And that’s when I pull away, peeling her off me to leave her half-sitting against the confession bench with her legs splayed and her white panties on full display, lips red and swollen from the abuse I gave them. She just looks at me with a stunned expression.
I grin as I pull the curtain aside and step out, moving into the other side of the confession booth where a carved wooden screen separates us, leaving me with only a view of her red and blue hued silhouette on the other side. “Finger yourself for me, Lindsey,” I say, grinning like the asshole I am.
I pull my cock out, palming my length and eagerly waiting for the first sounds to indicate she’s obeying me.
“What?” she asks finally.
“Finger. Yourself. Put your fingers in your panties and rub that wet, swollen clit until you cum. And don’t be quiet about it, because I’m trying to get off over here.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then a faint rustling sound. I grip my cock harder, rubbing up and down as I strain my ears for any sound she’ll give me, any hint of her submission.
I hear a wet sound and a soft exhale from her, like she’s trying to be quiet. Her shyness only makes it that much hotter. I bite down on my lip, forcing myself to go slower so I don’t cum yet. I don’t want my arousal to drain out of me before I can fully enjoy every single moment of this.
The sounds of her fingers against her clit are clear now as her breathing gets heavier and heavier.
“Dip your fingers into that sweet honey,” I growl. “Two fingers up to the fucking knuckles. I’ll know you’re obeying by the sound, so don’t try to trick me.”
There’s another pause, but I hear her make a sound of slight discomfort that makes my cock twitch as I picture her sliding those delicate fingers inside her pussy like the dirty fucking girl she is. She can walk around outside with her innocent curls and big hazel eyes like the sweet and pert next door neighbor all she wants, but I have her right where I want her now. Exposed and so goddamn desperate for my cock that there’s nothing she won’t do for me, no request that’s too dirty or too crazy to try, because she’s not going to stop until she’s fucked me, and she’s just beginning to realize it.
The sound of her fingers sliding in and out of her pussy nearly makes me lose all control and go back to her side where I can ram my cock inside her tight walls and make her scream my name. I fight it, gripping my pulsing cock with a tight fist and working my hand up and down, pausing when my orgasm threatens to come.
“Three fingers,” I say.
There’s another pause, which I’m coming to love as I picture the stubborn, proud Lindsey I’ve come to know with her legs spread and her fingers buried in her sex. I picture her face contorting while she grapples with the fact that she’s in a confession booth in a castle that’s a few centuries old taking sexual orders from a man she probably hates, and I love every bit of it.
“Ah!” she says softly, sucking in a sharp breath before I hear the wet sound of her fingers driving inside her again.
“Good,” I groan, stroking myself. “Curl your fingers up against your walls now. Faster.”
Her breathing is heavy now, labored. She’s close. So close.
“Cum all over those fucking fingers for me and say my name when you do.”
Her breath hitches and her pace nearly doubles for a few seconds before it falters and I can hear the telltale intakes of breath and gasps of her orgasm.
“Say my name” I breathe, my own hand furiously pumping at my cock.
“Chris,” she gasps. “Oh God, Chris!”
“Over here. Now,” I say.
There’s more rustling and then a few seconds later the curtain to my booth opens. She’s standing there, dress pulled back down to cover herself, but I can see the wetness still on the fingers of her right hand and the way her eyes are half-lidded tells me she’s still feeling the fading waves of her orgasm.
Her eyes widen when she sees me jacking off my hard cock for her, pre-cum glistening on the tip.
“Swallow every drop,” I say, reaching for her hand and pulling her forward and down so she’s forced on her knees between my legs.
I watch the protests and arguments forming and falling away on her lips. I silence them all by pushing her head down toward the tip of my cock, and like the good girl I knew she was, she opens up, taking me in.
I roar with the pleasure of it, basking in how insanely good her hot little mouth and tongue feel around my throbbing cock. I take her hand and put it on the base of my cock, moving it for her at first until she takes over, sucking me off with increasing ferocity.
It doesn’t even matter that the blowjob is sloppy and the handjob is even less impressive. I’m so over the edge that the sight of her perfect lips wrapped around my cock is enough to drive me to a muscle-clenching orgasm that has my cock pulsing and my fist tightening around her hair.
“Fuck!” I growl.
She pulls back, hesitates for a moment, then swallows with a guilty grin. She wipes a bit of my cum from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
I take her wrist and lift her hand to her mouth. “Every drop,” I say.
She meets my eyes and licks the last of it up, chest still heaving.
I tuck my cock back in my pants and let out a long, contented sigh. Lindsey sits down with her back against the wall, pulling her knees up and not even noticing that she’s flashing me with a perfect shot of her wet panties as she does. Her eyes are distant—haunted almost.
“Go easy on yourself,” I say. “It’s just lust. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” I wish my own words didn’t sound so hollow even to me. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but it did. Didn’t it? Aren’t my veins still humming with an electricity that has me feeling alive and giddy like I’ve never felt? Aren’t I already trying to find ways to justify dragging out “this experience” for as long as I possibly can before I cut her loose?
“Maybe that’s why I feel like such a failure right now,” she says, unable to meet my eyes.
“A failure?” I ask, actually stung by her reaction. She’s not supposed to be ashamed, not on any real level, at least. Guilty, maybe, but shame?
“You have no idea how hard I tried not to end up in this position. I just—” she blows out a breath and pushes her hair from her face. “I don’t want to say it. It will sound stupid.”
“Say it.”
She chews on her lip and picks at her fingernails, still not looking up at me. “It’s like I’m mad at myself for not feeling worse about what just happened. Like some inner grandma is wagging her finger at me and it’s just not sinking in.” She pauses, eyes hardening like she’s talking to herself now more than to me. “I’m allowed to make my own choices and my own mistakes. I don’t have to be the responsible one every minute of my life.”
“You’re right,” I say.
She finally looks up at me, expression open and vulnerable for the first time since I met her. “So what do I do?”
“You come have dinner with me in the castle like I was planning before our little detour. You keep trusting me, keep letting me take the wheel for tonight.”
She makes a face that tells me she thought what just happened was the experience I’d been talking about.
I can’t help but chuckle. “This was barely an appetizer.”
15
Lindsey
When Chris and I leave the little gift shop cathedral, I feel like a different person. Aside from the slight discomfort of my soaked panties and the lingering buzz of heat between my legs from what I just experienced, there’s a lightness in my mind like nothing I’ve ever felt. A burden I wasn’t conscious of slipped away in there, and the weightlessness I feel makes me want to twirl around and smile, but Chris’ form towering beside me is like an anchor that keeps me grounded.
He’s a stormcloud, rugged and frightening but beautiful if you’re brave enough to stand firm in the face of his power, to bear the brunt of everything he has to offer. Getting invol
ved with him is laced with a bottomless pit of danger, like any misstep or loss of control could send you plummeting into his depths where the hopes and dreams of all the others who came before me lay in ruins, but in that fear is a strange exhilaration. With every step I take and don’t fall, I’m closer to an end goal I can’t even see, but curiosity and lust drive me forward, taking step after step into his darkness.
I keep replaying what he said in my mind. This was barely an appetizer. I’m sure he’s exaggerating a little bit, at least, because even fully clothed, what just happened with him was the most intense and mouthwatering sexual experience I’ve ever had. Not that it’s a very long list to compare with. I’m suddenly thankful I already scheduled a few blog posts before we came out here, because I’d be tempted to redact my review of his book as soon as I logged into the site and replace it with a glowing first-hand account of exactly how much he knows what he’s talking about. That would be embarrassing though, especially if my sisters decided to read the post, which they sometimes do.
I do feel guilt for what I just did, but being in another country and so far from my element makes it all feel like the rules aren’t as strict here, like being reckless and wild just fits here.
It’s just part of your story, I tell myself over and over. This will be the story I tell my children someday when they’re old enough, minus the graphic parts, at least. It’ll be my answer when someone asks what the craziest thing I ever did was. Time will pass and soften the edges of the entire experience until it really doesn’t seem so life-shattering, so dangerous. That’s what I keep telling myself, even though right now it feels like everything and anything I’ve ever cared about hangs in the balance of wherever tonight leads.
I’m giving a special, irreplaceable part of myself to this man to do with as he pleases, and maybe, against all odds, it will have meaning. More likely though, I’ll look back on this short period of time and feel nothing but loss because I know I gave away what I can never take back to someone who won’t value what he takes.
Yet, I’m still following him, still walking along at his side and enjoying the sensation like cold fire enveloping me, making my skin tingle all over and my head buzz.
“Where is everyone?” I ask after we’ve walked through the courtyard and up a flight of stone stairs without seeing a single tourist, despite the crowd when we came in.
“I bought the place out for the night,” he says. “Closed for business, so it’s all ours. Our own medieval castle, at least once all the cooks and wait staff leave.”
As if on cue, he opens a tall set of double doors and puts his hand around my back in a simple but possessive gesture that gives me chills. He guides me into a beautiful room, much more intimate than I expected. I was picturing the dining hall to be some kind of airy but stiff room straight out of Game of Thrones, but instead it’s not much bigger than an average family’s dining room, except the walls are carved stone, polished and buffed to a matte finish. The room is at least two or three stories tall, with a stone-carved balcony jutting out from the second floor. Dozens of candles light the space, and a heavy, dark wood table dominates the center of the room.
“Wow,” I say, running my hand along the table and admiring the flowers sitting in a vase at the center. There are plates and table settings laid out for two already and a pair of servers in bow ties and suits waiting at the edge of the room with trays of water and bread.
“Please,” Chris says, pulling out my chair and helping me to sit.
I raise an eyebrow at him. I can still taste the lingering saltiness of his cum in my mouth and now he’s pulling my chair out like a gentleman. It makes what happened between us feel even dirtier, but I’m surprised to find it doesn’t put me off. If anything, it just makes me need to press my thighs together and take a deep breath, because what felt like a full serving of Chris Savage now seems like it was just a nibble. Despite all the logical cells in my brain that are screaming otherwise, deep down, I know I’m not going to be able to walk away from what he’s offering, no matter how many times he tells me he’s going to cut me loose when it’s done. That he’s going to ruin me.
Just enjoy it while it lasts, Lindsey. It’s an experience, not a life-sentence.
“So,” I say to distract myself before I dig too deep into how I feel about everything that’s happening. “Is this the kind of treatment your groupies get? I can see why you built such a reputation.” My tone is light, but I have to admit to feeling a little bitter at the idea. It’s so easy to fall into thinking I’m special to him. Even as he’s saying to my face that I’m just like all the rest. How can I look into those eyes and feel the hunger of his hands without believing this means something to him? It’s a joke though, because I’m probably just woman number twenty who took his bait in the church turned museum, and one of countless women who’s willing to sacrifice my dignity for my own night in his spotlight, and I hate myself for it.
He unfolds his napkin and sets it in his lap with a chuckle. “No. Hell no.”
I narrow my eyes. “So I’m not different from the rest, but you’re treating me different. How does that work?”
He smirks. “It has been a while. Maybe I want my dry spell to end with a little romance.”
“You’re still assuming it’s going to end tonight?” I ask, even though the question feels ridiculous when my panties are still damp from our little engagement a few minutes ago, and I can still vividly remember how amazing it felt to have his erection rubbing between my legs and his mouth on mine.
He doesn't even crack a smile. “If I decide it will, sure. I guess if you’re not willing I could always grab one of the wait staff,” he says, nodding toward one of the girls by the wall.
An irritatingly strong jab of jealousy runs straight through me like a knife, overcoming me with a sudden urge to tip the girl’s tray of water over. Stupid. So, so, so stupid. I don’t want to be one of those crazy women who turns into a competitive, jealous bitch over her man. And Chris isn’t even close to your man, I remind myself.
“If you were going to sleep with one of them so easily, you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” I say, not liking how much it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself that I really mean so little to him.
“No?” he asks. “I could call her over and give you a demonstration if you—”
“Fine,” I say, clenching my jaw. He wants to play high school games and see how jealous he can make me? Fine. I’m calling his bluff, even if it makes me want to pull my hair out and scream like a child. “Call her over then. Fuck her on the table, maybe. It’ll help spoil my appetite so I don’t have to sit through this dinner with you.”
He glares at me, but there’s a glint of amusement in his smoldering brown eyes. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you? I wonder what else I’ll find when I unwrap you later.”
“So you’re back to me, are you? Maybe that opportunity has passed.”
“Has it?” he asks. “Or would I find those little white panties of yours still soaked? Look me in the eyes and tell me your cunt isn’t throbbing right this second, just aching to be filled up with every inch I have to offer. Tell me.”
I lock eyes with him, willing the words to come out even as my core tightens desperately, craving him just like he says. “I’m thirsty,” I mutter.
He slams his fist down on the table and barks a laugh like some medieval king, looking perfectly at place in a dining hall as grand as this. “Water, please,” he shouts to the servers, who look relieved to be allowed to do their jobs instead of watching what has to be the most awkward argument they’ve ever endured in their careers.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the girl as she pours me water.
She gives me a surprised glance. “Don’t be,” she whispers under her breath. “If you weren’t wet right now, I’d think something was wrong with you.”
I want to cover my face with embarrassment, but I take as calm a sip of water as I can manage. “Good water,” I say.
&n
bsp; “I think they make it fresh,” Chris says sipping his and nodding his approval.
“Really?” I ask.
I realize my mistake as soon as I see the smirk on his face. They make it fresh. Really, Lindsey?
I clear my throat and barely resist the urge to slide under the table to hide. But after I fight through the initial nerves and gradually forget the dirty thrill of what we just did before dinner, I start to enjoy myself. I let him talk about the food and what he recommends here, and he listens when I talk about my blog. We spend nearly ten minutes talking about nothing important until for maybe the first time since I’ve met Chris, I actually sink into something close to comfort around him.
The waiters set our food down--shrimp-topped sirloin with a tangy mustard sauce for me and a huge steak for him that’s crusted in some sort of truffle coffee mix.
“My little sister would kill me for passing on the crab cakes,” I say, laughing a little sadly to think of Amelia and Brooke, who are still back home, probably feeling betrayed by me. I can only imagine how this looks to them. I lie to their faces about not having feelings for Chris and then I end up jumping on a private plane with him to Germany without even giving them a full day’s notice. It’s just a few days, I keep telling myself. Besides, they didn’t seem upset with me when I called them, so I should stop assuming they’re secretly mad.
Chris quirks an eyebrow. “She’s a seafood fan?”
I shake my head, smiling at the memory. “Just crab cakes, really. When I got my first check from blogging, I took my sisters out to a nice restaurant. Amelia tried crab cakes for the first time and it was like giving ice cream to a toddler. She went nuts for them. I think she could’ve eaten five servings if we had the money for it.”
Chris looks down at his plate, thinking something that has his forehead creased.
Hate at First Sight Page 32
