Chapter 27 #2
The pieces are beautiful, but the purpose of them is clear, and I’m not feeling it. I don’t want to dress up for Alex. Not anymore, and certainly not like this.
I want to leave.
Not just this room, but this toxic, macabre imitation of a relationship.
“Start with the camisole,” he says, handing it to me, laying the bodysuit on the table and taking the chair. He crosses one ankle over his other knee and looks at me expectantly.
And this is the problem, right here: I haven’t figured out how to say no to him.
That’s not even true. I have figured out how to say no to him. The problem is, he just ignores it.
I need to figure out how to get him to accept no. But I’m not convinced I ever will.
One more try, for the road.
“You like these ones?”
“I’ll know when I see them on you.”
I was hoping for a straight yes. I attempt my line anyway. “Then let’s buy them, and go home. I’m not in the mood to—”
“Put it on, Vicky.” It’s calmly delivered, but it’s not a request.
I know exactly how it’ll go.
“No.”
“Put it on, or I’ll spank you.”
“No.”
“You’re asking for this, aren’t you? You want them to hear, don’t you?”
I slip my dress from one shoulder, then the other. It falls to my waist, and his eyes take in my bare breasts. What are the chances I’ll walk out of here wearing underwear? Not high.
It takes a moment to wiggle the dress over my hips. I let it fall, stepping out of it carefully, not wanting to damage it. He’d make me wear it if I did; at least he hasn’t ripped it off me.
That leaves me in only a pair of heels, the mirrors everywhere showing how naked and vulnerable I am.
The camisole is soft and silky. I lift it over my head, and it slides down my skin. It’s intimate, caressing, sensual. It doesn’t deserve me, and I don’t deserve it.
It clings to my breasts and doesn’t quite reach the bottom of my ass.
The girl in the mirrors is beautiful, though maybe a little sad. I lift my head and straighten my spine, and that helps.
“Exquisite,” Alex murmurs. “Come here, let me see it.”
One would think he could see from there.
I walk to him anyway, knowing what he means. He uncrosses his legs and spreads his knees for me, leaning forward, a hand reaching for my waist. Pulling me close, off balance. I have to brace on his shoulder.
His hands slide up and the camisole rises too, slipping over my skin like there’s no friction. His eyes meet mine, hungry and possessive. “You’re so gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” The words come out meaningless, hollow, but I think I’ve gotten away with it. He hasn’t noticed. It was rash; I can’t afford for him to think anything’s different.
Be more careful, Vicky.
He rises, forcing me to take a step back, but doesn’t release his grip on my waist. Then I’m being lifted, like I weigh nothing, his biceps tightening and shoulders flexing.
He sits me on the edge of the table, and now he’s between my knees.
The camisole isn’t long enough; the wood is cold against my bare ass.
Alex steps into my space, and I can’t hold his gaze when it’s that intense, that hungry. I look down.
He places a fingertip under my chin, tilting my face up, not letting me hide. Then his lips brush mine. “This was a good idea of yours,” he murmurs, almost playful.
It was a terrible idea.
It wasn’t even an idea; it was a joke. A bad one, as it transpires.
His hands run down my arms, raising goosebumps on my skin. “I can’t resist you, looking like this.”
“Not here,” I whisper, putting a hand on his chest to hold him off. I don’t hold much hope it’ll work.
It doesn’t. His hands come around, encircling my waist again, then slide up to my breasts. The camisole isn’t on my side; it makes him want to touch. And it’s helping him, too; my skin tingles beneath it.
I don’t want to be aroused by him, but I can’t help myself. My body has always responded to him, from the first day we’ve met and every time since. It’s only gotten worse since…
He pinned me down and spanked me.
“Why so sad?” he asks softly, head tilting to one side.
“I’m not,” I lie. “I’m just… sore, and worried you’ll be disappointed with me…”
He shakes his head. “Never. How could I be? You’re perfect.”
Like a vase is perfect. Or an expensive car, perhaps. A piece of art… a statue…something to stand in the corner and ignore.
“Are you really too sore?”
“Yes,” I say, serious. “Don’t even think it.”
“Poor Tink. And it was all my fault. I know, I’ll kiss it better.”
He’s dropped to one knee before I can react, his hands on my waist, sliding the camisole up and baring me. He’s between my legs, and I can’t close them.
Then his mouth is on me, and I gasp.
In the mirrors, I see myself and the back of his head, between my thighs.
So sensitive. His face presses into me, chin rough with stubble. He didn’t shave this morning, and my pussy is tender, the sharpness almost too much. But his tongue is gentle, almost soothing. Until he finds my clit.
I can’t help my cry. It’s half pain, half pleasure, too loud in the quiet room.
I try to muffle it, knowing the walls are thin and that we’re not alone, not really.
But Alex doesn’t care. He licks again, crouched before me on his knees.
A submissive position for anyone but him.
His hands hold me, controlling me. His tongue plays me, forcing my body to respond to him.
His shoulders keep my thighs spread open, not letting me hide.
Then he pushes his tongue inside my hole, and my hips buck. I reach behind me, bracing on the table with one arm, fingers of my other hand driving into his hair. I’m not sure if I’m trying to pull him away or hold him to me, arousal warring with all rational thought.
This is why Alex is so dangerous, because I can’t trust myself around him. Even less when his mouth is on my pussy.
I’m sensitive within, but his tongue isn’t enough to cause pain. Instead, there’s a twisted combination of pleasure and smarting, like… damn it, like when he smooths away the sting of a spank.
Why did I think of that?
Our whole relationship is twisted, and I’m losing myself in it. Just like I’m losing myself to his tongue, right now.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crease between pussy and thigh. “So delicious,” he adds, trailing kisses across my labia, his stubble prickling my sensitive skin. “So mine.”
I’m no longer—
The thought fades as he finds my clit again, sucking it into his mouth. A finger slides inside me, and he’s being careful. It’s still sore within, but I’m so wet it almost balances it.
Pain. Pleasure. Edging me toward release. I can’t stop him, and I don’t want to. I’m weak.
Alex rises to his feet, tipping me back as he does. His hand catches the back of my neck, lowering me to the table, hard and uncomfortable. At least I can’t see the mirrors anymore. I know he’s going to fuck me, in this quiet room where everyone will hear, and I know it’s going to hurt.
“Alex, please, no…”
“Don’t fight me, Tink,” he growls. “Not now. Not when you’re already testing my control.”
He forces the camisole up until my breasts are bared, grips one in each hand, squeezing as he bends over me. His mouth finds my pussy again, and my cry is one of pleasure, pain, and relief. Maybe he won’t fuck me.
But it doesn’t matter. He’s still going to make me come, and I can’t keep quiet. His tongue is merciless, I’m too sensitive, it hurts too much, it feels too good. He lashes my clit and my hands search for something to hold onto. There’s nothing; the table is too flat, too smooth.
I grip his head instead. Clinging on, fingers entwining.
He hisses like it hurts, and that’s ironic.
But I can’t stop, and neither does he. He punishes me with his tongue, his finger penetrating me again, one hand finding my nipple and twisting, and it pushes me over the edge.
I pull him tight against me as my orgasm explodes.
I’m half aware of my cries echoing in the room, but I’m past caring. And he doesn’t let up; his fingertip rubs over my tender g-spot, his lips enclose my clit, and his tongue flicks back and forth, back and forth, over and over.
It won’t end. He keeps me riding it, and my body is so attuned to him, to this, that it goes on and on. I’m quivering beneath his tongue when at last it fades, and then an aftershock makes me jerk, and he chuckles.
“There’s my Tink,” he murmurs against me. “Now everyone here knows you’re mine.”
He’s not wrong, damn it. I don’t know how many people are in this shop, but they can’t have missed it. I’ll have to walk out past them all—assuming I can walk.
And he’s fucking loving it.
“Let me up,” I say, angry at him.
He doesn’t, of course. Instead, he leans over me, his weight on me, rubbing his crotch against mine, his cock hard through his pants.
His mouth finds a nipple and sucks it, then his hand slides beneath my neck and grips, holding me as he comes in for a kiss.
It’s as possessive and domineering as everything else he does, and damn my traitorous body for responding, for the whimper I can’t contain, for the way my hips rub against his.
“You’re making a mess on my pants,” he murmurs, lips curling in that sadistic, smug little smile.
It’s my fault, of course. He turned me on, pinned me here, made me come, pressed himself against me, and it’s my fault.
“Get off me, Alex.”
His head tilts in puzzlement, like he’s trying to figure me out. “What’s the matter?”
He doesn’t know. He genuinely doesn’t know.
And I’ve almost let him see how I truly feel. That’s dangerous.
Be careful, Vicky.
“Nothing… just hurting.” My center, my head, my heart, my soul. “It was nice, but… please, I want to go home.”
“Nice?” he echoes, his smile returning. “You screamed loud enough. I’m surprised they don’t think I’m murdering you.”
I tense; I can’t help it. It takes everything I have to calm myself, will my heart rate to slow, my body to relax. “What do you expect when you pin me down and torture me with your tongue?” It’s not a bad effort; a little trembly.
He likes it. He grins his grin, gives me a soft kiss, then straightens. His gaze takes in my nakedness, and he’s still between my legs. I’m opened and exposed to him, and he’s not in a hurry to move away.
Then his thumb brushes over my pussy, making me twitch, and he lifts his hand to my mouth. “Taste,” he says, forcing my wetness between my lips. I close my mouth around his thumb, and lick my cum from his skin. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Delicious, aren’t you?”
I nod, still suckling, giving him what he asks for. Hoping it’s enough.
“We’ll buy this camisole,” he says. “I don’t think they can sell it now anyway.”
He turns away, gathering some other items that catch his eye. “And this. These.”
I push myself up, legs weak, body aching. The endorphins have faded. I stand slowly, half surprised I’m still wearing my heels.
“Take that off,” he says, nodding at the camisole. “I want to make sure they box it up.”
He watches me as I strip naked again, then pull my dress on over my nakedness. He gives my ass a slap, smiles at me, and helps me from the room with an arm around my waist. To my shame, I need it. My legs are wobbly.
The main shop is busy. There are at least half a dozen women in here, flicking through the racks. Two men holding shopping bags look at me as we leave the private room.
“We’ll take these,” Alex says, dropping an armful of random lingerie onto the counter.
There’s no choice but to stand there while they wrap everything in tissue paper, packaging it up box by box. I can’t meet anyone’s eyes, and I stare at the floor, my cheeks flaming.
“Did you get everything you came for?” the assistant asks Alex. She stresses the word, making sure I don’t miss it, then glances at me in time to catch my mortification.
“I certainly did,” he says, smug.
“How wonderful.” She packs all the boxes into a bag, and hands it to me. “We’re so glad you had such a nice time. Come again.”
Someone laughs nervously. My face is burning.
Alex slides his hand around my waist and pulls me against him. “What do you say, Tink?”
Oh, so we’re not quite done with humiliations. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he says, and the attendant beams at him, fluttering her false eyelashes.