17. Ties, Toys & Temptation
17
Ties, Toys his body absolutely refusing to move and lose contact with hers. “No. You’re staying.”
Her brows drew together as she threw him a baleful look. “You’re not my boss here, just a guy I picked up at a club. Unless you plan to go for round two, you’re going to have to let me go.”
It was all Vihaan could do to call her out on her bullshit. He was tempted to dare her to walk properly when her legs were still trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm.
“You made a deal with me for one night,” Vihaan said tightly, reaching to the side for his wet wipes, cleaning his fingers thoroughly before discarding his condom. He patted the side of her thigh that, as he’d suspected, held a tell-tale tremor. “The night isn’t over. Turn over and get on your knees.”
Her eyes grew wide, and finally, for multiple blessed seconds she was speechless. Vihaan wished he could take a picture of how she looked right now so that he could remember that he’d managed to shock her snark away.
“Don’t you need time to recover?” she asked, pointing to his cock which was at half mast at the idea of thrusting inside Vera once more.
“Arguing with you gets me going. It’s my kink.”
Vihaan flipped her over before she could say anything else, lifting her hips till she was face down. By the time his fingers and mouth were done mapping her body all over again, her ass wore matching handprints, the sheets under them were drenched and his name was the only thing remaining on Vera’s lips.
The sliver of grey light peeking in roused Vihaan from a dreamless slumber. He immediately turned, remembering that he’d brought Vera into his bed the previous night, stopping when he found her side empty .
He stared at the pillow where she should have been, her scent settling like a mist around him.
He should have been relieved. She’d saved him the trouble of having to show her out the door. Except, he knew without a doubt that if she’d stayed, he’d have spent the morning in bed with her, having her sweet cries of ecstasy play like music yet again.
Hours he’d spent touching, kissing and edging her, straddling that line between punishment and reward for them both, before driving into her desperate body, searching for release. How was last night still not enough?
He stared at his phone, checking to see if she’d sent him a message.
Twelve messages and five missed calls. All from that model who was furious at being stood up.
Crap.
He glared at the screen, as though doing so would make a text from Vera appear magically. If not something about the previous night, she should have at least sent a confirmation that she was home. How hard would it have been to say, ‘ Hey, thanks for fucking my brains out. I’ve reached home safely. ’?
How absolutely irresponsible that she’d left without telling him in the first place! He could have offered her a ride, or at least gotten his driver to drop her off. Didn’t she know how dangerous the city could be for a single woman roaming about in the middle of the night? He wasn’t a monster. If she’d stayed, he might have even offered her breakfast.
“Fuck, no. No breakfasts with her,” he groaned, slapping his head. He’d had to work hard to curb the fury that had sparked in him when she’d referred to herself as simply a one-night stand. It had felt wrong. But that was precisely what this was supposed to be.
He sighed, trying to recover from the unwelcome feeling of having lost something he never truly had. Toppling back onto his pillow, arms splayed out, he swiped them back and forth helplessly, as if his body didn’t know how to remain still. His forehead scrunched when his left hand brushed against a different texture under his covers, his expression clearing in recognition when he pulled a red thong out.
Memories of the previous night played like a lurid reel: sweaty bodies moving together, needy moans ringing in his ears—so different from her usual sarcasm. His hands had re-learned the feel and shape of the woman she’d become, her sighs washing over him like a warm blanket on chilly nights as he’d brought her to the brink of pleasure.
His blood heated, his dick already hard at the mere recollection of sliding into her and having her writhe under him in utter abandon. His hand wrapped around his girth, and he pumped himself up and down, eyes closed, trying to picture her face as she came. “Fuck,” he cursed frustratedly when his actions didn’t help. It felt wrong. His hand wasn’t soft like her. It wasn’t wet and hot and snug like her.
Vihaan sat up, aroused, knowing his relief lay with someone who’d left him in the dead of the night. His gaze fell upon his tie dangling from the bedpost, looking forlorn without Vera’s slender wrists for company.
The thirst was supposed to have been quenched, the spark of curiosity doused.
Why then, did it feel like he was still aflame?