Chapter Two #3
The “spot he knew” is a currently unused room.
Deep in the belly of the haunt, the room feels ominous as I step in, my footsteps echoing.
I think it must have been some sort of alien-spaceship-probing scene when it was in use.
There are several green alien mannequins clustered in the corner, and an intimidating metal table.
Fear wouldn’t be out of place, but I don’t feel it.
I know better than this, better than hooking up with a stranger in what could pass for a kill room.
Taking a lap around the space, I wait for common sense to kick in.
It never shows. Not even when I study the mannequins or eyeball an assortment of realistic-looking medical tools.
All I feel is impatience for Nicholas to no longer be my last sexual encounter.
As far as religious trauma goes, becoming involved in the church as an adult is very different from growing up in it.
That said, purity culture’s weeds are invasive and fast growing. I want them out of my mental garden.
One of the bay doors opens with a soft swish, pulling me from my musings.
It’s Caine, black T-shirt hugging his biceps and chest, jeans slung low on his hips.
His arms are covered with tattoos, gray scale geometric shapes, vines, and flowers.
I’m devastated to discover he’s as hot out of his costume as in it, though I wouldn’t complain if he’d come back wearing the mask.
I’d only hit one light switch on the way in, uncertain if I wanted to go full lighting with a stranger.
Now the soft glow filling the far third of the room throws shadows that wrap around him as if they’re not so much falling on him, but merging with him.
As if he belongs to them, and is finally returning.
As for Caine himself, his energy is slightly different. There’s a condom in his hand. I recognize the packaging as a non-latex variety.
“Margot.” My name sounds good in his voice. “On my way back from going, Where’s Waldo’s Latex-Free Condom? it hit me that you could have said you have an allergy as an out.”
This perceptiveness is staggering. Not because I was fibbing about having an allergy—I do—but because the shock I feel has me thinking my standards for men are subterranean.
“If that’s the case, then I sincerely apologize for missing the cue.” He steps away from the door, as if ensuring I realize he’s serious—that I know I can leave. As if he thinks there’s a chance in hell I would have walked all the way back here if I weren’t so desperate.
“Th-thank you,” I stammer. “I do have a latex allergy, though.” I size him up. Whether it’s the clothing change or the glimmer of care for my feelings, in the past minute he’s somehow become even hotter. “I wasn’t trying to let you down easy. I’m not that nice.”
He nods, starting to step forward before rocking back.
“All right. I just need you to know that if at any point, you don’t like something, or want to slow down, or stop altogether, I’m going to listen and not be pissed.
” Caine clears his throat, looking uncertain for the first time tonight.
“This should go without saying, but I don’t know how comfortable you are hitting the brakes.
So know that it won’t be a big deal if you do. You’re the boss.”
“I appreciate that.” It’s a massive understatement.
Scrubbing his hand across his jaw, he tilts his head. “Did I murder the mood entirely?” Mischief sparkles in his eyes, as if he knows he did the exact opposite. “Or are you squeezing your thighs together like that because hearing me say ‘You’re the boss’ gets you wet?”
“Caught me.” Lower than it should be, hungrier than it should be, my voice surprises me. “My kink is hearing men say I’m the boss.”
He’s thoughtful. “I can see it.”
I lean back against one of the big metal tables. “Come here and say it again.”
Somebody turned on the haunt heater—that’s the only reason a bead of sweat runs between my breasts.
The only reason I feel like I’m currently in a sauna.
Dropping his chin in a nod, Caine approaches.
Shoulders lowered, stride easy, he saunters with the energy exclusive to predators.
The way creatures walk when they know that their teeth are sharper, that they can bite harder.
You sure about that?
STOP.
Squaring up to him is instinctive, and so is holding my ground when he crowds my space.
Our chests would touch, except we’re somehow breathing in time.
Opposite but in tune, my inhale pairs with his exhale, and the reverse.
His face is shadowed, his hand rough where it grips my waist, easing beneath my sweatshirt.
The faint smell of soap and sweat hits my nose.
Saliva pools in my mouth. Caine hears me gulp.
We’re pressed against each other now, my hands knotting in his T-shirt of their own accord.
The feeling of his length between us, hard and thick, is making my head swim.
I’m incapable of thinking about anything but having it inside me.
“You’re the boss.” He’s so close the stubble on his jaw grazes my cheek.
Knees gone weak in a shiver, I rock my hips against him.
Caine responds with a hiss of an exhale, grinding right back.
Gripping my jaw, he angles my head. Scalding kisses down my neck make the world spin.
His hand slips beneath my sweatpants, pushing my thong to the side.
I shift my stance wider. I’m all but rubbing my pussy on him like a cat trying to get its ears scratched.
Touch me.
Please touch me.
He does. Thick fingers slide through my arousal.
I rock, gripping him tighter, desperate for more friction.
His low sound of approval as he slips two fingers inside me has my pussy tightening.
I will my body to relax, but it won’t. Every nerve ending is lit up, the aftereffect of having been essentially edged for the last few hours.
“Well, damn,” he rasps, pressing the heel of his palm to my clit. “Someone’s needy.”
Nicholas’s voice fills my head: You look to man to fill emotional needs only god can meet, Margot. You set us both up for failure with your unrealistic expectations.
“No, I’m not.” I spit the words, though they’re undermined by how eagerly I’m riding his hand.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” His chuckle turns into a groan as I grip his cock.
It’s thick, so thick that a moment of Oh no, what am I doing?
jolts through me. My pussy is quick to remind me that she is not a quitter.
Toeing off my sneakers, I’m practically purring as Caine tugs down my sweatpants so I can kick them off.
He starts to lift me up on the table in a sitting position, but I spin in his grip, hopping up to drape myself on the table.
After what we just did in the scene, I want him behind me.
My toes barely brush the ground, the loss of control exciting me more.
“All the way up, then,” he instructs, lifting my hips. “Let me look at you.”
For what has to be the hundredth time tonight, I’m face down, ass up, with him behind me. But this time I’m on a table, and it’s real.
“Holy fuck.” If a curse can sound reverent, his does.
“You’re gorgeous, all soaking and swollen.
” The compliment makes me cringe, but the featherlight touch of his fingers before he thumbs my clit chases it away.
Circling where I need him most with easy, almost lazy, movements, the nearly there pleasure is maddening.
Heat soars higher and higher, my body clenching around nothing.
“Good god, I wish you could see yourself like this. Fuck the Grand Canyon, this is postcard-worthy.” He teases me with a finger, and I can’t keep the keening sound inside, can’t help shoving my hips back at him.
I need him inside me. Now that I’ve felt how thick he is, how heavy, it’s all I can think about.
“Quit looking and start fucking already.”
A swat on the side of my ass makes me yip. “You can’t just fuck a pussy like this; you have to appreciate her first.”
“Appreciate from the inside.” Authoritative I am not—it’s pure plead. “Fuck me.”
Caine continues to tease my clit with his thumb, dipping his fingers in and out of me. “You want my cock? Earn it. Come on my fingers, and then we’ll go from there.”
My groan is pure anguish. “Are you always so talkative?” I pant. “Is hearing your own voice what gets you off?”
“Like you’re not just as mouthy,” he says it as if it’s a good thing. “Besides, I have a great voice. Ask anyone.”
Before I can argue, Caine thrusts his fingers deep, curling them as he settles into a brain-breaking rhythm. I drop to my elbows, unable to do anything but rock back against him. Part of me wants to be difficult, to hold him off on principle, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to.
He leans over me. When his other hand slips underneath my sweatshirt and he rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the delicious pinch pushes me over the edge. I lose myself. Pleasure is overwhelming. I press my mouth into my forearm in an attempt to muffle my sounds.
“Good girl,” Caine croons as my muscles go lax, even as the validation makes my skin crawl. “Too bad I couldn’t hear you, so I’ll need another.”
Good girl doesn’t land quite right.
“First, I don’t like ‘good girl,’ so let’s not do that. Second, hearing me wasn’t in the deal; there are people in here.” I’m panting and demanding, only wondering if he’ll be annoyed that I told him what to do once the words are out there.
“No good girl-ing. Noted.” True to his word, Caine’s unbothered by my feedback. “Listen for a moment. What do you hear?”
When I strain, I hear the faint screams of haunt patrons and tell him so.
“They won’t hear you, but I will, and I want it.”