Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Peach
Paradise - Henry Morris
" V ery funny," I say as we enter the restaurant. "Hilarious, asshole."
We get a table at the pizza place beloved by so many students on campus. They're meant to serve real Italian pizza, but they've been so Americanized that I'm not sure the concept applies anymore.
The waiter shows us to a space for two. A small, square table covered with a red checkered tablecloth and surrounded by two dark wooden chairs. Wren pulls one out for me, making sure I'm sat comfortably before taking the space across me.
I go to open the menu, but he takes it from me and places it on his side instead.
"What are you doing?" I try to grab it back, but he pulls it closer to him.
"Put your hands flat on the table, Penelope."
My heart skips a beat. A long beat. There's something when he calls me by my real name that tugs in my lower stomach and sends a current all the way up my spine.
Sensing my hesitation, he insists, "I don't want to have to remind you of our deal or what it means to be my Hera every single time you refuse to listen."
That's warning enough. I press my palms to the table.
"Good. You asked me what my thing was. I'm giving you a taste of what I like all the time . Not just during sex or when I punished you a few days ago, and not just by text while I'm away. All. The. Time." His deep voice resonates through my entire being, shifting cells in all the right places.
"So, is that what it's like? Control? I'm not allowed to pick my own food?" I barely manage to put any edge into my voice.
"It's part of it. So is you sitting still and holding the exact position I'm telling you while I choose your food for you."
Refusing to acknowledge the heat spreading to my cheeks, I focus on what I can still control.
"I'm allergic to?—"
"Shellfish. And cat hair. Not that the second matters in this case."
Running my tongue against my teeth, I narrow my eyes at him, but he ignores me, his on the menu.
The waiter comes back, and I don't dare move when Wren talks to him. I notice his eyes dropping to my cleavage as he pulls out his pad and pen.
"She'll have the pepperoni, and please, could you bring hot honey on the side. And I'll have the mortadella pizza."
Of course he knows exactly what I like.
The waiter's eyes come back to the exact point where my dress meets my boobs.
"Eyes up here, buddy." Wren's voice is so glacial, I shiver. "We wouldn't want them out of their sockets by the end of the night, would we?"
His gaze drops to his pad, and he scratches his throat. "Uh, any…any drinks?"
"Water's fine," Wren concludes before handing him the menus. That's unlike him. He loves sodas. It's one of the only things that he knows is terrible for him and yet he keeps having them.
When he looks back at me, there's an excitement like I've never seen before in his eyes. A satisfied smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
"You didn't move."
I have nothing to say. Because it wasn't that hard not to move. In fact, I started to feel myself relax before he talked to me again. I didn't have to put a man back in his place for his wandering eyes. Wren did it for me. And it weirdly felt really good.
The waiter comes back with the glasses and leaves them quickly before he can get told off again. Wren pours me a glass and puts it in front of me.
"Drink."
I do, and it’s refreshing after the beers I had.
"I said no more drugs, Peach," he finally says. I get the water only now.
"I—" I clear my throat, struggling to talk. "I didn't take drugs. I promise."
"Your pupils are telling me otherwise."
"I didn't take drugs, Wren. I feel fine. I had two beers."
He looks deeply into my eyes. "You better not be lying to me."
"I'm not," I defend. "I'm not an addict. Why would I lie about drugs?"
He doesn't answer that question, and it's clear it's because he disagrees. He believes I'm an addict.
"Are you enjoying it?" he asks with sincere curiosity, his gorgeous blue eyes attempting to dig the truth out of mine. "Being told what to do?"
"I hate it," I lie.
He licks his lips, seeing right through me. "Take off your underwear."
My face drops so fast I probably look like I'm having a stroke. I certainly feel like I am.
"Are you out of your mind, Wren Hunter?"
He attempts to wipe the smile forming on his face, but it comes back tenfold. "It's funny, because I hate my last name. But it turns me on when you call me by my full name."
"Shut up," I snarl. "I'm not?—"
His smile fades. "Do as you’re told."
And we're back to the exact same problem. I'm his Hera, and we have a deal.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I look around. We're strategically placed, in some sort of alcove. My back is to the wall, his big body hiding most of our table while his back is to the rest of the room. And there's the tablecloth.
No one is going to see anything.
Plus, there's that voice in the back of my mind. The eagerness that screams at me to keep discovering the other side of what I usually do. For as long as I could, I've used men in bed. I put them on their knees, and I made them treat me like their queen. But it always felt like I was putting on a show.
There's something about discovering what happens when I let Wren take over. I want to let go, and I don't have a choice but to do exactly that with him.
I slip a hand under my dress, hooking my thumb in the elastic band of my black thong, and pull until it's sliding down. Adjusting myself on the seat, I pull farther down, until it's around my ankles.
Once it's off, I feel Wren's hand under the table.
"Give it to me."
"You're a perv, I hope you know that."
"Only for you, and I love it. Sit back."
I do as I'm told. The exchange is so quick, I barely feel like it's happening.
"Good. Now I want you to take your napkin and sit on it. Don't unfold it."
I pause for so long, I don't think my brain is functioning anymore.
"What?" I finally drop.
"You heard me."
He hands me the checkered cloth napkin, and I blink at it for a few seconds.
"Sit on it."
I swallow thickly, my heart racing as I grab it. I lift my ass so I can put the fabric under me and sit back down on it.
"There you go," he purrs. "I like the flush on your cheeks when you do what you're told. It's very sexy."
Does he have to point out every single thing he likes or dislikes? It's unnerving.
I don't get to retort anything, with the waiter now back with our pizzas. He puts everything in front of us and leaves again, without a look at me this time.
Wren makes a point to stare at me as he unfolds his napkin on his lap.
"Don't worry. I'll share mine, should you need it."
I don't say anything, deciding to focus on my food instead. I reach for the sauce cup with honey in it, but he snatches it a split second before I get it.
Shaking his head, he tuts. "Control, remember? Keep your hands on your lap until I tell you that you can eat."
"Are you for real?" I scoff.
"I want your brain off when you're with me, Trouble," he explains calmly. "Only then can I really have fun with you."
He pours the honey on my pizza, and I salivate. I love a mix of sweet and savory, and hot honey on pepperoni is a perfect combination. But I don't think that's what is making me salivate. It's purely watching his huge hand holding the small cup. A bit of honey drips on his finger. After putting the container down, he licks the side of his finger, and I practically choke on my own breath.
What. Is. Wrong. With. Me.
He offers me a small smile and says softly, "Eat."
I only hesitate for a split second this time, and all I can think about is the fact that every time he orders something new, it takes me less time to execute. And that the quicker I do what I'm told, the more turned on I get.
I take a shaky breath, barely able to take a bite of my pizza. The salty pepperoni hits me first, followed by the sweetness and kick of the spicy honey, and I practically moan as I chew it.
"Alright," he says as he takes a huge bite of his slice. He takes his time to chew and swallow, dabs the corner of his mouth, and nods at me.
"Tonight, you can ask me anything you want about"—he looks around to make sure no one is close enough to hear—"the Circle. But only tonight. You won't be involved in anything. I’ll give you updates on your parents whenever I decide. And you will never come to the temple unless it's an official event that requires Shadows to bring their Heras. Other than that, I don't want you to approach the Circle, and especially not the Shadows. Is that clear?"
I swallow, dig my eyes into his, and say, "I'll do whatever the fuck I want is what I think."
"Sure. I don't care. You're my Hera now, and you can't get rid of me. The Circle would be the ones to punish you for that, and you've had a taste of what they're capable of. So if you're not a good girl, I guess all that'll happen is…" He tilts his head to the side. "…Oh, I know. I won't look for your progenitors anymore."
"You didn't used to be such an asshole, you know?"
"I used to think being nice to you was the way to your heart. Then I realized you were too stubborn to ever give in to our attraction. I'm trying a different technique. You like a challenge, and so do I. I think that's what’s going to work for us."
Our staring contest only lasts long enough for my biggest insecurities to resurface, tickle my throat, and press against the back of my eyes: the empty hole in my heart that was created when I was abandoned, and that keeps getting bigger every day.
"We keep circling back to the same thing, so let me help you here." He puts his hand on mine on the table. "If I have to mention our deal again, it's over."
My stomach squeezes so hard the pizza threatens to come back up.
"What?" One word, but my desperation is loud.
"If you fight back again, badly enough that I have to remind you about our deal and why you accepted it, then it is off. You won't be able to leave me, but you won't find your parents either. Now, to be clear, you accepted being my Hera in exchange for my help. Being my Hera includes obeying me without questioning it."
"Wren…" I rasp. "I need time."
"And I will take it easy on you. But I need to see you try. And so far, you've barely tried. I told you not to see Elijah, and I told you no drugs."
"I didn't?—"
"You will behave, Peach. Is that clear?"
I look at anything but his face. I can't process the soft tone, the threatening words, and the lust in his eyes. They don't go well together.
"Got it," I whisper.
"Are you sure?" he insists.
"I'm not fucking stu—" I cut myself off, pinching my lips and closing my eyes to calm down. "I'm sure."
"Good. You'll see. It's hard at first, but you'll get the hang of it. Start from the principle that my word is law. Everything will be easier after that."
I nod, blinking away the tears I refuse to show him.
When I lift my hand to grab the carafe of water on the table, he shakes his head.
"Let me." He pours me more water as he keeps talking, his beautiful eyes focused on my glass. "Before you ask anything, I have one for you. It's been going around in my head since the initiations, and with being away, and then…you not feeling well, I never got to ask."
I nod again, my eyes stuck on the glass as he keeps it to himself.
"Who invited you to the initiations? I’ve been asking people at the temple and no one is giving me an answer. So, either they don’t know, or they’re refusing to tell me the truth."
My gaze snaps to his, and the anxiety comes back tenfold, beating in my ears. "It wasn't you?"
How can he keep such a blank face? How am I meant to understand what’s the truth?
"It wasn't me. I offered you forever, and you declined it. I wasn't going to invite you. Obviously, since you were there, the result is different than what I anticipated. But we have an issue with whoever did invite you. So…" His voice is steady, but I'm starting to notice the clench in his jaw. "What was the name on the invite?"
There's a part of me that’s scared to tell him. There's no other way to put this; Wren is a dangerous serial killer who doesn't even remember when he murders someone. Am I signing someone's death sentence by telling him?
But then again…whoever that was, they fucked up my life. Signed my death sentence.
"Hyperion."
He can't keep a straight face now, his eyebrows pushed together by the anger betraying him.
"What?" I ask. "Who's that?"
He massages his temple with one hand, pressing against the side of his head. "My dad," he finally says.
"Your dad?" I squeak. And a moment from the labyrinth comes back to me. "Wait. He said he had plans for me. Oh my god."
"He what?"
My chest tightens, and I shake my head, trying to keep myself sane. "In the maze, he almost caught me, but he let me go because he said he had plans for me."
When Wren doesn't say anything for a few seconds, the fear increases.
"Should I be worried?" I'm already past worried.
He shakes his head, but I can't relax now.
"Is that a no? How can you be so sure? What does your dad want with me?"
Taking a deep breath, he runs a hand across his face and smiles softly at me.
"I don't know what he wants with you. But if there's one thing I am sure of, and that's from experience, it's that anyone who becomes a threat to you shortens their lifespan significantly. That's how I know you've got nothing to worry about. Stay away from my dad. That's general advice, anyway. But don't worry about him. I'll find out what he wants. Nothing happens to you on my watch, Trouble, so take a breath."
I nod numbly, and he finally gives me the glass of water. Yeah, I need that.
"So, your questions."
"Uh…" I take the glass, bringing it to my lips so I can swallow the sand in my throat.
It's hard to think straight now that more pieces have been added to the puzzle of my new life. But this is my chance, and I have to focus on anything I can get out of him.
"The Circle. You mentioned you had to do a job for them. What do you…" I bite the inside of my lip, trying to take my time and calm my nervous system. "What do you do for them?"
He stays silent for this, refusing to put it into words, yet also refusing to keep the secret from me. Instead, he drags the side of his finger across his neck. I feel my blood draining from my face, even though I know now what he's capable of.
Still, my reflex is to pull my chair away, but he cuts off my movement with a hard tone.
"Keep your chair exactly where it is." He nods when I stop my momentum. "Good girl. Are you scared?"
"I don't know." It slips from my lips quickly, but barely audibly.
"It's okay not to know. It's a lot. But I want to make it clear again that I would never hurt you. Keep eating. You need the energy."
Before I do, I ask, "Is that why they sent you away? You just travel around, committing murders?"
He nods.
"How often will that happen?"
"Too often."
My head is swimming. He's too calm about this, making my heartbeat rise to the point my legs shake under the table. "How many times has it been since you initiated? When…when was the last time?"
"Three. And this afternoon. Let's stop with those questions. It's making you panic. Keep eating."
God, he sounds like those psychopaths who are interviewed from prison in true crime shows. I take another slice, and he eats at the same time as me, in silence while I try to gather my thoughts.
When I stop, he stops too.
Another gulp of water, and I'm back.
"Does every Shadow have a job for the Circle?"
This answer is easier to listen to.
"Yes. Most of us are legacies, so the Circle has known us since we were kids. They know our strengths and weaknesses, and they decide in advance what they want us for. Not every legacy is offered to initiate. They pick who they need to keep the society as powerful as it can be without burdening themselves with useless people. Not everyone has to initiate if they're offered to, but it's strongly encouraged."
"And they chose you because you snap , right? That's useful to them."
"Where did you hear the word 'snap' when it comes to me?" He asks the question in a way that tells me he knows the answer. It's more of an encouraging tone to tell him the truth, rather than an inquiry.
"You, once. But also, your dad, in Duval's office. He kept asking if you were going to snap. And Elijah, he said you were dangerous when you snapped."
"Huh." He puts an elbow on the table, the pad of his thumb resting just under his chin and his index finger caressing his upper lip. He stays in his thoughts, keeping me in limbo, letting me wonder if he has any control over being the grim reaper.
Finally coming back to me, he says, "I won't get into what happens when I snap ." He says the word with deep disgust, cracking his neck right after. "You know enough. That I struggle to remember, and that I need to write their names down so I do?—"
"And the Scrabble tiles. What are those for?"
He smiles, but he doesn't tell me what I want to hear. "I don't feel like sharing any more. But know that's why the Circle wanted me. To kill. I'm only good for one thing when it comes to them."
And he believes that. I can see it.
"You're good at so many things," I correct him. "Why would you join the Circle and reduce yourself to a…killer?" I whisper the last word, even though there isn't any chance of anyone hearing me.
Sure of himself, his shoulders square, and he takes a sip of his water, keeping a softness to his voice that he only saves for me.
"I'm only good at many things because I wanted to convince myself I was more than what the Circle wanted me to be. But it turns out, Trouble, that there's nothing I'm better at than killing without a second thought."
The exchange accelerates because I refuse to believe it. Wren is perfect in every discipline. He's more than a mindless killer.
"But why… Why did you join them? You could have just?—"
"I didn't have a choice."
"What do you mean by that?"
He sighs. "No more questions about why I joined, about me snapping, or why, or what happens when I do it."
"So, you being forced into the Circle is related to something you did when you snapped."
He's speechless, his jaw slack, when he realizes how well I can read him. How quickly I catch up with his thoughts. The same way he does with me. There's something about us, something stronger than friendship, that has always linked our souls.
"Next question."
"Our relationship is never going to be fair anymore, is it? If you decide everything, even the small freedoms you give me will always feel controlled."
"Bingo."
"Fine. What does Elijah do?"
"Oh, Penelope." He shakes his head. His nostrils flare as his jaw tightens, and I understand I shouldn’t have mentioned his brother. It's detestable that Wren looks so handsome when he gets angry. All I want to do is rub my thumb between his eyebrows. "What do you want from me? To see how mean I can get?"
My heart skips a beat, and my pussy wakes up. The bitch wants to play, and it wants to play with the mean side of Wren Hunter. The napkin between my thighs is suddenly so present, its material feeling close to my skin as I grow wetter.
"It's a genuine question," I defend, trying to focus on the conversation, rather than how he makes me feel.
"I'm not at liberty to share that. Rules are rules, and only a Shadow can decide if they want to share their role. What I'll tell you, though, is that you're going to stay away from him from now on, and do not disobey me on that again."
"He and I have been friends for almost as long as you and me. It's not that easy to just stop being friends."
"Relationships change over time. Look at us. We used to be best friends, and now you belong to me. Well, you used to be friends with Elijah. Now you'll be nothing."
"It's not fair."
He takes a bite of his food, drinks some water, and finally says, "I have a feeling you're going to think a lot of things aren't fair moving forward. I'm afraid you're just going to have to learn to live with that feeling until you get used to stop thinking and instead simply do what I tell you."
I rip a bite out of a new slice of pizza. My anger is palpable, but I turn it to my food instead of him. It's the only way I won't get in trouble. I chew angrily, and it makes him chuckle like I'm some sort of show.
"Spread your legs a little. Not too much."
I gulp down my bite, the pepperoni nearly going down the wrong tube.
She died eating what she loved, killed because her body couldn't handle anger and lust simultaneously.
I uncross my legs, spread them slightly, and he checks I've done it by extending one leg between mine. He taps his knee to my inner right thigh, then the left, checking the distance.
"Good girl."
"I will puke if you keep using that on me."
Cocking an eyebrow, he answers casually. "Well, I do prefer using 'good little slut,' but I had a feeling it would be moving too quickly for you."
That takes my breath away. Worse, my muscles contract. I feel more wetness pooling between my legs as my lower belly tightens. My legs automatically try to close, partly to uselessly attempt to stop myself from dampening the napkin, but mostly to feel pressure on my clit.
He feels my movement, and a carnal smile spreads on his face as he relaxes back in his chair.
"Tsk, tsk." His ankle hits the side of my right calf, and he pushes my legs back open. "Keep them open."
"Wren." My exhale is deep, needy, and he catches that. I see it in the way his eyes darken. The blue is almost entirely swallowed by the black of his pupils.
"I'm looking forward to you opening your legs wide for me while you beg, Trouble. I'm counting the days until you're lying down and planting your palms on your knees to spread them open for me while whining because you can't wait anymore."
He tilts his head to the side as my breathing accelerates. "I know you're not the most patient girl, but you're going to be so… so patient for me. Aren't you?"
I'm getting so wet the napkin must be soaked. My entire body is hotter than the sun, and I need a bucket of ice water to be dropped on me so I can think straight again.
As I shift in my seat, his smile widens.
"Put your hands flat on the table." I've barely done it as his voice hardens. "I said flat , Penelope."
My eyes drop, and I notice my fists are tightly closed. So, I try again, flattening my hands.
"Atta girl, straighten your spine."
My shallow breath passes through my parted lips as I do what I'm told, but I feel like I'm suffocating. I'm going to burst into flames any second now. The new position pushes my chest forward, and it makes my panting obvious, my boobs moving up and down too quickly for it to look natural.
Still smiling, Wren bites his lower lip, and I barely catch the whimper that wants to force its way out of my mouth. He looks irresistible. I signed a deal with the devil, and he loves playing with his new toy.
"I'll ask again," he says in a deeper raspy voice that translates his own lust. "Do you enjoy being told what to do? Do you enjoy being controlled, Peach?"
I can't talk, not trusting my own voice. I don't trust my entire body. All I do is shake my head, lying shamelessly like the stubborn girl he always accuses me of being.
"I see." He nods, and I'm surprised by his acceptance of my response. Is something wrong with him? "You should go use the bathroom. I'll settle the bill."
I don't question anything. I need to run to the bathroom to do something about the wetness now coating my inner thighs.
I wince when I attempt to get up, feeling like I'm going to cry from the fact that I'm so wet the fabric of the napkin is sticking to my skin. I hover awkwardly over my seat, discreetly sliding my hand between my legs to dislodge it.
Wren's eyes don't leave me, following my every movement knowingly. My ears are burning by the time I reach the bathroom, and I release a much-needed exhale. I check the two stalls. No one’s here, and I release a heavy breath as I arrange my hair, checking myself in the mirror. I then press my palms on either side of the sink. My eyes are shining, my cheeks red against my porcelain skin, but I don’t have time to process a single thought when the door opens, and Wren appears behind me.
I watch my own eyes widening in the mirror, and I move to turn around, but he's quicker.
"Don't move. Keep your hands exactly where they are."
"Give me a break," I plead. "I need a minute from you."
"You'll get it. As soon as you learn not to lie to me."
"What—"
"Open your mouth, Penelope baby."
There's a long pause as my eyes dart to what he's holding in his right hand. The napkin.
My lips part but only to allow me to breathe.
"Wren…"
"Keep doing what you're told."
I keep my eyes on his through the mirror as I slowly open my mouth. It feels like it's taking me hours, my body suffering waves of heat as I do so. It's almost as wide as I can reach when he says, "That'll do."
He settles behind me, gathers my hair with one hand, and wraps it twice around his fist. My head pulls back, and I lower my eyes to keep my gaze on him.
Slowly, without an ounce of violence, he brings the napkin to my mouth. I close my eyes, unable to take the embarrassment of what's coming.
He pushes the damp fabric into my mouth, not too far, but far enough for my own taste to spread on my tongue.
"Bite," he growls in my ear, and I've gone too far to turn back, so I do exactly that. "Open your eyes."
I don't know the people facing me. Not the flushed woman held by her hair, and not the stern man behind her, holding her prisoner, using nothing but a hand and her own pleasure.
"Tell me, does this taste like you hate when I control you?"
I barely have enough movement to shake my head, but I give him what he wants. The truth. Still, it's not enough.
"Say it."
"No," I mumble behind the cloth in my mouth.
He reaches his hand across my hip, down my leg. And so, so slowly, back under my dress. I moan when he cups my pussy. The delicate gesture makes me combust inside. My thoughts turn to ashes and my body takes over. I push against his hand, but he doesn't move it. With the pressure of his palm, my lips are sealed shut, and I can't get any friction on my clit. I know I'm wetting his fingers, and I don't care in the slightest. I need more, and I need it now.
Pulling his hand away, he laughs softly at my desperate whimper being muffled by the napkin.
"Look at me."
My eyes are stuck on his when he pushes his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, tasting me.
"Fuck," he growls. "I hate you a little for depriving me of this for so long."
The back of my head is fully resting on his chest now, and he looks down at me with his head above mine, making sure to drive his point as deep into my brain as he can. I feel like I'm floating, my eyes hooded and my breaths slow and steady now. I've never been so turned on in my life. But there's no pride or performance, no point to make. No, this is pure lust, and I'm incapable of controlling it. Any movement or word pulls at my soul, at the very base of what makes me human, and my reactions are purely instinctive.
"Now bend over."
I've completely lost myself, and when he pushes behind my head, I bring my torso to the sink, my hands going to either side of it.
He's quick to undo his jeans, and I moan the second his cock presses at my entrance. He enters me ever-so-slowly, lighting up every single one of my nerve endings in the process.
"Listen," he murmurs, forcing me to focus on his voice. "I want you to tell me when you're about to come. I want to learn what you feel like when you're on the brink of falling. Do you understand?"
I feel his hard dick retreating gradually, tearing a whimper out of my trembling lungs.
I nod, and he pulls at my hair a little harder. "Try 'yes, sir.' Just for me."
His words come with a new push forward, giving me back pleasure.
"Y-yes," I pant behind the cloth. "Yes, sir."
And that only makes me wetter. He fucks me languidly, deeply, in no rush whatsoever. As if we're not in a public place. As if this isn't the sweetest form of torture that ever existed. If I try to push back, he pulls at my hair and adds a harsh “stay still” that feels like a slap to the face.
I need his mercy, and I need it now. But every micro-movement coming from me, every whimper that begs for more falls onto deaf ears.
"You're doing really well, Trouble. Just keep taking me." He thrusts a little harsher, and my entire body threatens to crumble to the floor.
Zaps of electricity build every time he slides back in, sharpening my need.
"Fuck," I moan as I clench around him. "I'm gonna— I'm gonna come…"
"Are you sure?" he purrs. "Are you close?"
"Yes!" I'm struggling to stay still, my body begging me to give it what it needs.
He pulls back, and my breathing stops when I don't feel him pushing back in.
I try to lift up, but a simple no keeps me in place.
"Stay like this. Look at me." My eyes do exactly that, looking at him through the mirror.
"Beg me, Penelope."
I don't care what I look like. I don't even inhale to talk. "Please."
His smirk shouldn't look so hot, but I'm desperate, and I'll eat any fucking crumb he feeds me.
He snatches the napkin out of my mouth. "Try again. Spread your legs this time. Show me your beautiful cunt. I want to see how desperate you are."
I catch the way he's stroking his dick behind me, and I curve my back, spreading my legs farther.
"Please, Wren," I whimper. "I need you."
His hand accelerates, and panic takes hold of me as my core aches and pulses to be filled again. He's going to make himself come.
"Please, please. I need you inside me. Fuck."
"Is this pretty pussy desperate?"
"Yes… Please, sir. Please, will you make me come?"
My last words do it for him.
"No," he growls.
I feel his cum spilling on my ass as he throws his head back, and my own falls forward, ready to cry.
Pulling my dress lower, he makes sure it doesn't wipe his fucking masterpiece as he puts it back into place.
There's a beat when all that can be heard is my pathetic panting. I'm twisted. Because there's a fucked-up part of me that’s even more turned on by the fact that he didn't let me come.
He helps me straighten up, his hand still in my hair, and his mouth is against my ear in the next beat.
"Did you learn your lesson about not lying to me, Trouble?"
"Yes," I breathe out. I sound like I'm in pain. And I am. I need to come so badly.
"Good." He tugs my head farther back. "Little." And again, pulling a moan out of me. "Slut."
Slowly, he releases my hair, and my knees buckle when I stand straight again, so he catches me by the waist.
"Take a deep breath. Come back slowly," he murmurs in my ear.
I still feel pleasure zapping through me, but my head also feels like it's underwater, and I struggle to formulate a sentence.
"Wh-what's happening?" I mumble.
"Nothing bad, don't worry." He caresses my hair, kisses the side of my face, and I slowly feel myself come back, but the need deep inside me is left unsated. "You're just feeling a little bit of a sub-drop."
With two palms on the side of my head, he gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. When he pulls back, his eyes dig into mine.
"There she is." Brushing my cheeks with his thumbs, he says, "Let's get you home. I think that was enough for one night."
He holds my hand, and I try to take a step, but my knees buckle again.
"Wren…" My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. "Something's wrong. I…I don't feel good."
All I remember is him asking me to look into his eyes, and I do try, but my body doesn't feel like mine anymore. The rest is a complete blackout.