Chapter 9 #3
I watched her face go slack, watched her eyes get heavy-lidded.
She made a sound, a whimper, when I circled her nipple through the fabric—breathed in and out like she could barely get enough air.
I kept going, dragging it out, watching every inch of her skin for a reaction.
When I pinched her, just a little, she made a desperate little noise that shot straight to my cock.
She said, “Please,” and her voice was so raw I almost lost it.
The way she said it—like there was no possible world where I would say no. Like I was the only thing that could make her feel better. It did something to me. Something dangerous.
I moved my mouth to her throat and kissed her there, slow and claiming, then bit down hard enough to leave a mark.
She clung to my arm, nails digging in, and didn’t make a sound except for the little panting noises every time I moved.
I worked my hand under the bra, thumb and forefinger finding her nipple, rolling it, tugging it.
She went rigid, hips jerking forward, head back to bare her neck to me.
God, she was perfect.
I said, right in her ear, “Is this what you want?”
She nodded, frantic. “More.”
I shifted, pulled her higher into my lap, until she straddled my thigh.
The blanket that had been wrapped around us slid down, pooling at her hips, and she was bare from the waist up except for the sports bra, straps hanging off one shoulder.
I grabbed a fistful of her ass and ground her against me.
Even through the leggings, I could feel how wet she was, the heat of her pressed down on my thigh.
I slid my other hand over her hip, down her stomach, then inside the waistband of her leggings.
She sucked in a breath, every muscle tensing, and she bucked her hips up like she was trying to help me.
The inside of her thigh was soft and slick, and when I touched her, really touched her, she went boneless in my arms.
She whined, low, shameless.
“Tell me,” I said, my fingers just barely grazing the line of her pussy. “Tell me what you want, Angela.”
She turned her face away, like she was embarrassed, but the need was bigger than the shame. She said, voice shaking, “I want your hand on my pussy.”
I should have teased her, made her say it again, but I was dying.
I slipped my fingers in, felt the heat, the slick, the way her clit jumped under my thumb.
She was so fucking wet it made my head spin.
I worked her slow, barely moving, just enough to make her want it.
Her whole body shuddered every time I touched her, and she buried her face in my neck, biting down on my shoulder to keep from screaming.
I ground her down on my thigh and fingered her slow, one finger inside, then two, then none for a second just to make her crazy. She rutted against my hand like she couldn’t help it, chasing every tiny movement. When I circled her clit, she made that noise again, desperate.
“That’s it,” I said, mouth at her ear. “Ride it. My good girl. Take what you need from me.”
She was gone—nothing but instinct, nothing but the build and the rush and the want. Every muscle in her legs locked up, her thighs shaking, her jaw tight from how hard she was holding back. I could tell she was close, so close, but I didn’t give it to her. Not yet.
I slowed down, just enough for her to notice. She started to beg, whispering, “Please, please, please—”
I pulled my hand back, wiped it on the inside of her thigh. She whimpered like I’d cut her off mid-breath.
“You come when I say,” I told her. I used my free hand to hold her head against my chest, fingers in her hair, tight but not painful. She relaxed into it, like she’d been waiting her whole life for someone to just tell her what to do, and I felt her body get soft and loose and trusting.
I put my hand back between her legs, slow, and started over. I teased her clit, barely touching at all, then fingered her shallow, then deep, back and forth until she was gasping, shaking, her hips grinding down like she needed it more than air.
She opened her eyes, met my gaze, and said, “I need to come. Please.”
I said, “Come for me, Angela. Now.”
She came so had she bit my shoulder, the noise muffled by my shirt. Her whole body went rigid in my lap—legs locked around my hips, arms gripping my shoulders, head thrown back. She didn’t breathe for a full second, then let out this broken, wild sob I’d never heard from her before.
I held her. I pressed my cheek to her head and held on, didn’t let her go.
When it passed, she slumped against me, every bone gone soft. Her face was flushed, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. She stared at the ceiling for a second, then looked at me and started to laugh. It was a real laugh—quiet, shaky, but full of something that made my chest ache.
She said, “Fuck,” and put her hand over her face.
I kissed her, hard, tasting the sweat on her skin, the salt of her tears maybe, and she kissed me back, mouth open and hungry. She reached for my belt, one hand shaky but determined, pulling at the buckle.
I caught her wrist, held it in place. “Not yet.”
She looked at me, confused, still high from the come. “What?”
I said, “I want you, too. But you have to earn it. When you trust me, when you’re ready, then I’ll fuck you. Then you’ll be mine.”
She scowled, for real, bottom lip out like a kid denied a treat. “But—”
“No,” I told her. “Not until I say.”
She let go of the belt, slumped against me, and went silent for a full minute. I stroked her hair, gentle now, the way I’d wanted to since the day in the safe house. She pressed her face into my chest and just breathed.
She said, completely quiet, “You’re not going to let me win, are you?”
“There’s more than one way to win,” I said.
She smiled at that. It was small, soft, but real.
I shifted her in my lap, tucking the blanket around us, and just held her. She curled up, arms around my waist, her whole body melting into mine.
She was asleep in five minutes. Out cold, mouth open, drooling onto the sleeve of my shirt like she’d never fallen asleep safe in her life.
I sat there for a long time, just feeling her weight, the warmth of her, the way it felt to be needed this much.
When I finally laid her in the bed and went back to the couch, my hand still smelled like her. My lips did, too.
I didn’t sleep. I just replayed it, every second, every sound, every shudder. I knew tomorrow would be worse. I knew she’d test me again. I wanted it. I wanted every second of it.
She was going to break me, and I was going to let her.