arms around her—to wipe that horrified, angry look off her face. But every time he wanted to touch her, anything he wanted to say to her went right out the door, forgotten by the way the feel of her skin beneath his palms made his heart race. 

 

When they both stilled, his trembling hands reached for her quivering form, his face dropped to her breast, his cheek pressing right over her heart. It was the softest he’d been since her clothes came off. The very first bit of tenderness she’d felt from him. He grazed his whiskers over her skin, scraping each of the cuts that his hands had left. Then, he kissed the same spots. 

Once his lips had covered them all, he lifted her off him and pulled up his pants and then his shirt. 

“Here,” he said, handing her the ring he gave her only a few weeks ago, when they were happy. Content. “Get dressed, and I’ll care for your wounds.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“You’re bleeding, Marlena.” The light hit him just enough that she saw the blood on his face. It was on his scruff, and there was a swipe of it over his lips. She looked down and saw it was all over her breast, and there were streaks of it on her chest. She didn’t know where it had come from—if he’d bitten her. 

It didn’t matter. 

She was such a mess either way. “Come on, Doc. No more winners or losers. Just us.” 

“I can’t. Please leave.” 

 

Instead of speaking, he lifted his face, and when their lips touched for a brief second, he kissed her softly and she breathed life back into his cold, unfeeling body. 

She was his anchor. 

And he would be drawn to her till the day he died. Nothing could part them. Not even death. Death could try, but he’d beaten it before and he’d do it again if need be. Anything to stay with his woman. 

He shuffled toward the door. “Look,” he told her, blinking slowly when he turned, “I’m gonna have a word with Brady and with Hope. Tell them I’m done.” 

He needed her to understand. “I need to say what I have to say now because tomorrow…” He felt stupid saying what he said. “I’m not gonna have the guts to say what I need to say, baby.” His sheer honesty struck a chord.

Even in his fucked up state, he could see that. She watched him carefully a long time before sighing. “John” 

“I can’t keep putting our lives at risk,” He uttered honestly, but he didn’t know what would happen when he got there to talk to Hope. Her eyes closed and she took her hand off the door, “And our love. I will make this right. I promise.”