by Harper West
He hummed his approval at me asking for permission, and I noted his breathing was ragged, too. "Yes," he said. "Rub it while you fuck yourself."
That was a both hands kind of task, so I let go of my breast and let my free hand slide down so I could rub slow, almost teasing circles into my clit while my fingers kept working, fucking deeper and harder with each thrust.
Everything else fell away, and all I could focus on was how good I felt. I didn't care that I was in a parking lot and anyone could walk by at any moment. I didn't care if anyone did. All I knew was I was close, and I wanted to chase that pleasure as much as possible.
Killian urged me on, calling me a good girl, telling me how hard he was, how good I was making him feel.
I could hear him panting softly, and I knew he was jerking off to the sound of me touching myself, and I liked that I was having an effect. It all rolled together into my pleasure and I closed my eyes and just went with it, fucking myself and rubbing my clit faster and faster.
"Killian," I moaned, shaking in my seat. "Oh fuck. Oh my god. Oh, I'm so— I'm gonna—”
"There you go, baby," he said. "I'm close, too. Do you want to come with me? I want you to come with me."
I nodded fervently, even though he couldn't see it. "Please," I begged. "Please, please, please. I'm so close, I need to—”
Then I was being seized by the pleasure. I couldn't have held back if I wanted to, and I definitely didn't want to. I forgot how to breathe for a second, shaking through the orgasm that slammed into me, making it impossible to do anything but feel it.
I was distantly aware of the sound of Killian following, having his own orgasm and moaning my name, but for the most part, I was just consumed by my own pleasure and the aftershocks that rippled through me.
I sat there in my car, breathing hard, fingers wet and sticky with my own juices, and I almost felt ashamed underneath all the pleasure. I'd never done anything like that before, never even would have been interested before, and if someone had asked me to do it, I'd probably have told them to go fuck themselves. There I was, hands in my pants, legs spread, looking every bit like the slut Killian liked to tease me about being.
All I could really feel was satisfied, even on top of the shame. I'd blacked out a little during it, and I had no idea if anyone had seen me or what they'd think if they had. Maybe I needed to get more tinted windows.
Maybe I just needed to stop doing this shit in parking lots.
I could hear Killian getting himself back together, and I could imagine what he looked like. So smug, skin flushed, cock out. I hated myself for wishing I could see it.
"Well," he said, and his voice was low and warm with satisfaction in my ear. "That was a good mid-day diversion, don't you think?"
"It's not even mid-day yet," I pointed out, because I didn't know what else to say to him.
I could imagine the eye roll he'd give me. "You know what I mean. It's good for the stress relief. Now you'll be all loose and relaxed for your next class. You're welcome."
"You're an asshole," I said, because he was. Even worse, he was right. My limbs felt heavy and sluggish, but there was still enough time for me to grab a cup of coffee from the campus coffee shop before I had to dash to class. That would be enough to perk me up, and the orgasm had definitely relaxed me.
I shifted in the seat and was forcibly reminded of the plug in my ass. I'd take that out as soon as I could, too. Hopefully no one else would be in the coffee shop bathroom, and if Killian was lucky, I wouldn't throw the damned thing right in the trash.
"I am," he was saying, agreeing with my comment. "But you're stuck with me, and I think you're starting to like it."
"I'm not," I insisted. "You can think what you want, but I don't like you that much."
He just laughed, and it was a warm sound that sent a shiver up my spine. "Of course," he said. "Whatever you say. Well, you did very well today. I'll have to keep that in mind for next time."
"I'm taking the plug out," I said. "Before you get any ideas."
"Fair enough. I have to go, but have a good day."
He hung up before I could reply, and I spent some time making sure I was presentable before I got out of the car. I didn't want anyone to be able to take one look at me and know I'd been doing things like that.
The longer this arrangement went on, the more I was going to have to remember who I was. I couldn't let myself get wrapped up in sex and end up forgetting why I was doing this in the first place.
I had dreams and goals I wanted to achieve, so I forced myself to go to class instead of heading home to nap, because I was stronger than that.
Chapter 16
Killian
My mother lived in a nice house up in the part of the state that was more country than anything else. She hated the country, honestly, but the city didn't allow her to have the sprawling grounds she wanted, so she made do. By ‘made do,’ I meant she complained bitterly about having to drive a full hour to get to her hair and nail appointments and do any shopping, then convinced people to come out to her so she could be pampered in the privacy of her own home.
She was terrible in a very real way, and there were days when I felt myself getting more like her. Money was the thing that did it, I was pretty sure. She'd been rich before she married my father, but not as rich as he was, and their combined fortunes had been enough to make her lose her damned mind.
We had lunch together once a month. It was like another kind of arrangement, but this one didn't benefit either of us. It was one of those 'familial duty' kind of things that we both put up with because we felt like we had to.
Neither of us enjoyed it, and I dreaded the drive to her house and having to make small talk with her for the two hours I allotted myself.
I did it.
Ashlyn was busy working an opening shift at the coffee shop, so I couldn't call her to complain and hear her say something scathing about the lifestyles of the idle rich. That might have made me feel better.
I pulled up to the mansion and parked crookedly on purpose, getting out of the car and ignoring the paved path in favor of walking right up the lawn. I wore old shoes just for the pleasure of doing that.
Carla, my mother's maid, opened the door, already looking worried. "She's not in a good mood," she warned me. "And she saw you come up the grass, Mr. Abernathy."
I snorted. "Good. I did it so she'd see it. What's got her in a twist?"
"I don't know. She won't say, but she's making threats and drinking already."
"I keep telling you to quit, Carla," I told her. "I'll write you a stunning reference and get you in wherever you want. Anything has to be better than this."
She just flapped her hand at me and ushered me forward to the dining room. I could never tell if she thought I wasn't serious about helping her escape my mother's clutches, or if she just didn't mind working for the harpy all that much. Either way, she'd been here for as long as my mother had, so they clearly had something worked out.
"Mr. Abernathy is here, ma'am," Carla said, announcing me. My mother was already sitting at the head of the ridiculously long table, sipping gin from a glass.
"Mr. Abernathy is dead, Carla," she said. "My son has come to visit, is what you mean."
Carla shot me an apologetic look and withdrew, leaving me alone with Hurricane Lorraine, as people liked to call my mother.
All anyone had to do was take one look at her, and it was apparent she wasn't someone to fuck with. She had that ice queen look about her, with her greying hair and icy blue eyes. She held herself ramrod straight and was known for her pantsuits and shawls, secured with a pin that could double as a weapon.
I could understand what my dad had seen in her a bit. She was beautiful in her own way, but then she opened her mouth and ruined any goodwill I felt towards her.
"Mother," I said. "Always a pleasure."
"Killian," she replied. "I'll send you a bill for the landscaping."
"It was just a little bit of grass. I'll
go out there and pat it back into place myself."
"I wouldn't want you to have to exert yourself," she said, sipping from her glass. "I know how hard you work to do nothing."
"Ooh, calling me lazy before the first course. That has to be a new record."
I sat myself down on her left side, leaving a couple of chairs empty between us. I didn't want to be within striking distance in case she decided to start stabbing things with the many forks on the table.
Her dining room was absurdly large considering she lived by herself, but she was one of those people who had to have the best of everything at all times.
She considered me lazy, seeing as I didn't work a day job, but she'd never worked a day in her life. She was her father's little princess, and he'd spoiled her until the day he died. She'd expected the same thing from my dad and had been angry and bitter when he hadn't lavished her the way she wanted to be lavished. It was rich hearing her call me out for making money off of investments and sales when she just sat in her manor and did nothing all day.
She didn't even have any friends to go see, since she'd run all of them off with the sharp side of her tongue. Maybe I felt sorry for her, and that was one of the reasons why I came over like clockwork every month even though she was horrible to me.
"I see you're in a mood," I said, nodding to her glass. "It's eleven-thirty, and you're already in the gin. Did you break a nail?"
She shot me a look that dripped with acid. "Do not patronize me in my own home, Killian. I'm almost certain I raised you better than that."
"Mm, that would imply you raised me at all, so, no, you didn't," I shot back. "What's for lunch?"
"How would I know? Do I look like a chef?"
I rolled my eyes. It was amazing that Ash thought I was useless when there were people like my mother in the world. "No, you don't," I said. "My mistake."
She finished the rest of her gin, and I knew she'd be calling for another before the meal was over.
We were quiet for most of the salad course, which was honestly a blessing. She managed to get in some quips about the state of my hair, but I just rolled my eyes and ignored her, spearing a cherry tomato on my fork and making a show of biting down into it with vigor.
She made a disgusted face and looked away, calling for another glass of gin. Sometimes there was pleasure in knowing I was driving my mother to drink, I had to admit. She wasn't the motherly type, and she never had been. I wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't even remember when my birthday was. It had been years since I'd gotten anything from her. Usually my dad had taken care of the gifts, putting both of their names on it, even after the divorce. He'd been gone for a while, and the gifts had stopped coming.
Which was fine. I didn't need anything from her. Not gifts or her approval, which I would never have.
The salad plates were whisked away, replaced by soup. It smelled good, some kind of potato leek thing that I would have thought was too basic for someone like Hurricane Lorraine, but she spooned it up delicately, eating in small sips like it was going to choke her if she didn't.
I rolled my eyes and wondered what would happen if I called for a gin of my own to get through the rest of the meal.
After the soup came the entree, a roast chicken that wasn't even a little bit appropriate for a light lunch, but she'd never known the meaning of the word 'light,' so I didn't comment on it, just dug in.
"How goes your search for a wife?" she asked, apropos of nothing.
I nearly choked on the chicken I was forking into my mouth.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Killian. Don't be tiresome. You're single still, clearly, so it is apparently not going well."
It would be a beautiful show of defiance and one upmanship to throw in her face that actually, I'd gotten married recently and she didn't know about it. I'd love to really rub that in, that not only was she out of the loop, she hadn't been invited to the ceremony at all, like she was an afterthought. It would drive her nuts for weeks, and that was the kind of power that could make her finally stop harping on me.
It was a fantasy I wouldn't indulge in. Not for her sake, but for Ashlyn's. The minute my mother learned about her, she'd start digging into her background, her past, her present. She'd want to know everything about her, and I wasn't going to open her up to that kind of stress. My mother could be relentless, and nowhere in the terms of our marriage was dealing with her a part of it.
So, I just sighed and pushed the thought to the back of my mind, focusing on the food.
"Do you take some kind of strange pleasure in digging around in my personal life?" I asked her, sounding bored. "I'd say you have better things to do, but that's probably not actually true."
She shot me a dark look. "You're one to talk. If you're not careful you'll end up like your father. Dying alone with no one there to mourn you."
That was always her parting shot. She'd point out the similarities between me and my father and how he'd never remarried like that was some kind of failure. It was amazing how her jumped up perception of herself made her blind to everything else. The two of them had been miserable together and they didn't even like each other all that much. She wanted to make it seem like divorcing him was some kind of devastating blow that he never recovered from.
He died alone, and I'd be the same way, in her eyes, and it would be something she could laugh about.
I didn't know what was going to happen in the future, and aside from planning how to get my money, I hadn't thought about it much. It was easier not to. Either way, I wasn't going to let her have the last word or know that she'd affected me.
It was the back and forth of these lunches with my mother, and one of us always left the table upset. Apparently that day it was my turn.
By the time I was done eating sorbet and ready to get the fuck out of there, she was gloating that being raised by my father had done something to make me unmarriable. Obviously if there wasn't something wrong with me, I'd have women all over me, eager to tie themselves to me.
I just gritted my teeth on my smile and told her to have a good rest of her day.
"I'll see you next month," I said. "Assuming you haven't pickled yourself from the inside out before then."
Then I was leaving, finally free. I was in a sour mood, though, and I slammed the door to my car and drove home a lot faster than was legal.
Whatever. No one pulled me over, so I didn't have to charm my way out of any tickets. When I got back to my apartment, I felt restless. I kept hearing my mother call me a failure, and I knew I couldn't just sit there and do nothing all day or I was going to lose my mind.
I needed to get up and get out. I could have gone to the gym, but that would involve a lot of being alone with my thoughts, and I wasn't in the mood for that. That left the club as a form of stress relief, and the more I thought about it, the better it seemed.
I could go there and find some pretty, willing sub to take my frustrations out on, and she'd be grateful for it. It was the way I usually did things, when I didn't have a steady partner and before I met Ash.
It didn’t take long for me to have a volunteer when I got to the club and started asking around.
She was pretty, and I could tell from the way her eyes were lowered to the floor as she stood there, that she was one of those women who took pleasure in submission. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her skin was the sort of milky pale that just begged to be marked up with a whip or a flogger.
On the club floor, in the main area, at least, all genitals and private areas had to be covered, and she was just barely toeing that line in a bikini top and sheer skirt that left very little to the imagination.
"Can I be of service to you, sir?" she asked, and her voice was low and musical.
I grinned, already ready to get a flogger in my hand and get to work. "I'm sure you can, sweetheart," I said.
We found a free area, and I took my time preparing, rolling up my sleeves to the elbow and choosing from my too
ls carefully. Flogger made of supple leather, a crop with a stiff shaft, another flogger, but this one with hard knots at the end of the strands. I laid them out on the table and looked at my canvas.
"What's your name?" I asked her.
"Bethany," she said. "Sir."
"A pretty name for a pretty girl. Let me ask you a question, Bethany. Are you a dirty little pain slut? Does the idea of getting flogged and whipped and paddled make you wet?"
Her cheeks flushed, and I could see her biting her lip, pressing down on the full pink bottom one. "Yes, sir," she finally answered. "I love it. I crave it."
"Good," I replied. "Then we'll both enjoy this."
Wouldn't that be a change? Having someone who didn't insist the whole time that they didn't care and weren't into what was happening even while they were coming undone the whole time? Someone who actually knew what they wanted and wasn't going to fight against it?
There was a large wooden X frame at our station, and I led her over to it, strapping the restraints around her wrists and ankles so she was held in a cross position, her back to the open area.
People who were walking by stopped to look, to see what we were setting up for, and I felt in my element. This was what I used to do to blow off steam before I met Ash, after all. There was no shortage of gorgeous submissive women who wanted to be hit and talked down to until they were inches away from coming undone.
I stroked a hand down her back, watching her shiver at my touch. "You know the safe words?" I asked her.
"Yes, sir," she replied, and I smiled. A trained sub was a wonderful thing.
"Very good. Then we'll begin."
I watched her tense, waiting for the first blow, and I waited, not giving it to her until she had relaxed a bit. This was a mind game just as much as it was a physical one. You had to get into a sub's head and make them submit to you physically and mentally. You had to keep them on their toes. If they thought they knew everything that was coming, it made it all the more thrilling when you switched it up.
