Chapter 31
Freddie
Finding the loo downstairs after parting with Simmons, I slam the door on the private room and lock it with a trembling hand. It only takes about four seconds before the tears burst free.
Fuck. I have fucked this. Totally fucked this up.
My arse hurts with the pounding it took, but that’s not where I’ve fucked up. No. I fucked up by not telling Simmons I was a virgin before tonight.
I can’t see him being okay with that now that it’s happened.
My plan to tell him didn’t align with my bratty sub nature in the club.
Wiping the tears away, I look at myself in the mirror.
My lipstick is matching my smudged eyes, my face is flushed with that fresh fucked look and despite my misery I just can’t not document the first ever fucked look I have achieved due to finally losing my virginity to a cock that wasn’t plastic.
I sit on the toilet with the lid closed and think about what just happened as I scroll through the photos, not really paying attention. Replaying it over and over again in my mind, I groan at how hot the whole thing was.
Simmons holding me down, a tight but not painful hold on my forearms. His thick cock stretching me felt unreal, and I squeeze to feel the emptiness that replaces it now.
He didn’t even question the cage, because he’s so like me it’s scary.
He wants me to suffer for pleasure, and although he said he isn’t into doling out pain, my cock and knees are well and truly burning from the carpet.
Knowing I have to tell him soon, I wash my hands with a sigh and leave without bothering to fix my makeup or hair.
As I head towards the cloakroom, I rummage around in my bag for the token and see movement to the right of the dance floor.
Simmons charges over, lust-filled frustration on his face, and I know exactly why it’s aimed at me.
He corners me immediately and gets all up in my face like the big grizzly he is.
God, he smells divine. Like leather and sweat, with that underlying scent of honey.
Think he would let me lick his armpits until I come?
“Where is my wallet, Freddie?” I sway as I look up at him with my best impersonation of Bambi.
“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”
“Drop the act. Did you steal my wallet?”
“Why would I do that? And when would I have had the chance?” I goad him into thinking about the cafe, the encounter, and I see it in his eyes when he figures it out.
“The cafe? Seriously? You stole from me then, and I didn’t even notice?” He huffs a laugh, shoulders relaxing, and it looks so good on him.
Why the fuck is he so uptight all the time?
Matching dimples, square-jawed, thick-cocked.
He should be at home staring into a mirror at how good he looks all the time.
I reach my turn in the queue and hand over my token.
The woman returns my leather jacket, and I rummage around to produce his worn wallet.
“Sneaky one, aren’t you?” He grins as he takes it from me, our fingers brushing against each other.
“Not sure what you mean, Simmons. You should be more careful with your things. Us Scots can’t be trusted at times,” I say with a wink.
Turning, I walk out of the club and into the cool night. Pleased with the small interaction with him at the end of the night, but riddled with guilt all the same.