Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Peach
THE RIDE - Omido, Kae
" W ren," I moan, sweat coating the back of my neck as I writhe on the couch. "Please…"
All he's been doing for the last half hour is turning the toy on and off, on and off. Sometimes, the vibrations are quick enough to bring me right to the edge, and sometimes, they're a slow, unbearable buildup that keeps me completely hopeless.
I pull at the ropes, to no avail, and when his massive hand wraps around my upper thigh, I moan. The simple act of his skin touching mine is setting every single cell of my body on fire.
"You're redeeming yourself wonderfully, Trouble. Keep being good for me."
"I can't," I gasp. "Fuck, I need to come, please."
"I know that, baby. But I need you to understand I'm the one who controls your body now, and I decide when you get to come, or not. So hold it."
"Please. Please, please…I can't."
The vibrations stop, and I whimper, folding onto myself.
"If you can't control yourself, I'll teach you how."
He presses on the remote, and my back arches from the need coursing through me.
"Spread your legs."
I'm quick to open, need burning everything inside me. I've become a puppet, and Wren Hunter is holding my strings.
"Good girl," he purrs. "You're doing so well."
My eyes are trained on the screen, and I've watched this movie enough times to know we're nowhere near the end.
Slowly unbuttoning the rest of my shirt, his hand caresses me down to my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my hot skin. He skims my skirt until he's sliding his hand under my underwear.
I'm full of hope until he removes the toy and throws it to the side.
"God, no. Wren," I whimper.
"I think now is the time you might want to apologize for disobeying."
"I'm sorry!" It flies out of my mouth, showing the lack of control I have over myself. It's all gone. He stole it. "I'm sorry for not…" My hips shift forward, the need to be filled and touched so strong I want to die. "I'm sorry for not listening. Please."
"I believe you, Penelope baby. But the punishment stays the same."
His fingers are on my clit now, and I throw my head back as he caresses it slowly.
I shake my head, feeling an onslaught of emotions rising to my throat. "B-but…I can't."
He keeps stroking. "Do not come."
I don't know what's happening anymore, and I feel tears breaching past my eyelids. My chest is heaving, and all I can focus on is the exact milliseconds he caresses my clit, then disappears, then comes back…and again…and again… Pressure builds in my entire body, and my legs start to shake.
" I can't."
He stops.
And he pulls his hand out of my panties.
"Breathe, baby." His other hand caresses my hairline as I try to catch my breath. "Do you like when I edge you?"
Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head.
"Maybe you should take my orders more seriously next time, huh? Because you're mine forever, Penelope. And this could be your life if you don't start behaving. Do you understand who’s in control?"
I nod, sniffling as more tears fall down my face. "Yes. You."
"Good. Get on your knees between my legs, facing the TV."
"Please, let me come."
"The movie isn't over." He snaps his fingers and points at the floor. "Don't make me repeat myself."
It's hard enough to move with my trembling legs, but having my arms tied behind my back isn’t helping. I struggle, finally making it between his legs, my back to him and the sofa. He undoes the rope and fists my hair, pulling my head back until it's resting between his thighs on the sofa, and he bends to look down at me.
"You keep your hands behind your back. Show me you can listen."
I look ahead again and, without the rope forcing me, I spend the rest of the movie on the floor while he sits on the sofa, my hands behind my back. He's not touching me, bar the hand caressing my hair, and there's no friction on my clit anymore, yet all I can think about is the throbbing need between my legs.
"You picked a movie I know on purpose," I whisper. "So I can tell how much suffering I have left."
"Of course, I did," he purrs. "Knowing you by heart has its advantages."
We must have ten minutes before the end when he softly says, "Lay down on the couch with your hands above your head."
I slowly stand up, my knees and ankles hurting from the position I was in. I lie down as he ordered, and he settles between my legs.
"I love your fire, Peach," he says as he pulls my panties down my legs. "But I'll have to admit, taming it feels like nothing else I've experienced before."
He lowers himself, and his mouth is so close to touching my pussy, I whimper.
"The movie isn't finished. Don't come until you see the credits on the screen." His breath so close to my molten core forces a whine out of me, my hips thrusting forward.
And then he’s licking me. He avoids my clit on purpose, cleaning the mess I made from his torture without touching anywhere that could set me off.
"What a wet little slut," he growls against me as his fingers come to spread my outer lips.
He presses his tongue at my entrance, and my body shudders as he pushes in.
Something clicks inside him because he becomes a man obsessed. Worse than usual. I don't understand what happens anymore as he buries his tongue inside me, pulling it back out and licking all the way to my clit.
" Fuck ," he growls. His hands grab the back of my thighs, and he holds them wide open, my knees to my shoulders. "Don't you fucking move."
I don't even recognize him as his tongue starts playing with my clit. Over and over again, he strokes it with a force he can't seem to control.
I’m panting, tears trailing down my cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure. "Please, Wren. Fuck, I need to come."
He accelerates, slows, takes a breath, and says, "Look at the TV. Wait for the credits."
My eyes can barely keep open as I moan languidly, so close to coming I can't breathe.
He doesn't answer anymore, too busy ravaging me with his mouth.
The screen goes black, the room silent apart from my pants and the embarrassing sound of how wet I am.
Music starts.
The first name of the credits comes on screen.
And I explode like never before.
The orgasm makes me shake harshly, my legs pushing back against his grip as it rips me from the inside.
My voice is hoarse from all the screaming as he lets go of me to sit up. Once I’ve stopped shuddering, my breaths back to normal, he helps me up too, pushing strands of my hair away from my sweaty forehead.
"What do you say when I give you a reward for taking your punishment so well?"
My mouth drops open, and he arches an eyebrow at me. "What do you say, Penelope?"
"Th-thank you?"
"Atta girl."
My eyes drop to his crotch, and the hard-on is almost painful to look at. "Let me help with that," I say as I bring my hand to his belt, but he grabs it and pushes it off.
"Oh no." He chuckles softly. "You don't get my cock."
I could swear I feel cold sweat down my spine. "What?"
"My cock is a reward for when you behave. Do you feel like you deserve it?"
I'm suddenly painfully aware of how empty I feel. How one orgasm was bliss, but I need to be filled and slammed into, and to have Wren holding me down as he thrusts into me.
I blink at him.
"Answer."
"Ye— No. I don't know," I say meekly. What the hell is he doing to me?
"Don't get me wrong, Trouble. All I've thought about while being away was how much I want to sink my cock into you until you're screaming my name. All I want is to feel you break apart as I give you what you need. But the answer is no. You don't deserve it. And I can be patient." He smiles. "After all, didn't I wait all my life to finally have you?"
His hand goes to his side, and the folder is on my lap next. My heart skips a beat. I forgot that's what I wanted. Wren took over my entire mind, and now my chest tightens at the thought that I let this man make me forget that this was my ultimate goal.
"You may open it."
I want to scream, I don't need your permission!
But the truth is, every single thing I do now is dictated by whether Wren allows it, isn't it? Hell, breathing feels difficult when he's not around to tell me to do it.
"Did you look?" I ask.
"Yes. And I want you to know, it's something, but it's not everything. I'll explain why."
God, all I wanted an hour or so ago was to read whatever is in here. It's thin, light, probably only a piece of paper. I realize that it's a brown string envelope rather than an easy folder to open.
I undo the string slowly, my chest feeling hollower at every turn. Do I even have a heart in my ribcage anymore? All I can do is feel it in my ears.
Time slows as I pull out the piece of paper. It's a birth certificate.
My eyes scan it quickly.
"It's mine," I rasp. "It's my birth certificate." I don't recognize my own voice, so small and full of hope.
Saoirse Anderson née O'Malley and Keith Anderson
"Oh my god. Wren… These are my parents." A sob bursts out of me as I shoot up, running for my bag I left behind the couch. I reach for my phone inside it, and I go straight to my search engine.
"Peach, wait."
I start with my mom.
"Saoirse Anderson," I mumble as I type.
Nothing comes up right away, so I scroll and scroll some more. Moving on quickly, I type Saoirse O'Malley instead.
"Saoirse O'Malley. That's Irish, isn't it? Am I Irish?" I giggle as I look up at Wren and then back at my phone. "That's crazy!"
There's not much at all except a woman's social page, but she looks to be in her twenties.
Whatever, I'll get back to that. I type Keith Anderson. But all that comes up is an explanation for the Anderson last name. That one's Scottish, it seems.
I scroll down, page one, page two. Nothing.
A shadow of disappointment creeps over me. Is this it?
"I don't get it," I say, trying to keep the hope I had a second ago. "Did you find anything else? I can't find them online."
Wren stands right by me now, and I'm cross-legged on the floor.
"That's the thing," he says. "There's nothing."
"What do you mean? Where did you get the certificate?"
"Someone I trust in the Circle has a family member who works at the Maryland Vital Records Office. He was able to find it for me."
He sits down next to me, looking so childish now that he's crossing his legs too. I'm back in my bedroom when we were kids and talking about our biggest dreams while eating candies and chocolates one of my dads would have brought up for us. Except we were so happy back then, and his smile would never leave his face while he would spend time with me. Why is it twisted with so much pity now? Where is the reassuring Wren I know?
"There's nothing else about them, Trouble."
"Thanks for doing a half-assed job. There's literally an address on here. Did you check records of people who lived there and where they could have gone? Hell, they might still be there."
He shakes his head, putting his hand on my knee. "They don't live there anymore, and there's no record of them ever living there." As he squeezes my knee, I can feel he knows the exact kind of support I need. Nothing overwhelming, nothing that is too much or feels fake. Just enough to let me know he’s here. And yet, for once, it’s not enough.
"Those people are your biological parents, baby. But for whatever reasons, they don't want to be found. In fact, they've made themselves completely untraceable."
"But…" I look down at the certificate again.
Penelope Anderson.
They gave me their name. It's not like they wrapped me in a blanket and put me in front of the orphanage as a newborn. They declared me as theirs. Until when? At what point did they realize they didn't want me anymore?
"They just don't want to be found?" I ask, emotions crashing through me in waves of despair. There's a sack of rocks in my heart, and every time I have thought of my biological parents in my life, another pebble has been added to it. I'm twenty-two now. A lifetime of pebbles is getting heavy. So heavy I can't breathe.
Wren nods. "It looks like they went through a lot of trouble not to be."
"But why?" I croak as I look up into his eyes. I can feel the tears starting to fall. God, my throat, it's so tight.
"I don't know," he whispers as he wipes a tear from my cheek.
"Was it…me? Did I…was I…because I wasn't what they wanted?"
His face falls. "No, of course not. Please don't think that." He wraps me in his arms, and my head falls onto his shoulder. "Don't you ever think that again."
"My heart," I cry, the sob in my throat falling lower, choking me and making me unable to breathe. "It hurts."
"I'm here, baby." He strokes my hair, hugs me tighter, and somehow the tightness of his hug releases the pressure inside me. "I'll always be here."