Chapter 18 #2
“Turn around and crawl to the end of the bed,” he said. “Or do you want me to go? Do you want me to leave you all alone with that pathetic fucking husband who can’t knock you up?”
“Don’t go,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Get on the bed for me then.”
I spun around slowly, cheeks feeling too hot as I leaned forward, my hands on the bed before my knees followed. There was a sharp “fuck” that was being hissed out behind me as I moved. Inch by inch, I crawled, stopping only when I reached the pillows.
“Turn back around,” Bridger said. “Spread your legs for me.”
Following his instructions, I turned and leaned up against the headboard, completely exposed from top to bottom.
I spread one leg, then the other, my eyes zeroing in on Bridger’s face, watching the way his head tilted and his eyes raked up and down my body.
He stood at the foot of the bed, pushing one hand through his locks.
He was all tall and wide shouldered and mean, his length so obviously hard behind his jeans, but he wasn’t reaching for his belt.
“Bridger,” I let out, voice shaky.
It was wrong. Bad. Cheating. Was it cheating if he didn’t touch me and if I didn’t touch him, and I just showed him every inch of my body that still ached for him? It wasn’t that bad, right?
“Look at that pretty pussy,” Bridger hissed, gaze stuck on that spot. The most intimate part of me. “Fuck, when was the last time I tasted it?”
I remembered. The day before that happened. Before he was arrested. In my room, my hand pressed to my mouth to keep my moans muffled.
“Play with your clit for me,” he said. “Spit on your fingers and play with that little clit.”
I raised a brow at him. “You gonna point your gun at me if I say no?”
“No.” He chuckled deeply, his eyes flickering up to meet mine. “Might point it at your husband and make him watch, though. Might even pull the trigger.”
My husband. He was downstairs, asleep and drugged out of his mind, all while I laid on the bed with my legs spread for the man who hurt him in the first place.
“You wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“I would. I’d do it in a second too,” he said. “Kill him. But make him watch first.”
“Make him watch what?”
He stilled. Unblinking, unmoving. “Make him watch me fuck you.”
I couldn’t even hold back my whimper. For a moment, I imagined it. Gordon tied up. Bridger on top of me. Behind maybe. Taking me, filling me up so, so deep, all while Gordon had no choice but to watch. The thought made my eyes flutter shut. Why did I want that? Why did I need it?
“You’re thinking about it,” Bridger said, a deep chuckle there in his words. “Yeah, you are. You want that, huh? Want me to drag him up here, tie his hands behind his back, and make him watch as I fuck his wife?”
A moan left me. A whine, really, all needy and helpless. “Bridger…”
“Finger on your clit, princess. Do it.”
Holding in a whimper, I raised my middle finger to my lips, letting spit trail from in between my teeth, letting the slick, sticky liquid coat the tip of my finger. I moved it lower, right to that spot between my thighs, to the spot that Bridger used to touch with so much skill and precision.
“There we go,” he said. “Rub your clit.”
My eyes closed, my touch soft and light as I began to circle at that spot.
I kept holding in any and all noises of pleasure as I played with myself, wishing it didn’t feel as good as it did, wishing it didn’t feel so good that Bridger had his eyes on me.
Just knowing that he was there, right in front of me, made me rub at my clit that much faster.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Just like that. Remember how many times I used to come all over that pussy while you played with yourself? I should do that tonight. Or maybe I should just come inside you. Maybe I could do your husband a favor and do what he’s not man enough to fucking do.”
It was filthy, filthy, filthy, but those words still had me whining loudly. Bridger knew what I liked, what I loved, what I hated, what sparked that fire inside of me. And I always adored it when he talked to me like that: all crass and dirty, stringing words together that I’d never think of.
“How long has he been tryna knock you up?” he asked. “Last couple years? Since you got married?”
“Second one,” I managed to let out.
He chuckled, all low and dark. “Five fucking years? He hasn’t managed to get the job done in five. Fucking. Years?”
My head shook, eyes half lidded, but I could still see two things. One, all of that enjoyment in Bridger’s eyes, because Gordon’s inability to do what he had built our entire marriage around was obviously hilarious to him.
And two, Bridger lazily pulled out a box of smokes from his jeans pocket, yanked one out, and stuffed it between his lips. He lit it, his motions all languid, all slow, like he had all the time in the world. Like he hadn’t just broken into my house again.
“You know what that makes him, right?” Bridger asked.
I didn’t give him an answer. I knew he was going to tell me anyway.
“That makes him a fucking failure,” he hissed. “You didn’t marry a man, Juliette. I bet he blames you. I bet he says you’re the problem. Is that right?”
I nodded, all fast and eager, chewing at my bottom lip and rubbing at my clit as my legs spread a little wider.
I was giving him complete and utter access to my body, giving him a view he hadn’t earned.
If he climbed on top of the bed and pulled his length out, I knew right then and there that I wouldn’t be able to say no.
I’d let him take me. Fill me. Make me his.
“Bridger,” I whined.
“Poor thing,” he cooed, blowing out a long stream of smoke.
“Poor fucking princess. I bet he fucking wrote it down in the calendar. When he’ll fuck you.
How he’ll fuck you. Bet it was the same thing every time.
Five minutes of pure fucking boredom, of him trying so damn hard, but none of it worked. You wanna know why?”
I whined, waiting for him to speak again. To say whatever cruel thing that just made me want him more.
“I think,” he said, eyes flicking down to my center, “that perfect little pussy of yours knew better. You’re not taking useless fucking seed from a weak man. From a man who can’t do it right. Nah, I think you were waiting for me. You were waiting for a real man who could actually pull it off.”
I mewled. “Bridger.”
“Remember how I’d stretch you out? How I’d fill you up?
Took so much fucking work too, you were that tight.
But I didn’t mind. I liked working for it.
Liked getting you ready for me, liked licking that pretty clit until you were soaking fucking wet.
Tell me, baby, did you ever imagine me fucking that pretty pussy in the last five years? ”
“Y-yeah,” I stuttered out, not willing or able to lie to him. “All… All the time.”
The sound of his low chuckle filled the room. A cocky one. He was loving it. Why wouldn’t he?
“Should I get my cock out, honey?” he asked. “Bet you’ve missed seeing a real man’s cock. Touching it. Tasting it. Getting fucked by it. Do you wanna see it?”
My eyes finally opened up, and there was Bridger, one knee on the bed and his eyes all dark and hungry.
My finger pressed to my clit tighter, feeling that pressure building.
I was close. My lips and hands trembled as I locked eyes with Bridger, our gazes stuck on one another for one long moment before my eyes moved lower.
Lower, lower, lower. Until I got to that big, hard bulge behind his jeans.
“I wanna see,” I admitted, voice all weak and pathetic. “Please.”
“See what?” he asked with one raised eyebrow.
I mewled. “You know what.”
“No. What?”
“Bridger.”
“Hm?”
“Show me. Please.” I blinked, lashes fluttering as I kept circling that finger against me, my clit all swollen and wet now. “Please, Bridger.”
“What do you wanna see?”
“You know.”
“Tell me. Use your words.”
“I wanna see your cock,” I said with a pathetic mewl.
“Say it one more time. Louder.”
I breathed in deeply, still toying with my clit. “I wanna see your cock.”
“Louder, baby.”
“I wanna see your cock!”
Bridger chuckled. “Think he heard that?”
Oops. I had forgotten about Gordon. I groaned, my finger still not leaving my center. “Dirty trick,” I managed to say.
“Mm, maybe. But it’s gonna feel so fucking good when you come that I don’t think you’ll care. Either way, you’re loving this. You love playing with your pussy while I watch. Are you close, sweetheart?”
I nodded. “Show me. Please, let me see you. Please.”
Long, tattooed fingers made their way to Bridger’s belt. He undid the first clasp, the sound of clinking metal hitting my ears. My teeth bit at my bottom lip, waiting, waiting, waiting, but he wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t give me what I wanted.
It had been so long since I had last seen him. He was thick and long and perfect, his length always stretching me out just right as he filled me up. I could almost feel him; I could remember the sensation of him that well. The way he’d slide into me, the way he’d twitch and throb as he took me.
But then he came to a sudden pause in front of me, hands halting at his belt. “This what you want?” he asked. “You wanna see real cock? Not whatever pathetic fucking thing you’ve been tolerating the last five years?”
“Yes.”
“Do you deserve it?” he asked, too much amusement in his voice.
I whimpered. So close. God, I was so close. “Yes.”
“I don’t think you deserve to see it.” He did his belt back up, his voice all firm and final as he took away from me what I was craving so badly to see.
And then I literally whined. It was such a loud, pathetic noise. It was so pathetic that I could have sworn I saw a happy little glint in Bridger’s eyes.
“Aw,” he tutted. “Yeah, you miss it, don’t you? Miss seeing a real cock. It’s been so fucking long since you’ve seen one that’s not fucking useless and actually works.”