Chapter 12 #2
I watch her go, my chest rising and falling heavily, still half expecting her to turn back and start shit up again.
She doesn’t, though. Blair doesn’t say a single word as she makes it to the top of the hill and pauses with one foot on the trunk of the fallen tree.
She shoots one brief look back at me, her features schooled into an expression of pure loathing, before she lifts herself up onto the trunk, walking over the crushed fence and vanishing from sight.
Seconds pass, and still, I can’t quite breathe as I should.
Adrenaline is still coursing through my body, and after it becomes clear Blair won’t be returning, I gather up the tools and the remaining signs to be put up, following her path up the embankment.
As I stride through the forest, I can’t hear the distant crash of the waves onto the rocky beach, or the wind coming off the sea, or anything beyond the blood rushing in my ears.
I can’t remember what we were arguing about or what was said, all I register is the furious heat which has roared to life beneath my skin.
The heat that will not loosen its hold on me.
If anything, it tightens, growing more unbearable as I emerge from the forest onto the section of utility road, where I’d parked the truck less than an hour ago.
Except, there is no truck.
There is no truck, and there is only one person who could have taken it.
The many metal objects in my arms fall to the ground with a noisy clatter, and I shove my hand through my hair, almost shaking in my fury. Desperate for some way to vent the feeling, I reach down and pick up the hammer, hurling the tool into the nearest tree.
It doesn’t help.
“Fuck!” The single, bellowed word echoes through the empty forest, scattering a pair of birds from their perch somewhere above.
Without bothering to retrieve any of the tools, I leave, striding down the utility road in the direction of my cottage.
Even in a life that has been rife with injustices and mistakes and problems much bigger than myself, never have I been angrier than I am right now.
It defies reason how any person could have the power to do this to me, that Blair-fucking-Porter could drive me so out of my mind I’m reduced to this.
I don’t recognize myself.
I don’t like myself.
Yet as I approach the familiar structure of my temporary home, I’m still caught in the tailwind of whatever storm Blair unleashed.
The front door of the cottage has barely slammed shut behind me before I’m wrestling my belt open and shoving the garments out of the way with shaking hands.
No sooner have I managed to free my engorged, throbbing dick than I’ve seized it.
I’m so fucking turned on that precum is already dripping from my slit as I begin to work myself, hard and fast.
My lungs burn as I brace one hand on the door, filling the room with the sound of my ragged breathing, and I squeeze my eyes shut, mentally scrolling down the list of fantasies I default to when I’m jerking off.
None of them work.
All I can see, all I want to see... Goddamn it. I’m fucking helpless to do anything but sink into it, and as the fantasy blooms in my mind’s eye, my grip tightens to the edge of pain.
Blair sprawled out on her bed atop crumpled sheets.
She’s naked, and her knees are bent and parted, one hand between her thighs as the other teases the tips of her plump breasts.
From my place in the doorway, I can’t see what she’s doing to herself, but I want to.
My cock grows harder, longer as I watch the sensual roll of her hips and the way her chest rises and falls in breathy pants.
Every inch of her is fucking ripe.
She turns her head, her heavily lidded eyes meeting mine where I’m standing in the doorway. Her lips curl.
“Am I breaking the rules?” she asks with a breathless laugh, even as the muscles in her thighs and abdomen begin to tremble.
No, she isn’t breaking any rules, but I will be soon.
I draw forward, approaching the bed in slow, measured steps.
As I round the end of the mattress, I stop, staring down at the exquisite creature sprawled out before me.
From this angle, I can clearly see the pink, rose-shaped vibrator she’s got pressed to her clit.
I can also see the bare lips of her cunt, and the slickness leaking from her entrance.
What a fucking waste.
She’s so goddamn gorgeous. There’s nothing I want more than to throw that fucking toy on the floor and put my mouth to work on that horny little cunt.
I palm my cock through the thick material of my pants, watching. “I’m afraid there will be consequences for this behavior, Blair.” The words come in a low, threatening purr. “You’re not supposed to make me hard.”
My entire body shudders as I work myself faster, filling the cottage with a low, pained groan of longing. What I would do to the little brat if I had her in front of me now…
She moans, the muscles in her forearm straining with how hard she’s holding the little device. “I’m prepared for the consequences. I can take it.”
I almost laugh.
“Is that right?” I round the side of the bed, stopping inches from where she’s lying. Keeping my eyes locked with hers, I watch them widen in panic as I reach down, plucking the vibrator from between her fingers.
“Shit,” I snarl, slowing the pace of my hand, because—fuck me—I’m not ready for this to be over yet. I’m already going to hell, I can let this play out a little longer.
“Damien,” she whines, watching as I lift the vibrator, inspecting the arousal coating the device.
I press my thumb to it, feeling the vibrations and the pressure of the suction… Jesus. I can do better than that.
Lifting my gaze to meet hers again, I turn the device off and toss it onto the bed. “You don’t need that thing,” I growl as I grip the hem of my T-shirt, yanking it off over my head.
Blair’s pupils dilate as they drop to my chest, then lower to the unmistakable bulge of my cock straining against my pants. “I definitely do,” she giggles, glancing up at me and catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Unless you have an alternative in mind.”
In response, I reach down, and Blair inhales sharply as I cup her warm, supple breast in my palm, drawing my thumb back and forth over her tightened nipple.
I’ve never considered myself a particularly imaginative man, but as I look down at this woman—naked and wet and horny—suddenly I have an endless list of fucking alternatives.
The thought of them alone is erotic enough to make me groan, the noise punctuating the harsh, slapping noise of my hand working my dick.
“Yes. I do.” My chest burns as I allow my hand to fall away from her breast. “Did you leave that door open so I’d see you like this?”
Blair nods, almost panting as I bring my hands to my belt.
“That’s what I thought.” I shove down my trousers and briefs, leaving me as naked as she is, and Blair whimpers when her eyes find my cock.
Without another word, I climb into the bed, kneeling between her soft thighs.
“Actions have consequences, princess, and you need to clean up your own messes. You’ll learn that in a moment, when I’m pounding this wet little cunt, giving you the rough fuck you deserve. ”
My eyes flick up to hers, suddenly worried I’ve gone too far, but all I see there is desire.
I grip my base, smacking my cock against her wet slit.
There’s nothing I want more than to see that, but I’m too fucking far gone, and I can’t hold it back.
My orgasm tears through me, sudden and violent, filling the cottage with my roar of pleasure.
My release leaves me in long, heavy spurts, covering my hand, the ground, even the fucking door.
I can’t remember the last time I came so hard, or so much, and my knees almost collapse under me when it’s finally over.
I stand there panting, my eyes screwed shut and my ears ringing, as the shame and self-loathing seep in.
What the fuck have I done?
Gritting my teeth, I push away from the door and cross to snatch a hand towel from beside the sink, wiping up my mess.
I’m disgusted with myself. Even if I’m physically attracted to her—because Blair Porter is, objectively, attractive—that doesn’t change that I don’t like her. I don’t enjoy her company, and I certainly don’t want to see any more of her.
Clothed or otherwise.