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He bangs through the door, throws his kutte and T-shirt to the floor and stomps into the bathroom, starting the shower and pulling the door so that it’s only slightly ajar. No acknowledgement of me whatsoever as I lie in one of his T-shirts on the bed, reading another nasty romance novel.
I tiptoe to the door, hoping to figure out where he went and what he did after leaving me in the dining room alone. It surprised me so much to be left without a guard. I almost walked straight out the front door.
It’s just that ... Kit wants me to marry him. He’s twice my age and not at all my type. It weirds me out. If I go back, he’ll discipline me for having allowed myself to become Grisham’ whore. I’ve seen it, when girls have left the club to go to another, only to come back begging for forgiveness or protection.
And the thought of him on top of me, his cock in me ... it turns my stomach.
I listen as Grisham apologizes to someone on the other end of the phone. From the soft tone of his voice, I gather it’s his daughter and it breaks my heart to know she expects him home, but he won’t come.
After he hangs up, I give it a minute and then poke my head in, only to find him sitting on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability he’s showing me. The fact that he told me about his daughter at all is huge, and now he’s allowing me to see him like this?
I fall to my knees in front of him, not caring that I’m naked under the soft, white T-shirt I stole from his drawer. I put my hands on his cheeks and he looks at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes. Fuck, this guy is beautiful.
“You think you come off as this bad ass, this horrible person,” I say. “You’re not a bad person.”
He pulls away from my touch, stands, takes control once more. “You don’t know fuck all about me, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl,” I say.
He examines his knuckles, swollen and bloody again, and shakes out his hands. I take the opportunity to touch his chiseled chest, running my hands all over him. He puts his hands over mine and stops me.
“Knock it off,” he warns, his voice gruff.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because you don’t want this,” he says. “This place is a fucking shit show and someone is going to die before things settle down again. Might be your dad. Might be me.”
“He’s a reasonable man,” I say. “Let me tell him you’ve been kind to me.”
“Kind?” he scoffs.
“You could have raped me. You didn’t. You could have hurt me. You didn’t. That’s more than many others would do,” I say, feeling naïve for saying it.
He uses it against me. “You think because I didn’t beat you or stick my cock in you ... that counts as kindness? What the fuck’s wrong with your meter?”
“It’s just that ...”
He makes a disgruntled noise and says, “Get some sleep.”
He pulls off his boots and socks and follows with his pants. I nearly salivate over the sight of his naked body. Into the shower he goes, slamming the glass door and closing his eyes as he dips under the water.
“Fuck this,” I say under my breath, pulling open the door and stepping inside with him. He watches as the water soaks the shirt, becoming transparent, exposing the outline of my breasts all the way down to below my navel. I run my fingertips over my nipples and they pebble for me.
“This is my choice,” I say.
“Well, it’s not mine,” he says roughly. “Get out.”
I pull the shirt over my head and stand with my hands on my hips. “No.”
He spins me around so he’s got my back against his abdomen again. He seems to like to do this when he’s trying to project power. It’s like looking at my face humanizes me more and forces him to think of me as a woman and not an object.
I push away from him, out of his grasp, spinning back around. I grab his cock, huge and erect, and start massaging it. He growls, low and menacing.
He tries to ignore me as I play, but I can see the lust in his eyes. I step closer, still rubbing his dick, and allow my breasts to rub against his chest. He looks down at me and I take the opportunity to stand on tiptoes, my lips meeting his.
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t kiss me.”
“Fuck you,” I say, putting my arms around his neck, forcing my lips to his again, biting at his bottom lip.
He’s over it then, picking me up, our slick bodies meeting, his huge cock between my legs as he shuts off the water and kicks the door open. Soaking wet, he carries me to the bed and tosses me down, his mouth meeting mine so roughly that our teeth knock together.
I wiggle and squirm against him, heat rising in my belly. Our chests press together— there’s no space between us as we kiss.
When he pulls away, it’s only to move down, his teeth finding my taut nipples. “These are perfect,” he says, alternating between biting and sucking, sending shockwaves down to my core. I arch toward him, trying desperately to connect my aching pussy with his thick cock. It’s like metal there between my legs and I want it.
I realize I’m begging, whimpering. “Please, please,” I cry out. “Please fuck me. Please.”
He places his thumb on my clit and I cry out, the sensation so good but not enough. He dips a finger between my swollen folds, finding my wet hole, pushing inside.
It’s so tight, just one finger. I could come like this. He pushes slowly at first, then faster, and I feel myself building, building, building.
When he tries to fit another finger, though, he hits a barrier and reality dawns on him. His eyes go wide and he withdraws, taking a step back, leaving me flushed and wanting and frustrated.
I meet his surprised eyes and we stare at each other for a few heartbeats.
“You’ve never?” he asks.
I shake my head, blushing with embarrassment. “No.”
He hisses and walks toward the closet, punching a hole in the wall. “Fuck,” he spits as he pulls clothing from his closet and dresses. He throws a flannel shirt at me. “Cover yourself.”
I sit up. “No.”
He’s back in front of my before I can blink, his hand on my throat as he forces me down to the bed again. “You don’t get to say no to me.”
“You can’t scare me,” I say, not even trying to fight back.
He sticks his finger back inside me without preamble, his other hand still ready to choke me to death. His thumb finds my clit again and he starts a punishing rhythm against my pussy. As he fucks me with his finger, he stares into my eyes, anger and frustration pushing his eyebrows together. His nostrils flare and he wears a deep scowl.
“You think I’m some nice guy?” he says. “I’m not. I’m the only thing between you and something worse, though.”
My hips thrust to meet his violence, an orgasm nearly ready to rip me in two. Sensing it, he picks up the pace, lowering his face to just inches from mine. But just as I hit the peak, he withdraws. Lets go of my throat. Backs away.
Grisham points a finger at me. “I say what happens here.”
And then he’s gone again.
*
