Hot water plays over my already sore area, made worse when he slides his finger in just like he did earlier. I swear I don’t mean to respond for this man, but I feel the lubrication just as easily as he does, and when he pumps his finger inside, my hiss turns to a groan, my hands holding rather than pushing away.
“Spencer,” I cry out. “No, I can’t–”
“Let me try this.” He leans in close enough that his shirt soaks through and his lips silence mine. His chest presses against mine, his spare hand braces most of his weight so I don’t have to hold him up. Water splashes everywhere, and it takes every remaining brain cell I possess to keep my towel on and my head above water. “Let me show you what you want.”
“No, it’s–” My body stills as his thumb moves over my clitoris and that peeing sensation washes through my body again. Never in my life have I felt the fire in my groin, the tingles in my blood, or the way I allow myself to pee. “Oh my gosh.”
“Mm.” His lips cruise away from mine and over my jaw. His teeth nip at my skin, tiny little bites that make me whimper while his hand works beneath the surface and draws my body more and more taut. “Don’t pre-judge, Abigail. Don’t come to me with preconceived notions, because the only person that’ll miss out is you.” His hand speeds as his lips come to my neck. “And if you miss out, then I miss out. Because I really,reallywant a piece of you.”
“I’m not a possession for you to collect and tuck away in your– ahh!” I shoot up when his teeth crunch down on my neck so painfully, I swear he breaks skin. But then he does something with his hand. His thumb. His finger. He times it all so it’s like a bomb detonates, and I’m nothing but a slave to the sensations he forces upon my body. “Oh my god, Spencer!” My sob is loud and in his ear, which results in another punishing bite as my release gushes against his hand, and my bottom half spasms in the water. “Oh my– Stop, I can’t–”
“It hurt didn’t it?” He slides his tongue over the place he bit in soothing strokes, then slowly, while my heart thunders in my chest, he pulls back and stares into my eyes. His are almost black, hooded, hungry. “Did I hurt your neck, Priss?”
I’m going to cry again. I think maybe I already am.
I nod.
“And yet you came.” He grabs my jaw and holds my face tight when I try to turn away. “You came when I bit you, and you’re the only person here struggling to accept it. You want to be filthy, Priss. You just won’t admit it.”
“Spencer.” I try to turn away again, if only to reclaim the smallest scrap of dignity. “No. I can’t– That isnothow this is supposed to work.”
“Mmm. That’s two now. You’ve come on my hand twice in one night, but how many times have I come because of you?”
Fear skitters through my blood as I pull back. In my mind, it’s like he just demanded I do something for him I have no clue how to do. Like if I said no, he might force me.
I know it’s not true. He scares me half to death, but not because I think he might hurt me… thatotherway. He bites, but he won’t hit.
“Twice, babe.” My mind races as he flashes a wink, then he leans forward and drops a noisy kiss on my lips before he pulls away and stands.
My vagina throbs ten times more than it did when I first climbed into this tub. It throbs with pain. It throbs with residual pleasure. My brain throbs with confusion, but then he unsnaps his pants and pushes the zipper down.
“I wanted to jerk off a dozen times this week while I thought of you.”
My throat goes desert dry when he pushes his pants down a couple inches.
“I wanted to touch my cock and think of you, but it was so off limits. You were so innocent and untouchable – what, with your church girl clothes and aversion to cussing. I felt like a total pervert when I considered it. But it’s not actually like that, is it?” He pulls his penis out and strokes until my lungs cease to work completely. “You put up this front, Abigail, you pretend that you’re too pure for a mere mortal. But you just came undone for me, and it was because I bit you.”
“No, I–”
“Cried out for me.” He strokes himself and continues to drag my eyes down to his hand. His penis is purplish and veined. It looks strong, andseveraltimes thicker than his finger. “You can use your words as much as you like. You can claim them to be truth, you can vow that words are all we need. But your body says something else.” He grunts as he pulls, and his strong hips jut forward. “Your body can’t lie to me, Priss. So you can talk shit all you like, you can pretend that it pains you to swear. You can wear your clothes, and play innocent for everyone who ever comes into your store, but you,” he grunts, “will,” he grunts again, “always,” and again, “come apart because of me.” He throws his head back and pants. “You will never, ever escape the truth.” He brings his eyes back down and pins me in place. “And the truth is, you come on my hand every time I touch you. You’re a closet freak begging for someone to dominate her. I found yourthing, babe. It’s me. You want me to take control of your pleasure, because then you get to be dirty, but pretend it wasn’t your idea.”
“No, I–” I jump half out of the water when milky white liquid shoots over my towel. Spencer continues to stroke himself, but his eyes are scrunched closed, the muscles in his shoulders and neck bunched and tense. “Oh my gosh.”
“Fuckkkk.” His breath comes fast and fills his chest as his hand stills. I’m too shocked to move, too afraid to remind him I’m here. I don’t want to look into his eyes. I don’t think I can handle knowing what’s going on inside his brain.
Quietly, and without making any splashing sounds, I bring my hand up and cover my mouth. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to shout. But underneath it all, I want to ask if that really just happened.
And if it did, was he truly thinking of me?
“It was my hand, Priss.” Spencer’s eyes slowly open and come to mine. He tucks himself back into his pants and slowly pulls the zipper up. “My hand, but you’re right here giving me the visual, so we’ll call it almost even. Next time, we’ll use your hand.”
“What– No! We won’t.”
A lazy grin slides over his face as his eyes travel along my body. “Yeah, I think we will. And what’s more, I think you’ll enjoy it.” He steps forward and doesn’t stop again until his knees touch the side of my tub. The water isn’t hot anymore, though I honestly couldn’t say when it turned cold. My bubbles are long gone, and my towel sits askew and shows off a little of my stomach. “You want me. And when I push you down to your knees for me, you’ll weep, but it won’t be because you’re sad. It’ll be because you found yourthing. You weren’t holding out for love. You were holding out for a firm hand. Formyhand.” He leans forward, but takes no offense when I cringe away. He slides the tip of his finger through a puddle that hasn’t yet soaked into my towel. It’s white and creamy. And I’m not naïve enough to not know what it is.
He collects some with his finger, then with his left hand, he takes my wrist and pulls my arm away from my body. When the scar on my arm is exposed, he grins and rubs the moisture in, ignoring my shocked gasp. “It’s good for your skin, babe. I’ll happily supply you with more any time you’d like.”
I’m too stunned to do anything but watch his eyes. He concentrates on my arm, and I concentrate on him.