I frowned. “I don’t think you’re like Michael. You’re not. I know that in my bones. I’m not saying your revelation wasn’t a shock or that it didn’t hit me hard. And for a moment, yeah, I thought of him. But it was just for a second. You’re not a sadist. You didn’t get into those fights because you’re cruel and it feeds something perverse inside you. You didn’t torture, maim, and kill your opponents.”
“But I torture Liza in my own way. Isn’t that what Michael did? Delivered justice?”
“No, Michael used that as an excuse for the things he did. And I think, if you really thought about it, you’d realize that it’s not so much about torturing her. She manipulated, used, and hurt you. Took the control from you. You’re trying to take that control back by sweeping the rug out from under her the way she did you.”
Blake lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “Maybe.” He danced his fingers along my jawline. “Whatever the case, you would have had every right and reason to want to leave me. I couldn’t have blamed you for it.”
“I have my own share of baggage. You accept mine. I accept yours.”
He brushed his mouth over mine. “Yes, it seems that you do accept it. And that astounds me.” Curling his arms around me, he rocked me from side to side. Neither of us said a word. We just absorbed the moment. Taking comfort, giving comfort, reconnecting. Blake brushed my hair away from my face and said, “Home. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. His mouth curved a little, but the smile was strained and didn’t reach his eyes. My chest tightened. He’d relived his past hurts tonight; walked down a harrowing memory lane and torn open his wounds to share them with me. It had all taken its toll on him, and I wanted to ease his anguish somehow. Wanted to lift his mood and take his mind off it all. “I have one final question. What did you mean by, ‘You like pulp, right?’ It’s been driving me crazy.”
He gave me a slow, panty-dropping smile. “I’d rather show you.”
“Then by all means, do.”
He stared at me, incredulous. “Kensey, I just offloaded a bucketful of shit on you. Don’t you want some time to, I don’t know, process it?”
“Nope.” I wasn’t going to give any more of our evening to Liza Montgomery. “I honestly just want to know what pulp could possibly have to do with the basement. Show me.”
His fingers raked into my hair. “You amaze me, Kensey. You should be trying to run. Far and fast. It would be a pointless attempt, but you still should try. Instead, here you are, pressed up against me, asking me to take you to a private room and have my way with you.”
“Well, you’re quite the rock star in bed.”
He chuckled. “If my baby wants me to take her to the basement, that’s what I’ll do. As long as she’s sure.”
“I’m sure.”
He kissed me again, greedy and possessive. “All right. Let’s see if our room is ready.” He dug out his phone again, keeping his movements slow as if to give me time to change my mind. I didn’t. He tapped the screen a few times before putting the cell to his ear. “It’s Blake. Change of plan. I’m coming early. Is the room I booked ready yet?” A pause. “You have five minutes.” He ended the call. “You sure about this?”
“I told you, I’m sure.”
“Then let’s take a slow walk to the elevator.”
Once we arrived at B1, he said, “You won’t need a drink.” He didn’t take me to a table, he headed straight for the door that led to the dome and private rooms.
“I won’t?”
“No.” He ushered me through to the hall and came to a stop just before we reached the dome. With a swipe of his card, he unlocked a door and guided me inside with a hand on my lower back.
I gaped as I found myself inside a small movie theater that smelled of popcorn, butter, and salt. There were several tiered rows of dark cushioned seats facing a large screen that was currently concealed by drapes. The only light came from the small spotlights along the carpeted stairs.
“Back row,” said Blake.
With a nod, I headed up the steps to the back of the theater. As I shuffled down the row, I noticed that someone had left us popcorn and sodas. Hell fucking yeah.
As we sat down, the curtains parted, and the screen blinked to life. Moments later, Pulp Fiction began to play, and I grinned. “You know this is one of my favorite movies.”
He spoke into my ear. “Now you’re going to get fucked while you watch it. But you’re going to ride me a little first. Then I’m going to bend you over the back of that seat and fuck you.”
Damn if my pussy didn’t flutter.
“Stand in front of me, baby. Face the screen. Good girl.” Pushing up my skirt, he gripped the gusset of my panties and pulled them down. “Step out of them. Good.” He left a suckling bite on one ass cheek that made me jerk. “Now get rid of the tee and bra, but not the skirt. That’s it.” After setting my clothes on the chair I’d vacated, he urged me to sit between his thighs. “Keep your legs spread. I want to play with my pussy a little while you watch the movie and eat your popcorn.”
Fucking hell.
“Keep still and don’t make a sound.”
Locking my muscles in place, I watched as his hand disappeared under my bunched-up skirt. It turned out that by ‘play’ with my pussy, he didn’t mean make me come. No, he idly stroked it. Petted it. Danced the tips of his fingers over my folds, traced little patterns there, and even doodled his name. As if he had no goal at all and was just indulging himself.
The whole time, he avoided my clit. Still, every feather-light touch made me crazy for him. My nipples throbbed and tightened into hard, painful points. My heavy breathing mixed in with the sound effects of other people muttering, munching on food, slurping on drinks, and shuffling in their seats. You could so easily fall into the illusion of it being a real movie theater with others present.
The longer he toyed with me, the closer I was to losing my mind. It took every bit of control I had not to buck my hips or cry out for more—I knew better than that. My hands shook so much that I almost dropped my popcorn a few times. Blake balanced the box on the neighboring seat and ordered me to keep my hands flat on the armrests. He then went back to ‘playing.’
I wasn’t sure if it was accidental or because my clit was so swollen, but his fingertip softly skimmed over it. I moaned, long and loud—couldn’t help it.
He spanked my pussy. “Quiet or I’ll stop.”
Motherfucker. I didn’t dare curse him aloud, because I knew he’d prolong the agony.
He balanced the sodas beside the popcorn. “Hook your legs over the armrests.”
I swallowed. “What?” My voice cracked.
“Do it.”
I did as he asked, gasping as the cool air hit my pussy, reminding me of the way Blake often blew on it.
“That’s my girl. You’ve been good for me, haven’t you? You haven’t squirmed, haven’t complained, and you only made one noise. Shall I reward you?”
He’d damn well better, but I was well-aware from prior experience that only one answer would get me what I needed. “Only if you want to.”
He smiled against my neck. “So very smart.” He slid a finger between my folds and, oh Jesus, the relief was almost orgasmic. My head fell back as he did it again and again, rubbing against my clit each time. Then he flicked, circled, and gently plucked at it, making my pussy ache and spasm. God, I felt so unbearably empty.