With one of his hands still encasing my mouth, the other massages down my breasts. He lets out a groan so long and rough it rumbles through my spine. When I thrash to wrestle free, he only presses himself harder against me, pressing the entire length of my body against the wall, sandwiching me between his warm hands and powerful body.
There is no mistaking his arousal at this moment. The length of him presses into my lower back, beating against me in obvious intention.And warning.
He kicks one of my heels out slightly, widening my thighs.
I need to see. We need to talk. The memory is eating me up every moment we ignore it. “Turn the light on,” I plead, my words muffled against his palm.
“No,” he says softly. “You’ll like sensory deprivation. You can hide in the darkness of my making. Relying on all your other senses. All the feelings I offer you because you deserve them. Because you’re such a good girl. So grown up. So strong. So beautiful.” He slides his hand away from my mouth slightly, allowing me to speak. “Have you been told that lately, baby?”
I shiver, fighting the emotion wanting to erupt behind my eyes. “I don’t need to be told that. I’m not a child.”
Covering my mouth again, he laughs. “No. But doesn’t daddy call you that?” Heat floats down the skin on my neck, followed by his tongue lapping up the slender column, provoking a long moan from me that rumbles against his palm.
My heart flutters, begging him not to stop, while my mind screams for him to. I try to talk, but it’s impossible; the words come out as desperate whimpers laced with need and fear. “I can smell how aroused you are, baby. I can almost taste you in the air.” He growls as his hand dips between my legs. Lifting my dress up to around my waist, he grips me hard.
God, he’s doing this.
Right here.
I stifle a sob, tears threatening to fall as guilt takes hold. “Don’t make me cheat on him.”
He spreads his fingers at my mouth, allowing me to speak. “What was that?”
“Please, don’t make me cheat on him.”
He tightens his grip around my mouth. His tone seems to have deepened as he whispers, “Each time you let him touch your skin, your hair.” He cups me between the legs, and I press myself shamelessly against his palm. “This pussy, you have cheated on me. He owes me a debt, baby. As do you.”
I stifle a moan, but it reverberates from within my throat anyway as two fingers press against the wet lace between my thighs. And I remember. . . I remember the first time he touched me between my legs. I remember the way he was in awe of me. I remember his smiles. His laugh. How we played. The pain of that day mingles with all the joyous times, and I embrace them. Because he isn’t just angry with me. We are more than just that day. I cry, emotions erupting within me.
He rolls his fingers up between my folds, the material between them intensifying the feeling - a lace-like caress moving in long, firm strokes. He uses his entire palm to hold me to him, his fingers buried between my arse cheeks, his thumb beginning an assault on my clit - a grip that locks onto that part of my body in a possessive and protective way.
“What do you let him do to this body?My body? Do you let him run his tongue over it?”
He growls. Seemingly unsettled by his own words, he suddenly rips my knickers aside, sinking a long, skilled finger into me. I mewl against the ambush of his talented finger when it thrusts with a knowledge of my body, hitting all the sensitive spots with perfect precision. “I’ve got you, baby. You should remember how I can make you feel.”
His mouth crashes against my neck, biting the bend where my collarbone meets my shoulder. His hand tightens around my cheeks and jaw, demanding I lift my chin to allow his lips and tongue and teeth full access to my throat. The fingers inside me speed up, fucking me hard against the wall, sliding in and out quickly, drawing sensations from me.
My head spins.
Somewhere in this confused, pleasured state, I hear a click, and then Bronson’s hand leaves my pussy. The agony of his sudden absence is like torture. He twists me to face the door, where a burly man stands wide-eyed, staring directly at the barrel of the gun Bronson is pointing between his eyes.
Jesus Christ.
I grab at Bronson’s hand, clawing for him to release my mouth.
Put the gun down!
The man raises his arms, swallowing hard, shaking even harder, a vibrating mass of lax muscles beneath a tailored suit.
“Get in here,” Bronson states, his voice a smooth hoarse purr. Using the tip of the gun, he gestures him in. “Sit in the corner with your back to us. If you move, I’ll use this gun on you and it won’t be in the way you think.”
The man swallows. “Are you hurting her?”
“Only in the way she likes.”
The man does as he’s told, sitting and facing the wall opposite us. Bronson kicks the door shut, leaving us in near darkness again. My pulse sounds through my entire body as Bronson shuffles around behind me, sliding the gun into the back of his pants.
“No one is going to take this from my girl. So you’re now the luckiest man on earth. You get to listen while I make her come all over my fingers.”