Shiver

by Suzanne Wright

  The seconds ticked by as we lay there, shaking and breathing hard. Then he lifted his head and frowned. “How did we end up on the floor?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  He looked down at me, breezing his fingers down the side of my face. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispered. “Love looking at you. Love waking up and seeing you next to me. Love knowing you’re mine. I need you to stay mine, Kensey. You deserve better. More. Normal. But I need you to stay mine.”

  It wasn’t a plea. Wasn’t a question. Wasn’t an appeal. It was more of an apology. He didn’t think it was fair to keep me, but he intended to do it anyway.

  He kissed me as he withdrew his softening cock. “I was rough. Did I hurt you?”

  “Not in a way I didn’t like.”

  Rising to his feet, he helped me stand and fix my skirt. He’d just finished cleaning me up in the bathroom—he’d insisted on doing it himself—when his cell began to ring. As he pulled it out of his pocket, I glimpsed the screen just long enough to see ‘Rossi’ flashing there.

  Blake swiped his thumb over the screen and answered, “What?” He exhaled heavily. “She’s fine … Yes … Everything … No, she didn’t … I knew you’d gloat. Fuck off, asshole.” Blake ended the call and pocketed his cell. “That was Rossi. He was worried about you.”

  “And gloating? What about?”

  Blake cupped my hips. “When I took him aside in the parking lot outside the bar, he encouraged me to tell you everything. He said you’d handle it just fine. I thought it might take hours before you could even look at me, let alone talk to me or let me touch you.”

  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 p
ussy. “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.

  I licked my dry lips. “Blake,” I rasped.

  “What do you want?” he asked, voice low. “Tell me.”

  I wanted something inside me. I didn’t even give a shit what it was. But I didn’t say that—it would only give him ideas. “Your cock. I want it in me.”

  “Nothing would please me more than to sink inside you. But I don’t know if you’re ready for me yet. Let’s see.” He slipped two fingers inside me, and I had to bite my lip to hold back a groan. He hummed. “So slick.” He began pumping his fingers, licking and sucking my neck. “Imagine if someone were to walk in here right now. They’d have a gorgeous view of your pussy—all pink and wet and swollen. They’d see it sucking my fingers back inside you again and again.”

  I groaned as his free hand squeezed my breast. My body wanted nothing more than to arch into his touch, but I kept still while he alternated between shaping my breast and pinching my nipple. All the while, those fingers kept on working my pussy, careful not to make me come.

  Suddenly, he stopped and withdrew his fingers. “Stand, but keep facing the screen.”

  As I shakily got to my feet, I heard him unzip his fly and shove down his slacks. Thank fuck.

  “Now you’re going to ride me, Kensey.”

  His hands on my hips positioned me just right, and then I felt the thick head of his cock begin to stretch me open. I moaned, needing more. He yanked me down hard, impaling me on his dick in one rough move. And I came. Hard. Loud. Back arched. Fingers digging into the armrest.

  He slid a hand up my spine, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and tugged my head back. “I didn’t say you could come,” he said into my ear.

  I swallowed around a dry throat. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

  He chuckled. “That’s true, so I’ll let that one slide. But you don’t come again until I say. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good. Now do what I told you to do.” He released my hair and collared my throat. “And do it slow.”

  Keeping my hands braced on the armrests, I began to slowly rise and fall over his cock. His hand kept a firm, possessive grip on my neck that should have annoyed me but made it hotter. My eyes closed at the feel of his long, thick cock slicing through me over and over, dragging over hypersensitive muscles.

  He pinched and tweaked my nipple. “Love the way your pussy ripples around me.” He grunted as I gave him a slow, spiral, downward thrust. “You want to ride me harder, don’t you?”

  I nodded as much as his grip on my neck would allow. I badly wanted to up my pace and slam down on his cock until we both came.

  “But you didn’t try. You did exactly as I asked. And I always reward my girl when she’s good, don’t I?” He sucked on my earlobe. “Stand up and bend over the back of the seat.”

  Thighs tremoring, I gingerly stood and then bent over, grabbing the sides of the seat in front of me.

  His hands smoothed their way up my ass and back as he rose behind me. “You’re fucking beautiful, Kensey. Inside and out.” His hands curved around my shoulders. “The most perfect thing I own.” He slammed home, driving his cock balls-deep in one thrust, filling me until I thought I’d burst. My pussy squeezed and contracted around him, and we both groaned.

  My fingers dug into the seat as he began frantically punching his hips, fucking me hard and deep. So hard that I’d have toppled over if his grip on my shoulders wasn’t so tight. But I trusted him to hold me there; knew he’d never let me fall. And, honestly, I was too caught up in sensation to really care about that or the way the top of the seat dug into my ribs. Each powerful slam of his cock was as perfect as it was possessive, and I was wound so tight that it wouldn’t be long before I came again.

  Blake’s body blanketed mine as he growled, “If anyone else were here, they’d see you bent over with your tits swaying and your nipples hard. They’d see you getting ruthlessly fucked; see you taking my cock like a good girl. And the men there … they’d want you. They’d want to come up here and have their turn with you. Some would even want to use your mouth while another fucked your pussy. I think they’d offer me just about anything to have you. Would I let them?”

  I swallowed. “No.”

  “Even if you had a little fantasy of a bunch of guys taking you that way while I watched, would I let them?”

  “No.”

  He bit my earlobe. “And why is that?”

  “I’m yours.”

  “Always mine, Kensey. I’m the only man who’ll ever own you. Touch you. Fuck you. Taste you. There’s only one other person I’ll ever let make you come … and that’s you. Do it now, Kensey, make yourself come.”

  Trusting him not to let me fall, I moved my hand to my pussy and found my clit. I rubbed it once, twice, and fucking detonated. The orgasm thundered through me with the force of a storm, unraveling and devastating me. My back bowed, my mouth opened on a silent scream, and my pussy clamped down on his cock.

  Blake swore. “Fuck, yeah.” He hammered into me harder, faster, and jammed his cock deep; jet after jet of come splashed my inner walls as they quaked around him.

  The next morning, as we ate breakfast at the kitchen island, I paused with my spoon halfway to my mouth. “Blake, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I won’t move at a slower pace just because other people would say we should.” He bit into his toasted bagel. “You’re already living with me. Why shouldn’t we make it permanent?”

  “There’s a big difference between a guest sharing your space, and having someone inhabit that space with you.”

  “I know. I’m fine with that difference.” He drank some of his coffee. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem really is, Kensey?” His probing gaze studied my face as I ate my cereal. “This isn’t about your neat-freak ways. No, we’ve already established that they don’t bother me and that I don’t push your neat-freak buttons.” Realization flashed across his face. “This is about money, isn’t it?”

  “I seriously doubt you’ll let me pay half the rent if I move in here.”

  “I own the apartment, Kensey.”

  “Fine, I doubt you’ll let me pay half the mortgage.”

  “I own the apartment outright. No mortgage to pay.”

  Well, of course the rich bastard did. “You’ll insist on paying the bills yourself.”

  “And that’s wrong? That makes me a terrible person?”

  “Don’t try twisting this.” I shoveled another spoonful of cereal into my mouth. “I’m making the point that if I didn’t contribute something, I’d feel like a lodger, not like it was my home.”

  With a sigh, he grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss to my inner wrist. “I know you’ve always been highly self-sufficient. I respect the hell out of it. But why not take a little break from that and let someone look after you for once? It’s not dependency. It’s not using me. It’s not being weak.”

  “It wouldn’t feel like my home if I wasn’t contributing to it, Blake. It j
ust wouldn’t.” I shuffled more cereal into my mouth, giving him a look that said I wasn’t budging on this.

  Frowning thoughtfully, he released my hand and bit into his bagel again. “Groceries,” he said finally. “You can pay for the groceries. Food is a major contribution, considering we’d die without it. And don’t even tell me groceries are cheap. They’re not. I’ve been paying for my own for long enough to know that.”

  It honestly surprised me that he was open to negotiating this. “And if I wanted to buy something for the apartment to put my stamp on it? Are you going to tell me I can’t add my own touches? Are you going to insist on reimbursing me?”

  His brows drew together. “I have no wish to control what you do with your own money. I’d never tell you what you could or couldn’t buy. You want to put your stamp on the place? Go for it.” He took a sip of his coffee and then pinned my eyes with his. “But I pay the bills. Even if your next book makes you millions, I’d still insist on it.”

  And then I got it. It wasn’t about him being ‘the man of the house’ or that he earned more money than me. It was about control. By paying those expenses, he was in control of his world. He needed that feeling.

  Blake rounded the island and came to stand between my thighs. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”

  I gave him a look of disgust. “Don’t try to sound all vulnerable and hurt.”

  His mouth quirked. “Let’s look at the facts. You already live here, so nothing would really change—and we both know how much you dislike change. I don’t care if you want to add your own touches to the place; it’s your home, do what the fuck you like to make it feel more like your home. I’m saying you can pay for the groceries if you really want to contribute, so you can’t say you’d be relying on me to survive. And you like living here. You like the peace and the quiet and the views. Why give all that up?”

  “Stop blowing holes in my case!”

  His smile widened. “I want you here. You want to be here. Why fight it? It’s senseless. And really not worth it, since I won’t let this go.”