Chapter 6 #2
She’s clutching my shoulders, sweaty palms against hot flesh. “A dirty, twisted criminal,” she gusts.
Her words are gasoline on my blaze.
I change my angle, my speed. I can tell from her body when I’ve found the place that will make her unravel, and I’m merciless, rubbing deeper and deeper, obliterating her walls.
It’s good. Too good.
I grab her wrists and pin them to the bed. The harsh way I’m holding her kicks up the heat in her eyes.
She’s in over her head, wanting more of what I’m giving her, even if she doesn’t know what it is .
I lean in and bite that sexy top lip, holding it loosely in my teeth.
“Mmm,” she breathes. “Guh.” She makes a few other sounds before she stops herself, like she’s determined not to show enjoyment.
I could eat that lip. I force myself to let it go.
“Fuck,” I say, burying myself inside her. “Fuck.”
I feel the clutching swell in her that tells me she’s coming, though you wouldn’t know it from her face, which is scrunched in harsh concentration because she is really committed to not appearing to enjoy it.
But she’s bad at hiding things. Bad at hiding her scorn, at hiding her pleasure. Her building orgasm.
“You can’t hide from me, baby. I’m inside your house. I know everything.”
“Buzz off,” she manages through the waves of an orgasm that I happen to know is raging through her, judging from the way her hot, wet cunt is milking my cock.
A whore who tries to hide that she’s coming and says buzz off. She’s fucking priceless—she really is.
I grab her hair while she’s still coming. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t have the wherewithal to disobey—that’s how hard she’s still coming, lips parted, cheeks pink except for those pale freckles.
The attitude is gone. I fucked it out of her—for a moment, at least.
Eventually, she comes to her senses and snaps back to scorn-girl mode, full-on glaring at me.
Who looks at me like that? All that harsh, aggressive energy. My cock feels dangerously hard.
This whole thing she’s got going gets me off in a way I didn’t think was possible anymore, and I’m fucking her savagely now, coming like a motherfucker. “Jesus. ”
She clutches my arms as I explode into her. It’s a full-soul, time-space-continuum-in-flames orgasm.
“Fuck,” I pant.
I hover over her, and for one bizarre moment, I have a sense that we’re sharing the same strange frequency. There’s a feedback loop of the big bad getting off on the prim, scornful miss and the prim, scornful miss getting off on the big bad.
It’s too much... something.
I pull out and roll over, but it takes a while for me to get myself back.
“Fuck,” I say again.
Some time passes—I have no idea how much.
I rouse myself enough to sit on the edge of the bed. My brain feels like a tossed room, all the clothing and papers pulled out of the drawers.
I always know what I’m doing, always in control. One disorganized fuck isn’t going to change that.
I focus on the view out the window, the sea of buildings and city lights. I said I wanted to get her out of my system. Well, this ought to have done it.
And I figured out what I had to figure out down there.
And now I’m getting myself back together.
I head into the bathroom and get rid of the condom.
I splash water on my face.
What kind of place does she live in? Is it a hotel? Is she really on her way to Vegas? That’s what they told me.
“And that matters why?” I drag my hand down my face, rough with whiskers.
Her cherry scent is still in my nostrils. Is it from more than her lip stuff? Body lotion? Perfume? I imagine her putting it on. Did she put it on for Dardan?
God, will she go back and find him now? Some other guy?
Something coils in my chest. I imagine keeping her all for myself. A hundred percent mine. I would unravel her secrets and bathe in her scorn.
I splash more water on my face.
I’m being fucked up. I’ll send her off and concentrate on my mission.
She’s still in bed, doing things on her phone, when I get back out. I watch her, torn between sending her away and fucking her again.
She is mine for the night, after all.
The fact that I’d even think along those lines is why I need to cut her loose.
“Put yourself back together and get out of here. Now.”
She sits up.
“That’s right, your night-long sentence has been commuted to sex served.”
It takes her a while to process this. “We’re done?”
“You need an engraved letter of dismissal?”
“Can I…” She gestures at the bathroom like she’s not sure if she can use it.
How new is she at this? Whores always use the bathroom on their way out. They use the bathroom and leave without a word. That’s the drill.
I wave my hand. “Use it and get out.”
She snatches up her skirt and panties. “One sec.”
I turn to my phone. Orton has Zedd’s corner guy, and they’re coming over with him. Good.
I scroll through my other messages. I won’t look at her again. I won’t think about her lips or her freckles or her primness or her angry edge or anything, and then she’ll be gone to Vegas.
Even if I want more of her spark and scorn and all that, I won’t be able to get at her without a fuck-ton of hassle.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s how to deny myself.