You Even Purr
Lex
Last Week
Do not show him fear.
The voice in my head is anything but strong. The voice in my head is a terrified 14-year-old, too insecure to defend herself. Too broken down by the harsh words and actions of the one person who should have protected her.
Do not break eye contact.
I stare up at Adrian. His dark eyes lock on mine, and his enormous hand is wrapped tightly around my throat. My heart rate slows from the lack of oxygen, and my fingertips tingle. Blinking feels like a chore, a mindless action I suddenly can’t afford. My body is starved—the cold, hard wall presses into my shoulder blades. The bite of it is nothing compared to the roughness of his hands.
His eyes roam over me, from my eyes to my lips to my still chest.
Who will find me?
Will it be someone here tonight?
Will I rot here until the smell alerts a venue staff member to something awry?
Who will take Millie?
My thoughts fire in rapid succession.
He steps forward, pressing his body into mine, and — oh Jesus, is he hard?
My lips part slightly at the feeling of him—the hardness pressing into my stomach, his knee lodged between my legs, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through my body.
“God,” his voice is so low that it barely rises above a whisper. “I love the way you choke.”
My knees go weak, and before I have a chance to accept that if there is a hell, I am going to it because I am sure those words ignite the darkest desire in me. His hand loosens, and I suck in a ragged breath; my head spins; stars explode behind my eyes—it feels like I’m high, but I don’t do drugs. His hand moves slightly around my neck, pulling me toward him, and our mouths collide.
I am still gasping for air as his tongue invades my mouth.
He completely overwhelms me. Every part of me tingles, coming back to life as oxygen flows through my veins.
I taste the whiskey on his tongue.
Smell his cologne and something smokey.
His hands - god, his hands. They consume me. The one on my neck holds firm. Even if I wanted to pull back, there’s no chance I could. His other hand pushes up my body and squeezes my nipple so hard that the moan I was holding back rushes out.
No. No. No. What are you doing?!
My logical, self-preserving brain is screaming at me.
But the heat building in my core fires back, ‘ shut up.’
I grind into his knee, and it feels so good. Too good. My hands land on his lower abdomen, pushing under his shirt to meet the hard edges of muscle. The groan I let out sounds foreign. He’s so big. When he pulls back, the absence of his mouth on mine feels like a slap. It leaves an ache, a void. I try to pull him back to me, desperate for the warmth of his touch, but he lets out a cruel laugh.
“So needy, Lex.”
My eyes fly open and meet his. They look black and possessive. He twists his mouth into a cruel smile. His chest heaves in a way that matches mine. The sounds of the event fade into nothing. I hold his stare, unmoving and unblinking. He runs his fingers down the side of my face, and instinctively, I flinch away from his touch. His smile vanishes. His hand moves too fast to track, his fingers finding the button of my pants.
“Look at you. You’re so defiant.” His hands work while he speaks. “Desperate to hold your ground even while your body betrays you. While you grind into me like a cat in heat.”
My hips move without my permission. Stop it, hips.
I should be fighting this.
I let my head fall back to the wall behind me, an indistinct sound escaping from my throat.
“You even purr.”
He’s comparing me to a goddamn cat in heat. If it weren’t so fucking accurate, I’d scream at him, but I can’t stop myself from continuing to grind against his leg, which is still pressed between my thighs. His gaze is so intense. It makes me want to close my eyes—look away, but a part of me is terrified they’ll never open again or that he’ll be gone when they do. I hear the slow, quiet drag of my zipper, followed by a cool rush of air against my exposed skin.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is softer, implying his request for permission to continue.
When I hold his stare and say nothing, he presses his hand flat against my stomach before sliding lower, dragging his fingers deliberately, like he already knows every inch of me. Moving my panties aside, he presses rough, oversized fingers against my most sensitive spot. He lazily circles my clit, watching me intently. No amount of internal demands from my psyche to be still is enough as my back arches under his touch. He slips a finger inside of me and — oh god. I stifle a scream as my eyes roll back. This is too much. It’s just his hands, but it’s so lurid, and I feel ready to combust.
“You’re fucking soaked.” He groans and slowly pulls his hands out, lifting his finger to his mouth and sucking it; his eyes narrow and fill with lust. “You taste like you smell—like candy.”
His mouth is on mine again, his tongue pushing into my mouth, and I can taste whiskey and myself; the combination reduces me to a smoldering pile of unrestrained desire and need. He returns his hand to my clit and continues circling it with more intensity.
I’m going to come. Please, yes.
I’m panting against his mouth, my core spiraling and my legs shaking violently. He moves from my mouth to my neck. His free hand grabs my hair, pulling my head to the side. Unnecessary, I would grant him whatever access he desires.
“Beg me, Lex,” He breathes out between savage nips on my neck. “Beg me to come.”
I bite my tongue, literally, to stop myself from saying a fucking word. I don’t want him to stop, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg. His fingers go still.
nononononono.
I attempt to undulate my hips against him, needing release.
“Do it.” His tone is harsh.
I weigh my options. I stand my ground and finish myself in the restroom. Or, plead like a petulant little brat for the release I desperately crave.
“Please…” A small voice says.
Traitor. I hiss at myself.
“Please, what, Lex?”
Our eyes are locked again as I silently pray to whoever or whatever is listening.
I swear to be a good girl. To donate to charity more. I’ll never tell a lie again. Just give me whatever strength I need to give him what he needs.
I swallow, the motion thick and slow, and his eyes travel from mine to my throat and back.
“Please make me come, Adrian.”
His name is barely out of my mouth before his rhythm returns, and god, I am still right fucking there. I’ve never begged a man for anything. I’ll never admit this, but he could have demanded I lower to my knees in a prayer position to beg, and there is a high probability I would have done it. My thoughts dissolve. The only thing remaining is his touch. I come undone in his hands, clinging to his crisp white shirt. Falling forward, I press my face into his chest to stifle the scream. He shifts forward, pushing one finger deep inside of me as he keeps his pace on my clit, and the waves of pleasure continue, and my body spasms against his.
The sensation subsides, and I am left overly sensitive. I’ve never come like that in my life, and he was fingering me? My mind is somehow more cloudy, and I grip his shirt, unable to pull back to look at him. He removes his hand from my pants, slowly dragging his thick finger out of me, and wraps his arms around my shoulders. We stay like this: together, my head pressed into his chest, and the only sound I can hear is his heartbeat slamming against his ribcage.
A loud noise down the hall makes me jump, pulling me back to reality.
Adrian throws a glance over his shoulder before whispering directly into my ear, “You better pull yourself together. No one can see you like this.”
I straighten and wobble slightly. My legs are so tired. I smooth my hands over my hair, and the gravity of the situation lands. Hitting me like a freight train. I begged this man. Instead of telling him to get away from me. Instead of screaming. I begged him. I would beg him again now if it weren’t for the server clad in black and white stacking boxing 30 feet down the long hall—my pulse skyrockets. My eyes flick to the side, scanning for any sign that he noticed or is aware.
But he’s stacking boxes. Not looking. Not reacting.
I swallow, still catching my breath, before fixing my eyes on Adrian and narrowing them.
“And what might this look like?” I spit out at him.
He brushes a finger over my lower lip, and despite those annoying fucking butterflies flitting around, I jerk back indignantly. The left side of his mouth lifts into what could be the most devastating half-smile I’ve ever seen. That smile catches me off guard for a moment, and I feel my expression soften as I want to lean back into his chest when he coolly says, “Like you just fucked my hand in the staff hallway of a work event. Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea, would you?” His expression is taunting.
Without another word, he turns and pushes open the exit beside us. Chilled air rushes in through the door.
I stand there, my breath still ragged, my skin still burning.
He gets to walk away as if this was nothing, as if I was nothing.
The cool air does little to soothe the fire raging beneath my skin.