Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
Margot
I lead Caine down the main hallway and into the portion of the haunt that’s designed to mimic a haunted house.
We move through the kitchen, and living room sets.
Upon reaching the bedroom, Caine moves toward the large four-poster bed draped with a dustcloth.
I hold up my hand. “Bed privileges are only for those who have adequately apologized.” I motion to the worn leather armchair in the corner of the room.
“Feel free to take a seat while you think about what you’ve done.
” Shadows loom and several shelves of antique dolls leer, but I barely register them. Caine holds my complete focus.
His rough chuckle sends a thrill through me. “Yes, ma’am.”
The chair creaks as he drops into it. Spreading his legs slightly, he braces himself, ready for war.
Intensity fills his eyes; he grips the arms of the chair as if holding himself back.
I swallow hard. With the emergency light above me, I’m on display while he has the shadows for camouflage.
I realize my mistake when his posture changes, becoming even more assertive.
“Thought you wanted an apology.” He pats one of his thighs, taunting me. “Strip and come and get it, sweetheart.”
I sigh, sidling out of the light. “You don’t deserve to see me naked.”
“Oh, that’s never been a question. You’re going to show me anyway, though, aren’t you? You like watching what you do to me, seeing how bad you can make me ache.”
Yes.
Shrugging, I try to look ambivalent. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Slowly, I saunter across the room, though I’m tempted to throw myself at him.
Fixing my face in the most disdainful look I can manage, I glance at the bulge in his jeans.
He catches me and grins. What he said in the hallway about me dripping for him was 100 percent correct.
Summoning every ounce of disdain I can muster, I sniff. “A hard cock is not an apology.”
“It is the way I use it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Caine barks a laugh. “Brutal.” He unbuckles his belt with predatory slowness. “Guess I’ll have to remind you, then.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself. Still waiting for the apology.”
Steeling myself, I hold his gaze, doing my best not to clench my thighs. Slow as my heartbeat is fast, he undoes the button on his jeans, then the fly.
I feign boredom, as if interest isn’t dripping down my thigh. Casually, leaning my weight onto one hip, I cross my legs.
At last, he frees his erection. He runs his hand down his length, and my mouth waters. Gripping his cock, he holds it at an angle, showing off the tattoo on his shaft. “Got you flowers.” Arrogance clings to every word. “How’s that for an apology?”
My stomach flip-flops deliciously, but I sniff in displeasure. “I was picturing something a little more grovel-y.”
“I’d offer to spit on it for you.” He strokes himself.
“But you’re so wet right now, you don’t need that.
” Every movement he makes is more obscene than the last. His eyes are predatory, lupine, and I’m a rabbit caught in his sights.
Except I don’t want to run. I want to fling myself into his jaws, savor the blissful moment before his teeth close around my throat.
His eyes could swallow me whole, and I’d say thank you.
“Still waiting for the grovel.”
“Margot Elizabeth Walker,” he drawls. Oh no, not the accent.
I clamp my thighs tighter together, trying to quell the ache.
He’s fighting dirty. “I am so sorry that I stole your sexy, slutty little panties to help me cope with the fact that I cannot be buried in your perfect pussy twenty-four hours a day.
“I’m sorry that I’ve carried them in my pocket.”
Oh.
“Slept with them under my pillow.”
My.
“Fantasized about how your ass looks in them while I jerk off, wishing it was your pussy gripping me instead of my own hand.”
Fuck.
Against my better judgment, I take another step.
All I want is for Caine to grab me, force me down onto the cock I’m so desperate for.
I’m dripping; he’d slide home like he’s made for me.
He isn’t going to do that, though. Despite the obscenity of his words, I call the shots.
The closer I get to him, the clearer it is.
It’s flattering and unnerving how he orients his energy to mine, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
My bones rattle with how right this is, how connected we feel, how seen I am.
Maybe my face gives me away, or maybe I’m thinking it so hard it travels from my head to his.
An emotion crosses his face that I can’t name.
It hooks me by the heart. I cross the remaining distance in quick strides.
Spinning, I grip his length, tug my panties to the side, and drop onto him so fast I yelp.
Ice shoots through my veins. The sensation of being filled hard and fast sets off fireworks behind my eyelids.
“Holy fuck—” Caine chokes out, hips bucking. Chest at my back, his heart is trying to beat its way into my rib cage.
“You can’t come,” I pant, breathing through the invasion, “until I give you permission. Prove you’re sorry.”
“You’re the boss.” Big hands grab the inside of my knees, lifting my legs till they’re on the outside of his.
Rocking his hips, he shifts, spreading me wider.
I’m at a precarious angle, but he tugs me back with him.
Cool air hits my breasts as he pulls the bodice of my dress down.
His hands are wild, moving across my skin like he’s memorizing it, rolling my nipples, cupping my breasts.
It’s a sensory overload, erotic in the best way.
Thick and hitting all the right places, his cock is crowding out my good sense, making it hard to breathe.
Thoughts of tormenting him are forgotten.
Flexing his hips, he drives into me. I choke on an inhale.
Insistent fingers find my clit; bruising kisses claim my neck.
My hips rock with him, unable to keep still.
His shuddering inhale proves I’m not the only one who’s lost their breath.
When he nips the side of my throat, I gasp, “Caine.” My nails scrape across his jeans, the arms of the chair, my own thighs, grasping for anything to keep me from being carried away.
My pussy convulses as pleasure courses through me, how quickly he pushed me to orgasm threatening to break my brain.
I’m coming too hard to speak. To think. To do anything but fall apart around him.
“Fuck. Fucking hell,” he growls into the crook of my neck and shoulder as I come, his body tightening, as if the tremors running through me have spread to him.
“You’re gripping the hell out of me.” Tense and tight beneath me, I can feel how hard he’s trying not to come.
Brushing his thumb across my clit again, he groans into the side of my throat.
The sound and sensation keep me soaring.
He’s thickening inside me. I dig my nails into the chair to keep from flaying his arm.
This much pleasure can’t fit in a body—I’m going to explode.
This is how stars are made, or maybe the Bermuda Triangle: orgasms so powerful they alter space and time.
“Fuck—Margot—I can’t—please.” While I’m discovering the wonders of the universe, Caine’s losing his ability to form a coherent thought.
So fucking hot.
“Come,” I try to sound commanding, but I sound as if I’m being suffocated. “Come with me.”
It doesn’t matter; the second I get the words out, they’re swallowed by his groan.
“Fuuuuuck.” Face pressed into the crook of my neck, his teeth dig into my skin, not biting so much as holding.
Escaping his grasp isn’t possible. Being completely and utterly controlled, knowing only my safe word could free me, is more exhilarating than makes sense.
I’m trapped. I’m his. I’m not going anywhere.
But I am, somehow, still coming, or maybe coming again.
Two more vicious thrusts, and he releases.
Warming me from the inside, Caine restrains me as I writhe with pleasure. It’s incredible. Otherworldly.
Sagging in his lap, I take deep, trembling breaths. Beneath my back, his heartbeat races. Kissing the spot his teeth were just sunk into, Caine murmurs, “Enjoy your apology?”
Flying dangerously high on endorphins, I’m reckless. Also, not about to compliment an underwear thief. “Adequate, I suppose.”
He tenses beneath me. “Adequate?”
Stretching, I ease myself off him, tugging my dress down.
“Yeah, you know, all right. Fine. Serviceable.” I’m completely shit-talking him, but there’s no way I can say, Why, yes, Caine, once again you have rewired the pleasure centers in my brain and pushed my body to levels of bliss I didn’t know existed.
Especially not after he stole my underwear.
The man is a sex god; I refuse to let him think I’m impressed.
“Serviceable,” he spits the word as he stands, eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
Tucking my breasts back into place, I give him a What are you on about? look. “I’m not saying it was bad, just that it was fine.”
He’s a statue, hands on the belt he’s almost finished fastening.
Whatever he sees on my face makes him yank the belt free with one hand, slinging it across the room.
I don’t see where it lands. Heart in my throat, pulse in my pussy, I stare at him.
Calling him Caine doesn’t feel appropriate; the energy rolling off him has changed drastically.
Rock-hard, his face is unreadable until a small, sinister smile appears. “You’re going to stand here and tell me it was ‘fine’?”
I gulp. “Yes.”
“You realize what you’re doing, don’t you?
” Voice a purr, he coaxes me closer even as good sense screams, It’s a trap.
“You’re telling me you need to be fucked until you can’t walk, until I have to carry you back, covered in cum, body aching from how thoroughly you’ve been used.
” He steps closer. “Not a problem, sweetheart. I’ve been taking it easy on you. ”
Fear bubbles inside me, even as part of me cheers. “Thank goodness.” I ease alongside him, and he turns to track my movement. Giving him my sweetest smile, I take another step until he’s no longer between me and the doorway. “I’d hate to think this was all you had.”
I only catch a glimpse of the incredulity flashing across his face before I’m out the door. Bolting down the hallway, anticipation streaking up my spine, I run deeper into the haunt.