Chapter 8 Emi #2
“I know exactly when he gets home, and you’re right,” he says, “we have less than thirty minutes. You have two choices. You can fight me as much as you want. I’ll still enjoy myself, but it’ll probably take up a lot of time, and your boyfriend—who I happen to know is a scrawny tax accountant—will inevitably interrupt us, at which point I’ll use my knife to make him wish he hadn’t.
Or…” He pauses to flip me over, my hands now pinned beneath my lower back.
“You can be a good little doll and let me have my fun. The better you are, the quicker I’ll be.
I can be gone before he ever gets home, and no one has to get hurt. It’s up to you. What’s it gonna be?”
If I had any doubts about Austin’s sensitivity to my needs, he’s erased them in one fell swoop.
While pretending to be utterly cruel and violent, he’s given me a choice with this narrative.
Because there is no boyfriend. No one’s life is at risk.
If I want to continue to fight him, I can take that route, and from our earlier discussions, I know that he’ll take whatever I dish out (as long as it’s not a crotch shot).
But if that’s more intensity than I want or can handle right now, I can choose to be the girl sacrificing herself by “willingly” having sex with an intruder.
For a moment, I wonder which version of the story he would like more.
I try to read his desires in his eyes, but he interrupts my thoughts by pressing his thumb on my lower lip and dragging it across as though he’s smearing my lipstick.
He gives me an infinitesimal shake of his head, a motion so small I wonder if I’ve imagined it. “Choose.”
And with that one word, I hear all the things he isn’t saying.
I’m leaving this up to you.
I want whatever you’re comfortable with.
Remember, you’re the one with the true power here, not me.
Without breaking character, he’s reassured me of everything that makes me feel safe with him. And though I’m interested in trying a scenario someday where I put up more of a fight, I’d like to ease into things a bit my first time.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I say, adding a little tremor to my voice. “Just please, don’t hurt my boyfriend.”
“That’s a good doll.” He crushes his mouth to mine and nips my lower lip as he pulls back. “Now don’t you move. I’m gonna find something to help you stay good.” He gets off the bed and returns moments later with a suit tie. “Make sure you thank your man for helping me to restrain you.”
He rearranges me into the center properly, binds my wrists together with one end of the tie, then secures the other end to the slats in his headboard.
With my arms stretched above me and my wet hair trapped beneath my back, I feel chilled and drawn tight.
It’s just enough to keep me on that edge as a reminder that my comfort isn’t a concern here, at least not to a degree.
I’ve managed to keep my legs together, but it’s a small victory, and one I’m hoping will be short-lived.
Grabbing my jaw in one hand, he forces my attention onto him. “You got anything you want to say to me?” He sounds cruel, but his eyes convey what his tone doesn’t. Do you need your safe word?
“No,” I say simply, hoping he can see on my face that I’m still okay.
“Good,” he whispers with a firm nod of his head before releasing me to stand next to the bed.
As I watch, he reaches between his shoulder blades with one hand and pulls his T-shirt off over his head.
The move is so fluid and sexy as hell. His stripper job is to thank for that, no doubt, but when he drops the shirt and begins undoing his jeans, I lose all track of my thoughts.
My throat goes dry even as my mouth starts to salivate at the decadence of his body.
I’ve been around muscular men my entire life, but Austin’s physique puts them all to shame.
Dancers are lean and toned, with long, sleek lines.
But he’s broad and thick everywhere, his muscles creating steep hills and valleys I want to map out with my tongue over and over again.
He doesn’t remove his jeans, simply pushes them partway down his ass; enough for him to pull himself free and holy shit. Speaking of broad and thick. Giving himself a few rough strokes, he smirks. “Guessing by the look on your face, my cock is a damn sight bigger than your boyfriend’s.”
That would be an understatement. He’s a lot bigger than any of my previous lovers.
I’ve heard of a tight fit, but this might be ridiculous.
He must see the trepidation in my eyes because he chuckles, and it doesn’t sound totally unkind.
“Don’t worry, doll. I know exactly how to get every inch of my cock into that tight pussy of yours. Now open those legs for me.”
I don’t move. I don’t want to be completely complacent just yet, and I have a feeling he’d like me to still make him work for it a little.
A sinister grin curls up as his gaze heats, raking down my body like hot coals.
He wedges callused hands between my knees and pushes out, exposing me completely.
I shiver, as much from his blatant stare at my bare sex as from the cool air kissing my slick lips.
“Yeah.” He drags the word out in dirty reverence and kneels on the bed, using his legs to keep mine wedged apart as far as they’ll go. “Fucking knew you’d be wet for me, little doll.”
I love that he calls me that. A tiny voice in my head says I should feel ashamed for getting turned on by all of this.
As much as I hate to admit it, as the only child of ballet royalty and a CEO of a major corporation, I have been treated like a princess my entire life.
I shouldn’t like being referred to as a plaything, a toy for him to do with as he pleases.
I shouldn’t, but I do. Because I’m so sick of listening to what everyone else tells me. I’ve been obedient my whole life. And when my time with Austin is over, I’ll continue to be the dutiful daughter, the professional teacher. The loyal wife…
I give myself a mental shake to bring me back to the present. That time isn’t now, and I’m not going to worry about it until I have to. I’m going to enjoy my freedom for as long as I have it. I’m going to enjoy being his doll.
With his left hand, he strokes himself lazily, totally incongruous with the intense hunger in his eyes.
His right hand slides up my leg, his fingertips pressing into my thigh as though trying to imprint his touch into my flesh by force.
They leave sparks of electricity in their wake and I’m practically vibrating with anticipation.
Finally—finally—he reaches my center. Using his thumb, he manipulates my pussy lips. Pulling, pushing, spreading my arousal over every sensitive inch. But no matter how much I twist my hips, he manages to avoid touching the swollen bundle of nerves at the top.
His free hand clamps down on my pelvis. “Hold still,” he growls. “This isn’t about you. It’s about what I want, and I want inside this hot cunt.” No one has ever spoken to me so crudely or used such vulgar language in my presence. No one would dare. Which is exactly why I like it.
A thick finger enters me, sliding easily into my wet pussy. My hips are pinned down, but that doesn’t stop my back from bowing off the bed as waves of pleasure ripple through me. I draw in a sharp gasp but clench my teeth against the moan that wants to break free.
He fucks into me—one, two, three times—then adds another finger.
He doesn’t ease me into it, doesn’t talk me through it, doesn’t allow me the time to think or overanalyze.
I’m forced to only feel, and it’s an absolute revelation.
A third finger joins the others, and a small sound escapes despite my best efforts.
The fit is tight but there’s no pain with how wet I am, just a delicious sensation of being stretched to accommodate him.
“Fuck yes,” he says, his gaze glued to where his fingers are penetrating me over and over. He adds a twist to his thrusts, hitting me in a new spot that has the imaginary band in my belly twisting, twisting…
“Oh my fucking God!” There’s no holding back the moans as my legs start to shake, and my world shatters in a tsunami of white-hot flames that consume me from the inside out as I come harder than I ever thought possible.
Powerful twitches seize my body with random aftershocks.
My head is in the clouds, but I’m vaguely aware of heavy hands petting and stroking me all over while a low voice murmurs things I can’t decipher into my ear.
I don’t know how long it takes for me to become coherent again, but when my eyes focus on the man bracing himself over me, I instantly slip back into our game.
“See,” he says in a cocky tone, “if you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t be soaking the bed right now. Guess that makes you a doll and a liar.”
I put a little spice into my words, narrowing my eyes at him for good measure. “I’m imagining my boyfriend, you dick.”
“I’m a dick?” A spark of excitement lights in his eyes even as his gorgeous mouth twists into a convincing snarl. “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll show you just how big of a dick I am.”
I don’t know where the condom came from or how the hell he got it on so fast, but before I process what’s happening, he falls onto me, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
I have less than a second to register what it feels like—the abrading of his chest hair on my sensitive nipples, the way our stomachs meet and separate with our breaths, the sweet pressure of his hips notched between my thighs with the scrape of his zipper and denim on delicate skin—and then the head of his thick cock slides into place, and he’s driving home in one smooth thrust.
“Fucking hell,” he grounds out between clenched teeth.