She spread her legs wider for her pussy spanking, arched up and sucked in a breath. I drove deep just as she came. Her ass clamped around my length in pulsing contractions, wresting my orgasm from the pit of my balls.
Jesus. God. Holy Jesus Fuck Shit. I shouted expletives, half of them nonsense. Chere said nothing, only writhed and gritted her teeth. She let go of her nipples and pulled her arms up beside her, then covered her face.
Let her be ashamed. My little anal whore. I leaned over and stuck my tongue in her mouth, tasting her, licking the inside of her teeth. I kissed and savored her because I didn’t dare bite her, not in my current mood. I would have drawn blood. I was still inside her ass, rigid and hard.
“Don’t leave me,” she said, and I didn’t know if she meant her asshole or her life. She reached out to me. She was crying, not sexy crying, but the emotional kind.
I lowered myself over her, gathering her in an embrace. “Don’t cry,” I whispered, moving shallowly inside her. I brushed back her hair and kissed her forehead, and gazed into the confused, hazy depths of her eyes. “Don’t cry, starshine. It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t all right. I was bad for her, and now that she was back in my clutches, I wasn’t sure I could summon the willpower to leave her again.
Chere
My body woke before my brain started functioning. I turned and stretched, and winced. Why did I hurt? Why did I ache all over?
I stared out my window at the late-morning winter sun, and slowly things came back to me. A hand over my mouth. Shouting and fucking. More fucking, a shower. Kissing, more kissing, more fucking, a collapse on the bed. I felt a fingertip move along my thigh.
Oh God. W was back, and he was beside me.
No, not W.
Price.
I could feel his weight and sense his heat behind me. The fingertip crept up to my waist and then he pulled me back against him with a quiet groan. His stiff erection poked my ass.
“No,” I protested weakly. “I can’t.”
“You can.” His voice rumbled beside my ear, gravelly with morning roughness. “But we can’t. I don’t have any more condoms.” He chuckled and tugged at a lock of my hair. “Unless you’re hiding some of those in your nightstand too.”
I put a hand over my face. I felt the strangest impulse to cry, to weep until my pillows were soaked. In the two months I’d worked as his escort, I’d never woken up with him, not once. This was new and unfamiliar ground. I’d never spent more than a couple of hours in his presence. We’d shared finite scenes, sessions with clear beginnings and endings. It befuddled me to find him beside me, even though I’d cuddled up next to him just a few hours earlier, when we finally ran out of energy for fucking and decided to sleep.
Price. As in a sum or value, something to be paid.
“You won’t look at me,” he said in the quiet. “You don’t want to look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I didn’t know why. I just knew that I didn’t have the courage to turn to him, not now, not in the morning’s bright light. My scrapbook of his poetry was hidden under my bed, the poetry I’d obsessed over and cried over and seethed over when I came to understand he was never coming back.
But he was back. He was beside me, but he wasn’t W, he was Price, and he’d let himself into my apartment and fucked me all freaking night. He’d simply waltzed back into my life and taken me, no apologies, no explanation.
I let out a breath. I wasn’t ready for this. Now that the sex was over and my body wasn’t full of his dick, I didn’t know how to feel. I was afraid to turn and see him there, right there, blond and strong and domineering and larger than life.
I pulled away from his embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, then catapulted up to run to the bathroom. I didn’t have to pee. I just had to get away from him. As I scurried past his side of the bed, I could see him in my peripheral vision. A ghost, a blur. A specter. No, a real man. I still couldn’t believe he was here, even after all the ways he’d defiled me the night before.
“I’ll be right out,” I muttered, shutting the door. My finger hovered over the lock. It was only a courtesy lock, so people didn’t barge in while you were pissing, or undressing for the shower. It wasn’t a lock for keeping out someone like W, not if he wanted to come in.
No, damn it. Not W. Price.