Chapter Text
He knows he should stop. He should pull out of her right now, kick her out of the door and slam it in her conniving face - shouldn’t even give her the chance to get dressed. She can freeze on his porch for all he cares. But… god, her cunt is so fucking tight around him and he’s so close to coming that his hips are beginning to stutter.
“Don’t you fucking dare yet!” She snarls at him, she knows his tells, her hips pushing back to meet at every thrust, chasing his cock for the sole purpose of her own pleasure. His hand tightens around her throat, pulling her back flush with his chest, while the other snakes around her front, palm spread against the base of her stomach - just above where he knows she wants him most. He continues to pound into her.
The slapping of their sweaty skin echos in the room, so loudly that he thanks Kier that his wife isn’t in the country, because he’s sure she’d be able to hear it if she were any closer.
“What did I say about talking.” He rasps, thumb and forefinger squeezing her pulse points for emphasis, he feels her body start to sway, thighs trembling, cunt fluttering around him.
He knows her tells too. He glides the hand on her stomach down, through the sopping mess of curls, finding and circling her clit with practised pressure, cursing himself for knowing exactly what will send her over the edge. She attempts to choke out something but his grip on her throat prevents it from making any kind of sense. He grins.
“That’s it, good girl, you’re so much better for me when you shut up…next time I'm going to fucking gag you.” He whispers menacingly into the shell of her ear and that’s what does it. She comes at the praise, that’s a given, but the mention of a gag too? Brilliant.
How the fuck is he going to get one of those shipped to the house unnoticed?
At the first contraction of her orgasm he releases her throat, allowing the oxygen to rush back to her brain at the exact right time - a practised art form for them by now. The sound that rips from her is even better than any of the ones he has on his second phone, the one he has just for her. God he’s going to have to record her again soon. She nearly falls forward but he moves his arm around just under her breasts to hold her up and so he can keep fucking her through it.
He looks into the purposely placed mirror and see’s the unholy sight before him. If he wasn’t going to hell before he most certainly is now. She’s red, everywhere. Her ghostly skin mottled with it. Blushed handprints scatter her thighs, he can still still the faint lines of his finger marks on her throat, her nipples erect - sore from pinching and biting, her breasts covered in hickeys, heaving as she relishes in the breath she’s been given back. Her head is lolled back, resting in the crook of his neck, he can feel her panting against his pulse, her fiery hair burning everywhere.
He tied it back once because Gemma nearly found a stray one on her very own pillow, but it wasn't the same so his cock has decided Helena’s hair is evidently worth risking his marriage for. There’s drool running down the side of her mouth, black tears from her mascara all mixed in. Fuck, he loves it when she wears the cheap stuff that she knows will run.
He knows she does it just for him.
Finally he focuses on where they’re connected. It’s carnage. She came four times already before he was even inside her and it’s running down her thighs, dripping deliciously onto the bed. Fuck he loves how wet she is - all over his hands, his chin and jaw, the way it runs down his cock. When it rushes out of her when he four knuckles deep from behind. He purposely puts on dark sheets before she visits so he can see the mess she makes.
He can't stop himself, her cunt grips him ever tighter, practically begging for his release, pulling him in - his balls tighten and it’s game over. With a hoarse cry he brutally buries himself to the hilt and lets go, coming deep inside of her.
“Fuck Helena”
She whimpers as he cries her name. She always does. Slowly pumping his hips until it’s too much he slips out of her, his eyes still on the mirror - he watches his cum rush out of her, running down her thighs and dripping onto the bed. Creating delicious new dark spots that he’ll have to scrub out later. It’s always worth it.
The only time he’s ever gentle with her is right after, not out of the kindness of his heart but out of necessity, basic aftercare - that’s what he tells himself anyway. Softly he scoops up her limp form and lays her onto the side of the bed that’s dry, he brushes the hair from her face and clears some of the running makeup away with his thumb so it doesn’t sting her eyes.
“Hey, give me a number” He whispers gently, checking in.
Her eyes open, wide and glassy, she’s not quite back in the room with him yet.
Shakily she raises a hand and gives him the number three. Ok. He can work with three. They have a scale to check in, one equals ‘Fuck off I’m fine. Five equals ‘I’m fucked, help me’. He’s only ever has one five from her and that was after he fucked her throat so hard she threw up. Thankfully her gag reflex has come on wonders since then. Standing he goes to the bathroom, cleaning himself up a little before grabbing a warm washcloth and some aloe vera lotion.
Silently he returns and begins cleaning her, he hates this part, it’s too intimate, cleaning their mess, soothing her skin. But he’s pretty sure it’s the only time they don’t want to kill each other and part of him thinks it’s the only time anyone is ever gentle with her. He shakes the thought away as he massages the lotion into the red handprints on her thighs and she hums in appreciation, he was rough today. Good. She deserved it. Small whimpers escape her as he gets higher up her thigh, as he parts her legs slightly he sees some of his cum escaping her. On instinct he scoops it up with two fingers and pushes it back deep inside her, where it belongs.
“Owch fuck Mark I’m sore, asshole.” Her face grimaces as she flinches - he grins, she’s back.
Roughly he pulls the fingers out of her cunt and forces them straight into her mouth. She bites down hard, he grins wider.
“I thought you liked the idea of a gag?” He teases, fingers still in her mouth, he pushes them deeper.
She chokes a little and rolls her eyes, a flush creeping up her neck and face. She releases her bite. Pushing his hand away, coughing slightly and cuffing the drool away with her hand.
“Fuck off, give me a cigarette” she snaps.
His fingers throb slightly, he knows if he looks down there’d be teeth marks. He shakes his head at her.
“No smoking in the house here, you know the rules”
“Oh Hannah is so boring, no wonder you don’t fuck her anymore.” He stills. Attempts not to bite at the bait.
“Gemma.” He corrects trying to keep his voice even.
“Oh, I know.” She props herself up onto her elbows, looking around the room for something.
“You’re a cunt.” He sneers. She just hums and nods back at him in nonchalant agreement, somehow that’s worse than her snapping back.
“Honey pass me my bag please, it’s just on the chair” She gestures in a sickly sweet tone.
He scoffs but gets up anyway and grabs it. Some ugly designer shit that costs more than his car - he throws it at her. She dodges last minute, deflecting with her hand just in time. Her eyes locking on him with rage behind them.
“That’s vintage Prada.”
“It’s ugly.”
“Judging from he way you dress Captain Corduroy I'm not too worried about your fashion advice.” She sneers, now rummaging in her objectively ugly bag.
He walks away, he needs to piss.
By the time he’s returned from the bathroom she’s lying on her back, head propped up on his pillow taking a drag out of a cigarette, scrolling on his phone. His main phone. When did she figure out his new password? He has to close his eyes and take a breath, just like the weird ass marriage therapist said. He counts back from ten. He will not lose his shit tonight, he will not shout, he will not-.
“You having a stroke there Grandpa?” He can hear the smile in her voice. Fuck it.
He storms over, snatching his phone from her hand and throwing it across the room, it hits the wall with a thunk. She looks up at him, wide doe eyed, something wild flickers behind them but she blinks it away.
“What were you doing on my phone.” He tries to level his voice, she knows how to press every fucking button he has.
“I’m hungry but everywhere is closed.” She shrugs.
He flits his hand out sharply to take the cigarette out of her mouth with every intention of putting it out but she flinches ever so slightly. He notices. He always does. He asked her once about it very early on in their affair, he saw the marks that weren’t his - he was worried for her. But she’d laughed at him in such a bitter way he regretted asking in the first place.
“What you think you’re the only man who likes to throw me around from time to time?”
They’ve never spoken about it since. But he’s figured out that the bruises she gets from others aren’t ones she’s asked for.
Taking the cigarette softer from her lips now, he lifts it to his own mouth and inhales it deeply before blowing out the puff with a groan. God he misses smoking, Gemma made him give it up when they started trying for the baby; some bullshit about his sperm count. When he looks back at her she’s smiling, clearly proud of her victory. He gets on the bed and lays next to her, wordlessly she scoots over and places her head on his chest, hooking her leg around his, her arm stretches across his abdomen - like a lioness guarding her kill. She taps his chest and hums at him, he chuckles, lifting his arm up so he can weave his hand through her hair. It’s started to curl now at the base of her neck, he likes it natural like this, she looks softer. He scratches her scalp just how she likes, light with his nails, deep pressure with the tips of his fingers with a slight pull at the end. She purrs.
“You can stay tonight but I have work at seven tomorrow.”
“Oh lucky me.” He can practically hear her roll her eyes.
“When is she back?” she asks.
“Thursday.”
“So…” She pulls up her hands and counts on her fingers, clearly for dramatic effect.
“Today is Sunday…that means three whole extra nights huh?” His hand stills in her hair, she grumbles in protest. His brow furrows. In the 6 months they’ve been doing this she’s never asked to stay longer than a night.
“Are you asking to stay for that long?” He watches carefully as she lifts up and twists her head to look at him.
Her eyes are cautious, watching. Like she’s trying to gauge his reaction.
“I didn’t say that.” She reaches for the cigarette, there’s not much of it left now.
She takes a drag. No she didn’t say it, but he doesn’t know how else he’s meant to take it.
He shrugs, not knowing what to say. She scoffs, it’s clearly not the answer she was looking for - before he can stop her she gets the butt of the cigarette and puts it out directly on the bedsheet. Theres now a distinct burnt hole that he’s praying has not gone through onto the mattress. He does not have time to buy a new one and doesn’t have the energy make up a lie to Gemma about why he did that while she was away.
The hand he has in her hair grips tight, snapping her head back.
“Why do you have to be such a bitch?”. He watches her wince and bite her lip - clearly enjoying herself.
He knows why she did it, she felt vulnerable so she caused a distraction. He knows because he does the same.
“Sorry Daddy” she whimpers, putting on her best innocent voice.
Fuck. Somehow his cock twitches, he thought they were finished for the night but now she’s started a new game and he hates how well she plays him.
Before Helena no one had ever called him Daddy. Frankly it wasn’t something he was particularly interested in until it slipped from her mouth as he bent her over the bathroom counter about a month in. Like it was something ripped out of her. Something she needed. He’d never seen her embarrassed before that moment, she tried to leave right after but he couldn't let her, because he liked it. He made her scream, beg, moan, choke on it for the rest of that night for him. He’d never come so much or so hard in his life. Things changed a little after that, it stopped being so casual as he took on a role he never had planned for. He started buying her things, cooking her meals, disciplining her.
It became almost a separate space for them within the sex that they were having, Daddy and his Helly.
“You don’t sound sorry.” He tugs back on her hair roughly again and she whimpers.
She turns her body around to him fully now, so she’s laying on her stomach next to him. She widens her eyes, filling them with tears, even getting her bottom lip to tremble. It’s actually psychotic how she does that, crying on command. He fucking loves it.
“I am…I just…is it because you want your wife instead?” He closes his eyes, she’s going to be the death of him. He won’t fall for this. He won't.
“Helena….” He groans.
She’s fighting dirty, running a hand up his chest, fingers then trailing feather light back down, across his stomach towards his now semi hard cock. This woman has single handedly broken his body's refractory period.
“Daddy I can be good for you..better than her…please.”
Fuck. She’s pumping him now, he releases the grip he has on her head. He knows it would be better, coming home to Helena every night, fucking her throughout the house. Hell he’s currently considering taking time off so he can stay at home during the day too. He feels her body shift to straddle his leg, she’s trailing kisses now across his neck and chest. He can feel the wet heat of her cunt pressing against his thigh. She starts to slide against it, humping his leg to grind her clit, like a bitch in heat. He’s so close to breaking.
“Helly…baby.”
She keens, she knows she’s won yet again, he used her pet name and he feels the flood of her arousal coat his thigh from it. She grinds down on him harder, a wanton thing. He’s a terrible, terrible man for this he knows, watching her get off on being a better fuck than his wife. She’s half his age for christ sake, if anyone found out…This should be the time he ends things, it’s too far, he loved Gemma. Fuck no he means he loves Gemma.
“Daddy” She whimpers, pumping him in time with with the roll of her hips on his leg.
He caves, send him to hell for all he cares, it would be worth it.
“Ok..ok fuck yes you can stay. But you have to be good.” His voice is rough, broken.
“I will, I’ll be so good for you.”
The needy tone from her nearly sends him over the edge right there.
He’s fucked, captivated by her as she moves, trying to burn the image into his retinas, her eye contact starts to drop as they flutter. He grabs her chin, firmly but with no malice, forcing her to look back at him. He gently removes her hand from his cock, he doesn’t need to come again, he just wants to watch her fall apart.
“Keep looking at me, put on a good show, prove it.”
And in typical Helena fashion she takes to the challenge. She rocks on him, one hand tugging at her nipple, the other holding onto him for purchase. All he can do is admire her, watching the pinch of her brow as she glides, the spread of goosebumps washing over her skin. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and abuses it. She’s just taking from him and he’s more than happy to give her what she wants, what she so clearly needs.
“So pretty for me.” Her rhythm falters, hips twitching.
His praise effects her so much and he revels in it, having this power over her. She’s the only thing in his life that he can truly control. She’s getting close, he can feel the first twitches of her cunt against him.
“Are you going to come for me Helly?” she nods furiously, whimpering breathy yeses.
Chasing her release, she rolls her hips once, twice and on the third she’s breaking. Her back arches as she stutters on his leg, his hands fly to her waist preventing her from falling backwards. She floods his thigh, her clear release trickling down his leg and he can’t help himself - darting his hand out he catches some on his fingers and brings it to his mouth. He groans. Is it wrong that he thinks that she tastes sweeter than Gemma?
The scream that claws its way out of her throat isn’t human, it’s the devil that lives inside of her that he traded his soul with the first time he fucked her in the office bathroom. It’s calling to him and he can’t help but answer.
Slowly she comes down from her high, looking at him with hooded eyes, throughly ruined. He raises a palm to her face and holds it, his thumb tracing her cheek and she leans into it, not breaking eye contact. She’s beautiful.
“Good girl” He praises and she grins, humming in approval of her performance.
Somewhere in the back of his mind reason is trying to break through but for now all he can feel is her hot cunt still twitching on his leg and the faint smell of burning sheets. Maybe he is having that stroke after all.