Chapter 23 #2
The head of my cock slides against her clit every time I rub on her. She’s bent over the countertop, panting, her little ass thrusting back against me. Wanting more.
“Tell me. Did you wear this dress for him?” I demand. “Or for me?”
Her painted pink fingernails scratch against the countertop as she bites her lip. “Fuck you.”
I slap her ass again. Savor the moan that comes out of her. “Brat. That wasn’t an answer. Tell me the truth and I’ll let you come. You need it. I know you do, baby.”
I grind my hips against her ass as I push my fingers inside her pussy. Her inner walls clench around me.
She’s close. So close.
“Walker, please,” she begs. “Please just make me come.”
“You beg so pretty, darlin’.” I reward her with one more finger, three of them now, pumping in and out of her. “Just tell me the truth and I’ll give you what you need.”
The groan that comes out of her, half frustration and half ecstasy, makes my balls tighten. And what she says next nearly makes me lose it.
“You,” she grits out. “I wore it for you.”
There. That’s what I needed to hear.
So I give her what she needs too, now. With my fingers inside her and my cock rubbing against her clit, it feels so close to sex. Enough that I can change the angle and know I’m hitting exactly the right place to make her fall to pieces.
I can’t stop looking at her. My eyes are riveted to her face, half turned towards me. I watch as her eyelids squeeze shut and she bites her glossed lips and lets the climax roll through her.
The sound she makes as she comes sends me over the edge too.
I come hard. Really fucking hard.
My seed shoots all over her pussy lips, her ass crack. The sight of all that cum splattering all over her makes the orgasm even more intense, keeps it going until I’ve made a mess of her and I’m empty and spent.
We’re both breathing hard. And because I’m me, territorial and fucked up and obsessed, I don’t stop there.
With my fingers, I push all the pearly liquid between her pussy lips into her cunt. Pushing it far inside her as I can reach, working it in deep.
Her pussy flutters around my fingers, aftershocks of her orgasm. She likes this too.
“All that and you’re still a virgin, sweetheart,” I murmur. “Just think. If you get pregnant, we can call it an immaculate conception.”
She turns her head to glare at me, still blazing with defiance even with her dress pushed up around her hips and glistening with my cum.
She rises from her elbows to prop herself up on her hands. “What if I weren’t on the pill, you reckless fool? What if you really had gotten me pregnant just now?”
I hope I did. I hope you’re ovulating. I hope I just put a baby in you.
I just smirk at her. “Then we better start making wedding plans.”
The glare intensifies. “Lucky for you, I don’t have a daddy to march you down the aisle at gunpoint. And lucky that I’m on the pill anyway.”
Ignoring the pang of disappointment I feel at that, I gently pull her panties back into place.
“Wouldn’t need a shotgun to get me down the aisle with you, Sadie.”
Far from it.
I put a lot of cum inside her just now. Those panties will be soaked with it soon enough.
My arms come around her properly, pulling her back against my chest. I trail my mouth along her smooth, soft, perfumed skin. Behind her ear. Her cheek. She’s gonna have her work cut out for her, hiding those hickeys with her hair.
Fucking good.
“I’m gonna send you off to your little date with a dripping wet pussy,” I whisper, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“And when you sit across that table from him, in that dress you wore for me, with your panties soaked and your legs crossed so my cum doesn’t leak out of you, you’ll remember who made you this way.
” I press my lips to her skin. “Good luck to your country boy.”
She’s leaning back, leaning into me. Arching her neck so I can kiss it. “I hate you,” she says softly.
I press my lips to her throat. Right where her pulse is racing fast and hard as mine. “You should. It’s better if you do.”
She exhales. Long and slow. Her head tips back against my shoulder and her eyes close and for a moment we just stand here in my kitchen in the silence while I caress her soft body, pressing almost-kisses to her throat, her cheek, her hair.
“You look stunning, by the way,” I say. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Holding her now, the red haze of madness receding, I feel everything else creeping in: regret and shame, that post-nut clarity that tells me what an absolute, irredeemable piece of work I am.
The things I do to her. A virgin.
I turn into a beast around her.
All the more reason to let her go. To push her far away from me.
And now she's going to leave. She should leave.
I need to let her go.
I reach down and tug her dress back into place. Smooth it with both palms, careful, like I didn't just mark her up like an animal. Like I'm not standing here with every muscle in my body screaming at me to pull her back and keep her here and not let her walk out that door.
She turns around to face me. Cheeks flushed. Eyes sparking. Chest still rising and falling too fast. Her lip gloss is perfect because I never kissed her mouth, like I’ve been dying to do.
It’s the line I keep not crossing, like that's the thing that would make this real, like everything else doesn't already count.
And she looks furious and incandescent and so beautiful I can't breathe.
“I know why you're blocked,” she says suddenly.
I freeze.
And she knows she’s got me under her spell. She knows she doesn’t have to raise her voice to have every iota of my attention.
“I know why you can't write a song,” she continues. “Why you think the music is gone.”
I want to look away, but I can’t. Her eyes are clear and blue as the sky.
“You're afraid to be vulnerable. Like any of us mere mortals. But making art means cracking your ribs wide open and letting someone else get a look at your raw, beating heart. It means knowing you’re gonna get hurt and doing it anyway. Once you're ready to do that again, the music will come back.”
I don't say anything. There's nothing to say. She's right. She’s describing what I already knew but was too afraid to put to words.
But Sadie’s not afraid of anything.
As she walks away, her boots click loud across the wood floor. She pauses at the doorway. Eyes determined and brilliant.
“And Walker? Don’t wait up for me.”
Then she strolls out the door to her vehicle and doesn't look back. Not once.
I don't move.
I stand in the middle of my kitchen with my chest feeling like she reached in and tore it apart herself.
I don’t know how long I stand there like that.
But all I can keep thinking is that my dream girl is on a date with another man, and I’m a fucking idiot.
On the counter, my keys are sitting where I left them. I pick them up.
Sutton's is twenty minutes down the road.
I’ll make it in ten.