By the looks of him, it did.
“Tell me what you want,” she said.
“I want you,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
“God, yes,” he replied. She rolled her hips at his desperate tone, pleasure shooting up her spine. She shrugged her shoulders, letting the kimono fall down around her elbows. The cool air on her nipples felt nowhere near as good as his mouth would, but she liked how exposed she felt. She liked how he watched her as she pleasured herself. He was watching every second, every movement. He wanted her, but he was completely under her spell. She knew for a fact he wouldn't touch her unless she asked him to. He wouldn't fuck her unless she let him. The power he gave her over him was intoxicating.
“Hold out your hand,” she said, as calmly as she could muster. He didn't hesitate this time. He lifted his right hand, palm up. She pulled her own hand away and ran her two wet fingers down his palm. He ran his tongue over his lips, like he wanted to taste her. She knew in that moment that he definitely liked eating pussy. For a pitiful second, she wondered if he was good at it. But then she wanted to hit herself upside the head because that was just silly. Of course he was good at it. The man looked like he wanted to feast on her for days.
She loosely wrapped her hand around his index and middle fingers, stroking up and down then length of them. He hissed in a breath between his teeth and she could see the veins in his neck bulging as she teased him. She could see his erection through his jeans. It was begging for her attention, but she gave it none. Instead she played with his long fingers, hinting at what she was going to do next.
“Say please,” she said. His eyes widened and he flicked them up to meet hers. “Say it,” she demanded, hardening her voice a bit to let him know she meant it.
“Please,” he whispered, the word clipped and tight, like he didn't want to say it. But it didn't matter if he wanted to say it. What was important was that he did. And it sounded beautiful to Shay's ears.
“Please what?”
“Please let me touch you,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the sincerity in his face and her nipples tightened painfully. The man was doing something to her, she didn't know quite what. All she knew was that she liked whatever was happening. She was completely winging it, but somehow, it came naturally. She'd had so many fantasies while she was locked up and now she had a real, flesh-and-blood man to act them out on. Impatient and craving his touch, she nodded. His eyes narrowed to slits as she pulled his hand in between her legs, his two fingers still extended. She shifted her hips and guided his fingers inside of her, moaning as he slid them deep. She dropped her head back and gasped because she couldn't help herself. He felt so good and it was only his fingers.
“Fuck you're so wet,” he said, cupping his hand against her and thrusting his fingers in and out. She grabbed his wrist, trying to steady herself. When that didn't work, she dropped her other hand to his shoulder. He finger-fucked her hard and then slow and then hard again, and she knew she should take control again, but she couldn't. It felt too heavenly. When his thumb found her clit her whole body jerked in response. She felt her knees give out and he caught her as she slid to the floor. He wrapped one strong arm around her waist, holding her steady even as his fingers still pumped in and out of her. He didn't ask for permission when he captured her right nipple in his mouth and sucked it deep, either. She dug her nails into his shoulder but he didn't stop. They both moaned together as he flicked his tongue against her, his fingers never stopping their assault on her pussy.
“Tate,” she whispered, unable to help herself. He released her tit from his mouth, then licked a rough trail between the valley of her breasts. He tightened his arm and pulled her closer to him, his breathing heavy and out of control. She knew they were both going to lose it soon.
“I want to fuck you,” he said, pressing his lips to her chest. “All I can think about is fucking you.” He thrust his fingers inside of her hard, as if to punctuate the words and let her know he really meant them. She knew he meant it, though. She could see it all over his face. She wanted him, too. More than she would ever say out loud. So instead, she moaned and rolled her hips in-tune to the thrust of his fingers. He rubbed her clit like he knew exactly the right rhythm to get her off. It wasn't a strange sensation; she'd rubbed herself off a million times. But with his hand, it was utterly and completely different.
“Oh!” she gasped, her toes curling and her hips bucking of their own volition. Her muscles tightened and she wrapped herself around Tate as she braced herself. For a second she couldn't move—her body was constricted in concentration. Then she exploded, the orgasm blossoming low in her belly before spreading like liquid fire through the rest of her. All of those nights alone, when she used to touch herself, it had been a means to an end, a way to scratch an annoying itch. But now, well, now an orgasm actually meant something. It was shared with someone else, and somehow, that made all the difference. He curled his fingers inside of her, extending her pleasure for as long as he could. Then he leaned back and pulled her with him, fumbling with his belt.
She was half out of her mind, but she knew she had to stop things there. A rising panic hit her as a realization pushed itself through her pleasure-cloaked mind. If he got what he wanted, she wasn't sure he'd ever come back. If they fucked again, it would be good and amazing, but then it would be over. She had no idea what was happening between them, but she didn't want to lose it. Not yet, anyway. So she dropped a hand in between them and squeezed his cock through his jeans.
“Save it for me,” she gasped in his ear. “Give it to me next time.” He growled in response, his hands roaming all over her ass and up her back like he wanted to rip the skin off of her. He pulled her toward him again, like he hadn't heard her. “No,” she said, then pressed her mouth to his neck and sucked hard, not caring if she left a mark on him or not. The climax was still rippling through her and she wanted him inside of her so badly. But she wanted control more. He wanted her to have it, so she was going to take it. She was going to let him know who was in charge.
After the waves ebbed, her bones went limp. She dropped her head to his shoulder, an involuntary smile curling over her face. She felt good. Tate's arm were still around her, but he was no longer moving. He was as still as a statue as she squeezed his cock once more, then stroked up the erection lazily. She kept her eyes closed for a few more moments, breathing him in and memorizing how his dick felt in her hands. “This is mine,” she murmured, to no one. She wasn't even sure if she said it out loud. But she was staking her claim, either way. He let out a deep, slow breath, and jerked against her hand. He wanted more. He was impatient. She was torturing him and she knew it.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his face pale and his chest tight. His dick was hard as steel beneath her touch. He pulled his fingers out of her slowly and she jerked against him, wanting more even though her body couldn't handle any more. She cocked her head, her eyes examining every inch of his face. He was beautiful, she decided. In that moment, on his knees with his dick bulging and his chest bare, he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life.
Not wanting to torture him any longer, she untangled herself from him and stood, taking her time so her wobbly legs had a chance to support her. Then she pulled her kimono closed because it was a reminder that she wasn't going to fuck him even though her body was begging for it. “When's your next day off?” she asked, her voice rough because her throat was dry. She grabbed her glass of water off the coffee table and took a long drink, giving herself a minute to regroup.
“Monday,” he said, the words strained.
“Monday,” she parroted, clinking her nails on the glass as she thought of what she was going to do next. “Where do you live?”
“Shay,” he hissed, his tone dangerous. He was horny as hell and he wanted to fuck. Too bad that she wasn't going to give him any satisfaction that night. She almo
st felt bad for him, except she knew that when they came together again, she knew that the waiting would make it so much better. He might not think so now, but he would. When she was forcing him on his knees and sucking his cock and fucking his brains out in a few days, he would.
“Answer me, Sergeant Grayson,” she demanded lightly, taking another sip from her glass. The action disguised her shaking hands and her jittery muscles. She was wondering if he was really going to walk out of there with a hard dick and a massive case of blue balls. She was wondering if he was going to jump on her and throw her legs open and thrust deep inside of her. She wouldn't blame him if he did. She was toying with him. It was kind of shitty, she had to admit. But she was also enjoying it.
There was something so satisfying in the unspoken game they were playing. If he walked out of there without touching her, then it would prove that he was enjoying it just as much as she was. Or, even if he was pissed, he would still be wanting more. That was the most important thing—she wanted him to want more. One roll in the hay hadn't been enough, not for either of them. No, she was beginning to realize it would take more than that to scratch this particular itch, especially now.
“Washington Heights,” he replied, finally. “180th st.”
“Okay then,” she murmured, setting the glass down. “Monday, your place. We'll finish this.” Then she flicked her eyes to his, almost scared at what she would find there. He was staring back at her, his face impassive. Then he raised his hand to his lips and sucked his fingers into his mouth. She felt her knees knock together as he held her gaze while he did it.
It was his turn to fuck with her.
“I want it now,” he said, after he'd sucked all of her off of his fngers. For a second, she almost gave in. The temptation was so strong. She almost gave him what she wanted. But she stayed strong.
“Monday,” she forced out, even though her whole body was fighting it. If they had sex now, they would have to rush again. It would be over in minutes and he'd be out the door before Gina got home. If she waited just a few more days, it would be so much better.
At least that's what she told herself.
“Shit,” he hissed, realizing she was serious. With a pained wince, he leaned over and grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. As he dressed, she picked up her panties off the floor and balled them up in her hand. She would hate to forget them on the floor and have Gina find them when she returned home. That would definitely be awkward.
“Did I say you could get dressed?” she said, lightly, more as a joke than anything but he gave her a dark look. Apparently, he wasn't in the mood for jokes. He ignored her as he finished gathering his things. He stayed silent as he re-dressed himself, not bothering to look at her. Then he stood and headed for the door without another word. “Wait!” She called after him. He lifted his hand and put it on the knob and she held her breath, scared to see if he was going to walk out on her like that or not.
“Are you fucking with me?” he asked, but he didn't open the door.
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes. But no.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know,” she shrugged helplessly. “I'll see you on Monday.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. Then he clicked his tongue and yanked the door open. She opened her mouth to call after him but he was out the door before she could even think of what to say. He closed it firmly behind him and she felt her heart drop. It didn't feel good the way he was leaving. It didn't feel good at all. She considered going after him. She even walked forward a few steps, heading for the door. But then she stopped herself.
She wasn't going to run after Tate Grayson. After everything, she at least still had that little bit of dignity. Well, maybe. She was still wet for him. She still wanted him. But she wasn't going to be stupid about it. It was just sex, after all. Nothing else had changed. She was still her and he was still him. No matter how hungry she was for him, she wasn't going to let herself get lost in him. So she put her panties back on. Then she went back in the kitchen and finished her grocery list.
***
Tate stomped down the dark stairs in Shay's building, a million thoughts pushing around in his head. He had half a mind to go back and throw open her door and... and what exactly? His cock was so fucking hard for her he could barely think straight. She'd played him, plain and simple. When he closed his eyes, he still saw her with her legs spread, her beautiful fingers playing with her own pussy. Dipping her finger inside of her wet slit. Dropping her head back as she came. Shay Spears was going to be the death of him, he decided. He'd gone from pissed as hell at her to sprung over her in less than a week. She had his head spinning.
Disgusted with himself, he shoved open the security door and stepped out into the dark night. The cold air slapped him in the face and he gritted his teeth against it. He hurried down the sidewalk to his car, parked on a nearby cross street. He found his keys in his back pocket, all of his energy focused on getting to the car. It was freezing outside, but that wasn't his only motivation.
As soon as he was in the driver seat, he was yanking at his belt and zipper, freeing his cock as soon as he could. The cold of winter hadn't done anything to kill his painful erection. He couldn't believe he was sitting in a parked car with his hand on his dick, but he didn't see any way out of it. He had to fucking come or he was going to go insane. He closed his hand around his dick and grunted. His hand was a shitty substitute for her, but it was going to have to do. He pressed his forehead to the cold, hard steering wheel as he moved his fist up and down, gritting his teeth against the almost painful pleasure. He could still hear her demanding and dominating words in his ears. He could still feel her long nails raking across his bare skin.
Fuck.
He didn't know what had come over him when she told him to get on his knees. He'd never had a woman try a power trip on him. Of course, he didn't have much experience with women, but the ones he'd been with had always expected him to take the lead. But not Shay. Shay had taken his balls in her hands and squeezed. She'd forced him to his knees and smiled about it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But the thing was, he didn't question it. When she told him to do it, he did it.
He wanted to do it.
Sure, he wanted to bury his face in her pussy and make her scream. Hell yes, he wanted to fuck her hard until she came all over his cock. But first, he wanted to hear her say that she wanted it. He wanted her to tell him exactly what she wanted and how to do it. He wanted her to sit on his face and demand that he lick her pussy. He wanted her to tease him and play with him and force him to submit. He stroked his cock harder, thinking about her voice in his ear, telling him to touch her. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. He wanted her too much, he realized. It had been a mistake to come to her. He saw that now. He should have stayed away, chalked the sex in the salon up to a big-ass mistake that he was never going to repeat.
The problem was that now he couldn't stay away. He was in too fucking deep. He didn't care if she sent him packing with the most painful erection of his life. The mere promise of fucking her again was enough to drive him crazy. He knew he should forget all about her. She was a convicted felon, for Christ's sake, and he'd had a hand in making her that way. He still wasn't convinced that she didn't know where her father was and what he was doing. There was no trust, on either of their parts. And yet, when she told him to get on his knees, he'd done it. When she'd told him to leave after making him writhe like a fish on a hook, he'd done it.
He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.
He jerked against his hand as he thought about her in red lipstick. He wanted to see her in red lipstick, hell yes he did. He thought about her red lips closing around his cock. He thought about her red lips at his ear, telling him to sit and stay like a good boy. He thought of her long, sharp nails teasing his skin. He thought of her standing above him, her perfect tits on display just for him.
Then he felt his whole body tense as he came, sp
urting into his own hand. It was unsatisfying, but he had to do something. He tightened his hand on his dick, milking himself until every drop was spent. When the fever passed, he shook his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was in his car, busting a nut like he was back in high school again. It was such a waste, but at least it would keep him going another day. Or until next Monday, at least.
It was pathetic, but it was all he had.
With his clean hand, he dug around in the center console until he found a few napkins. He wiped up the mess, almost laughing to himself about what he'd been reduced to. Three weeks ago, he'd had a blind date with a pretty woman and he thought he'd finally gotten lucky. Instead, he'd been plopped down into a big pile of shit and he had no idea how he was going to find his way out of it.
The sad part was that he wasn't sure if he wanted to find his way out of it. He was kind of in the mood to wallow for a bit, if it meant that he would eventually get some relief. Shay was the most interesting thing to come along in his life in years. Honestly, he didn't know what the hell he was doing with her. Unfortunately, he also didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. She was the one with all the power and he was the one that was fucked. Or not fucked, as the case may be. Shaking his head, he jabbed the keys into the ignition and started the car. The drive home was short, but he had a pretty good feeling that the rest of his night was going to be excruciatingly long.
***
Shay was in the middle of mixing the batter on her triple layer carrot cake on Sunday afternoon when her phone buzzed on top of the microwave. She ignored it until she slid the cake pans in her aunt's small oven, checking the temperature to make sure it was right. The stove knob had a tendency to shift somehow and Shay wanted to make sure she didn't fuck up another cake by failing to notice. After double-checking, she swiped her hands on her new red apron and remembered the text. She could hear her aunt in the living room, laughing along with a sitcom on the TV, as she grabbed her phone and swiped the screen to unlock it.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 15
