Chapter 28 #2
I grab the back of her head with one hand, roughly pulling on her hair to keep her still, while the other tightens around her neck, just enough to turn her face a splotchy red.
An addictive splotchy red, with her freckled nose redder even than the rest of her as she desperately breathes in and out of it to get what little oxygen I’ll allow her.
I push into her, just as hard as I pumped my fingers into her ass before, and she does her best to suck and lick my cock as it spears her mouth. But I barely give her the chance to, fucking her hard until my balls tighten moments later and I’m coating the back of her throat with my seed.
A stream of cum spills out the side of her mouth, and I wipe it then make her suck my fingers clean.
“Behave, cricket,” I warn yet again, roughly crushing her wrists together to prevent her from touching herself.
“Let me come, and maybe I will.”
I laugh in spite of myself at her defiant words. No, not defiant. Bratty. My little brat.
I can’t think of a single other person who could get away with talking to me like she does, but where it would infuriate me with others, I find it adorable with her. Except when she’s actually serious.
And I’m forcefully reminded of just how serious she is a moment later when I topple over her, crushing her to me, and she speaks again.
“This doesn’t change a thing, by the way.”
Fuck me. I’d really like to gag her mouth again with my cock, but I can’t get hard so soon after that intense blow job. I’ll have to wait ten minutes, but then she’ll really get it.
Maybe I should buy one of those ball things that you can strap over someone’s face, but I don’t know if I can find one with a lock, and if I didn’t, she’d just figure out a way to remove it.
“Quill,” she breathes, wrapping her arms around me. “I would have thought you’d want me to be happy.”
I do. Happy around my cock.
“This is what I want. This matters to me. And you’ve always told me what matters to me is what matters to you.”
She’s trying another tactic now, and I swear this girl should be a lawyer instead of an English major.
What the hell would she even do with an English major? She says she wants to become a writer. That’s like begging to stay poor.
But it doesn’t matter, because I’ll be wealthy enough for the two of us. And I won’t let her work. I’ll keep her at home, keep her at my beck and call, so I can fuck her whenever I want.
I can’t wait till she’s mine. All mine, and only mine.
“This matters to me,” she repeats. “Plus, I miss California. That’s where I was happiest.”
“You’re not happy with me?” I ask, feeling cold at those words.
“Of course I am. That’s not what I meant.” She reddens even more than when my hand was wrapped around her neck. “What I mean is… before everything. You know…” She pauses, then brings up something she hasn’t brought up since we’ve been together. “I was bullied pretty bad, growing up in Astley.”
“I know.”
I was her worst bully, after all, and I haven’t forgotten it. I should probably feel remorse about it, too, but when I think back, it kind of just turns me on.
I guess my subconscious has always wanted control over her. The difference is that now, she wants the same thing. I didn’t really give her a choice back then when I pushed her head in the toilet, or mocked her in front of my friends, or smacked her ass in public to punish her for talking back.
The only thing I do regret is the public aspect of it. No way would I ever allow anyone to see a thing, now. I really wish I could keep her in a closet, because then, no one would be able to look at her.
I want to strangle anyone whose eyes even accidentally land on her. But I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding the depths of my obsession from her, because it would probably freak her out just a bit.
“Come with me.” Piper goes back to her initial arguments. “Come live with me.”
I hiss in frustration. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” She knows perfectly well, but she’s in denial, because it doesn’t fit her perfect Nancy Drew world. I don’t bother to answer. Instead, I’m finding myself calculating how long a round trip to California would be, and if I could possibly take one every day.
Which is completely nuts, but lately I’ve started getting two contracts a week, so there’s no way I’d be able to miss even one day here.
One contract takes about three days, the first one being preparation, the second, the kill.
On the third, I’m reporting back to Tragen and getting the following one.
That’s six days, which only leaves one free.
But one day a week is impossible. I can’t possibly survive without seeing her every day.
Staking out the contract takes the most time, and those days are hard enough, only seeing her at night. But the kill on the next day practically always takes place at night, so maybe I could be with her during the day…
No, impossible. They’d know something was off. A Devil soldier isn’t allowed to have a girlfriend. And even if those rules could possibly be bent for me—though I know they probably wouldn’t be—I do not want my girl on their radar.
No. This situation is impossible. Just impossible.
It’s back to Plan A. Gagging and binding her and keeping her in my closet.
“How about a compromise?” suggests Piper.
“I could probably fit all my classes into three days. That means I could be with you for four days a week. Even if you can’t come visit me, I’d allow you to…
” She flushes, and the words tumble out of her with difficulty, “I’d be thankful, I mean, if you paid for my tickets back to Astley every week. If you’re sure you can afford it.”
Four days is better than one, but it’s still not enough. “What about those other three days?”
She clicks her tongue in impatience. “Three days isn’t much.”
“It’s too much.”
I wind my hand around her hair, but this time, it’s not to hurt her. Just to touch her red curls, and she practically purrs, nudging at my fingers like a kitten so my touch turns into stroking her hair, her face, her neck. Goddamnit. I need this girl too much. It’s insane.
Compromise. I really fucking hate that word, especially when it’s being used by the girl who should be wrapping herself around my iron will.
“Fine,” I say, and her face brightens. “A compromise.”
“Thank you, Quill,” she gasps. “Thank you.”
“A gap year. You can take a gap year, and then we’ll figure it out later.”
Her face falls, but at the same time, she seems kind of relieved by this solution which she clearly hadn’t thought of. It reassures me to know she really didn’t want to leave me after all. It would have been a sacrifice for her too.
“Okay,” she gives in at last. “I’ll see if it’s possible to keep my scholarship if I take a gap year.”
You’ll take it anyway, I think, already imagining the letter I’m about to send in her name.
“After that, though, I’m going to college,” she adds.
We’ll see. I’ve had just about enough of her talking, so I take the panties I’d ripped off earlier, stuff them into her mouth as she giggles around them, then whip her thighs open and nestle against them.
One year gives me enough time to think of a solution. A solution where she never leaves my side.
Even if I have to gag and bind her and lock her in my closet.