Debauched (Undone Book 3)

by Jennifer Dawson

  My cock stirs. I shift, and the sheet dips low on my hips. Her hungry gaze tracks the motion. “You forgot how I made you leave them on the booth for the waiter to see.”

  She flushes, probably remembering when the waiter’s expression had widened when he saw them.

  She flings out her hand. “You made him drop his bread basket.”

  He did, the poor guy had flushed scarlet, fumbled his words then spilled the contents all over the place. “You did that all on your own, girl. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Ha!” Her hip cocks farther out, clearly feeling quite certain of herself.

  I give her another once over. “What does that have to do with tonight?”

  We’re going to see her friend’s band and I have plans.

  “It would be nice to keep my underwear on every once in a while.”

  God I love it when she plays right into my hands. I shrug. “All right then. Go ahead and keep them on.”

  Of course, her expression instantly falls, because she really doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want to walk out of the house without being toyed with. Not that I’m about to let that happen. I’ll save that game for another day.

  Her brow furrows and her shoulders square. “Fine. It’s settled then.”

  “Yep. All settled.”

  She turns back around to fiddle with her hair, ignoring me completely, and I watch her, amused. Unable to help herself, her eyes meet mine in the mirror. She smirks. “I guess there’s no reason to wear a skirt then.”

  I smirk back at her. “Are you saying you only wear skirts so that I’ll play with that greedy pussy of yours?”

  She sucks in a little breath and pushes her hips against the dresser. “Never crossed my mind.”

  “Uh-huh.” I tilt my chin at her. “Why don’t you hook your leg on the corner of the dresser so you can relieve the pressure on your clit properly?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

  “Like the idea doesn’t make you wet.” I laugh, and it’s low and evil in that way that makes her hotter. “Tell me you aren’t thinking about how dirty it would be to grind your cunt against the surface while we both watched you in the mirror.”

  The muscles in her legs tighten and she pushes her hips closer to the dresser. “I’m not.”

  “Liar.”

  She licks her lips and looks at me with a mixture of fear and lust.

  Perfect.

  This is exactly the kind of thing that gets her. I have to admit, I’ve never been with a girl like Ruby, and I love it.

  Because I never wanted to get involved, I’d always picked girls that didn’t want anything too deep, that were content with the trappings of dominance without the intent. Like playacting. Before Ruby I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d really dominated someone. Where I worked at it. Even if I dated the woman for a while I’d kept it light and fun and easy. I wouldn’t really push. I was lazy. Doing the bare minimum to keep us both satisfied without establishing the bond that made domination and submission worth it.

  With Ruby, I work. Constantly thinking of new ways to torture her. The only thing we are really missing is established rules, but the truth is, I’ve never been much of a rule guy. The only one I ever cared much about was orgasms and I’ve been controlling Ruby’s pretty much since Valentine’s.

  She picks up lip-gloss and slicks it over her mouth, her gaze on me. This Ruby is seductive. This Ruby practically begs to be put in her place.

  I hood my lids. “What if I said this would be your only chance to come tonight?”

  She takes a stuttering breath. “Is that what you’re saying?” She’s trying to mask it, but she can’t hide her desire.

  I test her constantly—pushing forward then stepping back—teasing her with the possibilities, the threats, to see her reactions. Sometimes I deliver, sometimes I don’t.

  If I went over to her, she’d be wet. She might protest, she might resist at first, her pretty cheeks might flush with embarrassment, but if I want it, she’ll be riding that dresser.

  Tonight, I don’t deliver, because it doesn’t suit my plans, which include her coming many, many times. “Not today, but another day the answer will be yes.”

  She lets out a sigh of what I assume is relief and puts down the tube of makeup she’s been holding.

  “I have other plans.”

  Her gaze flies to me, her expression full of questions.

  “Open the top drawer on the left.”

  She does and a gasp escapes her lips.

  I laugh. “That’s the only reason you’re keeping those panties on.”

  Ruby

  I stare into the drawer and swallow hard. A mixture of fear, lust, panic, and excitement all rush through my blood at Mach speed. He’s been teasing me, but somehow I hadn’t expected this.

  I blink. “What’s this?” Somehow I’m hoping it’s not what I think it is. I’ve never seen one before in person, but I’m pretty sure I know what it is. But…what exactly is he going to do with it? And what does that have to do with the state of my panties?

  Through the mirror I meet his eyes. Of course he’s watching me. Gaging my reaction.

  A couple of months ago I would have hated this idea. Every day, what I’m capable of, and who I’m becoming is changing because of Chad. If a girlfriend said those words to me, I’d roll my eyes over them and silently judge her for changing for a man.

  I didn’t get it before, because I always picked guys that were bad for me. Guys that brought me down instead of lifting me up. Guys that let me coast because they wanted to coast too. But Chad is my greatest champion. With him I’m taking risks I never have before and as a result I’m starting to learn who I really am. I’ve never had acceptance before. I might be changing, but I’ve never experienced such unconditional support in my life. I love it.

  I’m pretty sure I love him.

  I’m no longer questioning.

  In the mirror he crooks his finger, beckoning me to him. “Bring it here.”

  His hair is messy; his eyes hot, the sheet low on his hips. I can’t believe there was a time I dismissed him as cute but too straightlaced. Clearly I’m an idiot.

  I return my attention to the contents of the drawer and run my finger over what’s nestled there. I shiver. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “You know perfectly well what I’m going to do. Bring the plug here, Ruby.”

  My throat goes dry. It is exactly what I thought. What I feared. And hoped. I’ve learned all these things can now go together, and instead of competing, only enhance my arousal.

  I blow out a breath and pick it up. It’s shaped like a lazy L. It’s black, and while it’s bigger than Chad’s finger, which he uses relentlessly to torment me, it’s not huge. Low in my belly it’s like lighter fluid is added onto the already raging inferno that is almost a constant ache. Anal sex is not something that ever crossed my mind until two weeks ago. Now, I’m obsessed with it. I’m afraid, but I want it to the point that it preoccupies me.

  Of course, that’s Chad’s fault.

  I’ve learned that’s one of his tricks. It’s the exact tactic he used to get me to come in the first place. He implants the idea over and over and over again until it’s all I think about.

  He pushes a finger inside my ass the second before I come.

  He calls me at work to tell me he’s thinking about how it’s going to feel when he slides his cock in my ass the first time.

  He rubs his erection along the crease of my ass, teasing me with the tip before gliding away.

  The list goes on and on.

  I can’t lie; it feels good. Like, ridiculously good. Once Ashley told me she’d had anal sex with Trevor and she’d been all giddy and gooey about it. I’d thought she was lying.

  I was wrong. It’s a forbidden, addictive type of pleasure I can’t quite explain.

  I owe her an apology.

  I turn away from the mirror and look at him, holding
the silicone in my hand. “Is this new?”

  He laughs. “Of course.”

  “When did you buy it?”

  “Last week.” He crooks his finger again. “I’ve been saving it for tonight.”

  I bite my lip as the lust leaps in my belly. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “You’re going to wear it all night.” His gaze turns sly and evil. “All night while we talk to our friends, while you walk, dance, and fuck you’re going to wear it.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t expect me to walk around with this thing all night.”

  “But I do.”

  I want to protest, because I don’t really want to wear it, but I can’t explain it. I don’t even understand it. But there’s become a disconnect between my brain and my pussy. It’s so confusing. I don’t even know how to articulate this constant contradiction between what my brain tells me and my lust demands. I give protest a try. “I don’t want to.”

  He raises a brow. “So I’m not going to find you wet?”

  I lower my gaze and sigh. Therein lies the rub. I shrug.

  “Let’s find out. Come here.”

  I do, and embarrassingly, I have to work to keep my gait slow instead of sprinting to him like an eager puppy. When I’m at the bed he nods. “Get on all fours.”

  The statement has desire crashing through me. I climb onto the mattress and assume the position he commanded.

  He sits up and palms my hip. “Good girl.”

  I try not to start panting.

  The sheet slips from his body as he rises to a kneeling position at my side. I glimpse his cock, hard and enticing. I lick my lips, recalling the feel of him sliding over my tongue, full in my mouth.

  He places one hand on the curve of my back and slides the other down my panties, skimming over the curve of my ass before he strokes along the slick folds. “You don’t have a great argument here, girl.”

  I moan, pushing back into his hand and hiss, “I hate you.”

  He laughs, all wicked. “I can see that.”

  I lean down so my head rests on the mattress and close my eyes, losing myself. Without letting up from his light feathery touches, he pulls my underwear down to my knees. Then he moves. The drawer opens and closes. He taps my thigh. “Spread them farther.”

  I widen my stance. The elastic of my panties cut into my skin in the most delicious way.

  Oh god. He’s so good. He makes everything about sex fantastic, even when it feels dirty and wrong. He moves, coming up behind me. Then his face is pressed between my legs and he’s licking my pussy in the most depraved way.

  I let out a startled yelp and start pushing back as his tongue pushes inside me. From behind, this is nothing but a tease. He licks and sucks and probes but doesn’t deliver. He just makes me want and need.

  “Chad.” His name is a gasp. I grip the bed sheets. “Fuck.”

  I want to turn demanding but I know better. If I do, he’ll find other ways to torture me. So I bite my lip and stay quiet, silently urging him.

  More. More. More.

  Then his mouth is gone. He straightens. I hear rustling and other noises before his fingers settle on the puckered skin of my backside. Slick with lubricant, he circles and teases my opening until I’m a quivering mess.

  I have no idea how I’ve turned into this girl. Her ass high in the air, panting and crazy and moaning like she’s in heat, desperation coating her inner thighs. I have no idea how I’ve transformed from a woman who couldn’t even have an orgasm with a man to this needy creature.

  Right now, the why doesn’t matter. I simply am. And it feels like home. Like freedom. Exactly where I need to be.

  “Please…” My voice is a broken rasp.

  “Please what?” His tone is strong and sure.

  I admit what I want, cave in to the desire he’s cultivated in me, I don’t care anymore. “Please, fuck my ass. I’m begging you.”

  He shifts on the bed until he’s at my side instead of behind me, pushes his middle finger inside. I jolt and quiver and cry out.

  He slowly pulls out and inserts another and the pressure grows. It’s not painful, but it’s a stretch. A fraction too much. But it only increases my desire. He grips my chin, cranes my neck toward him and kisses me.

  He starts to move, slow, steady and deep. Against my lips he whispers, “I will. As soon as you’re ready.”

  My breath is harsh. Tinged with all the lust and longing I feel. “I’m ready.”

  “Almost.” He kisses me again. “Trust me.”

  Then his fingers leave my ass and the cool silicone brushes my overheated skin.

  I groan as he pushes it inside. Instead of seating the base, he circles it, over and over and it creates the most delicious ache.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” The word is nothing more than a gasp.

  He pushes it the rest of the way in then he taps it, hard.

  I cry out, jerking forward as sensation vibrates through me.

  He laughs. And does it again. And again. Until my vision dims and I’m throwing my hips back to meet his hand.

  He fucks me with the plug, alternating between small circles and thrusting. Until I’m a mindless, needy mess.

  It stops, and my panties are sliding up my legs. “Time to go.”

  He’s an evil, evil man.

  I shoot Chad a death glare.

  From across the room where he’s talking to Leo and Michael, he winks in response.

  I blow out a breath, and increase my scowl. How is a girl supposed to focus with a plug up her ass? How?

  Jillian laughs, pulling me away from Chad’s magnetic presence.

  I turn to see both Jillian and Layla watching me with expectant expressions on their faces.

  “Yes?” I’m still close lipped about Chad and me, although my friends obviously know we’re dating. That we are a couple. I don’t say much about the other…stuff. Maybe because I’m not ready to confront the one thing that remains unspoken. It’s coming, I can feel it crackling in the air, but I’m not ready to choose.

  “Anything you’d like to tell us?” Jillian’s voice is ripe with amusement.

  My boyfriend is an evil sexual torturer. I suspect you can relate, but can’t work up the courage to talk about it yet. I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?” Layla’s blue eyes search my face. She’s in tight jeans tonight and a black spaghetti-strapped halter-top.

  “I’m sure.”

  Chad doesn’t seem inclined to press me on the matter. Doesn’t seem interested in pushing me the way I’ve seen Michael and Leo push even though I know he’s got it in him.

  Despite how far I’ve come, I don’t think I want that. I don’t want to have to ask for a drink, or to dance, or what to wear like I’ve seen Jillian and Layla do.

  My mind drifts to getting ready. Chad did ask me to wear a skirt. But he asked. He didn’t demand. I complied. I bite my lip.

  Layla’s expression twists in exasperation, and she huffs, but doesn’t say anything.

  Jillian, dressed in an off-the-shoulder, black slouchy dress, presses her lips together.

  They look at each other, and something seems to pass between them before their shoulders slump, and they shift their attention back to me.

  “Okay,” Jillian says, the word light. “You know you can talk to us, right?”

  “Of course.” A part of me wants to talk to both of them so badly, I just can’t figure out the right words to say.

  “Are you sure?” Layla puts her hand on my arm. “You can tell us anything. You know that, right?”

  “I know.” I shrug. “You know everything. I’m with Chad now, what more is there to say?”

  A thousand things. Something niggles at the corners of my mind. Is he going to get bored soon? If I don’t give him what he needs, eventually he’ll have no choice but to walk away, won’t he?

  “Are you happy?” Layla asks, then darts a glance at the men.

 
“Don’t I seem happy?” Is it not written all over me? I’m in love for the first time in my whole life. It consumes me. Isn’t it as obvious as it feels?

  She smiles. “I’ve never seen you happier.”

  Jillian grins at me. “Or hotter.”

  I laugh. “So what are you worried about? You like Chad, remember?”

  “I love him.” Layla tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, glares at I presume Michael, much the same way I glared at Chad before. “You normally tell me a lot more details.”

  I do. And it’s not that I don’t want to spill, I just…can’t. I do my best to reassure her. “I guess because he’s an actual adult there’s not much drama.”

  Only passion. Lust. And debauchery.

  Jillian straightens and her expression turns innocent. “They’re coming this way.”

  We all turn to look at them but I barely even notice Michael and Leo. Chad’s wearing jeans and a charcoal pullover that’s tight across his chest and broad shoulders.

  I’ve been telling myself I think I’m in love with him but that’s a lie. I know I am.

  For all my past infatuations with angsty rocker boys I’ve never actually said those words to anyone. I smile at Chad and his gaze roams down my body. I’m wearing a micro mini ripped denim skirt, a white tank that shows a strip of belly, and black, calf-high combat boots.

  I look like me. But different somehow. Instead of feeling like I don’t match Chad I think we look exactly right. We’ve blended together somehow. Like I belong to him and him to me.

  He sidles up to me, and puts his arm around my waist, his fingers playing along the strip of bare skin. “What are you girls up to?”

  “Nothing.” We all say together and perfectly in sync.

  Three sets of male eyes narrow.

  “Layla?” Michael asks, resting a hand on her hip.

  “Nothing.” She beams at him and he looks at her with grave suspicion.

  Leo grins, putting an arm around Jillian’s shoulders, pulling her close to kiss her temple. “Are you going to tell us?”

  I hold my breath, hoping they won’t give up that we were talking about Chad. I mean, sure I adore the guy, but I’m not about to give him that kind of ego stroke.