Page 39 of Mark my Words

The doors closed, and I heard a muffled ‘Fuck.’ Well, that wasn’t very reassuring, but if he wasn’t respecting my boundaries, I wasn’t going just to let him push them aside. I allowed enough people in my life to push my limits, and I didn’t need the guy I was...shit. So, what were Sam and I doing?

Before I could push myself too far down that path of thought, the elevator chimed, and I turned from where I was standing in front of my apartment door.

“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of answering the question,” Sam called out as he approached me, his face serious. “But I’m not interested in talking right now.”

“And what are you interested in, Mr. Langley?”

“Just open the fucking door, Kristine.”

“Geez,” I laughed nervously, hoping he’d smile at me, laugh, and show me some indication that he was willing to be my Sam. Wait...no, not my Sam. Just the fun, friendly Sam. The one who’d asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with a faux phallus. “Maybe I need to use a toy on you, Sam. It might lighten you up.”

A low grumbling growl built in his throat, and his palm pressed hard against the door as soon as I turned the door handle. “You have any roommates?”

“No.” I shook my head as he placed his palm on my back, urging me across the threshold.

“Good.” He stepped into the apartment behind me and pushed the door closed behind him, the soft snick of the lock engaging in contrast to the loud sound of my heartbeat in my ears. “Then no one will hear you scream.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were threatening me,” I laughed, but my voice was strained as he stepped in behind me, carefully pulling down the zipper at the back of my dress. His fingers parted the material, and it fell to the floor in a puddle around my heels.

“Oh, I am, Ms. Willard. I am threatening you,” he chuckled, placing one palm on my stomach and the other loosely around my throat. He applied a modest amount of pressure there–not enough to constrict–just enough to let me know he was in control right now.

“With what weapon?” I whispered. “It seems like you’re just threatening me with a fun time.”

His hips pushed forward, a distinct hardness pressing into my lower back. “I think you can figure that part out.”

“I don’t know. I need to compare your weapon with my arsenal.”

“Arsenal?” He chuckled, his hand loosening and stroking down the skin on my throat and settling between my heaving breasts.

“Do you think you can handle the comparison, Sam?”

His stern veneer cracked entirely as he flexed his hips forward, slowly grinding against me. “Is that supposed to make me feel threatened?” he laughed against my ear, slowly sucking on the skin beneath. “It may be able to make you come, but does its weight press you into the mattress as it slowly grinds between your legs? Does it make you wet by whispering how good you taste against your lips before it slowly slips inside you?”

“Fuck...” I panted as the hand on my stomach trailed between my legs, pressing the lace of my panties into where I was already wet for him.

“Does it wrap your legs around its head and make you scream until you’re hoarse and begging it to stop?”

“Uh...” My words aren’t coming right now, Sam. But if you keep pressing your fingers into me, I might.

“Why don’t you get out your favorite, and let’s see if I can make you come harder than it does?”

Was he serious with this? Most guys cringed at being compared to a sex toy. Something about women using toys, even large toys, made them insecure about their bodies.

“Who...” Goddamn that noise.

Sam chuckled against my hair, slowly rubbing another slow, torturous circle with his fingers against my soaked panties. “Go, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“But...”

“If you think a piece of silicone will intimidate or emasculate me, you clearly don’t know me. Didn’t you know that toys are friends?”

He dropped his arms from around me, placing his hands on my waist and turning me toward the hallway where my bedroom was. “We don’t have all night,” he laughed. “Well, I guess we do, but the longer this takes you, the fewer orgasms you’ll get.”

Holy shit. And I’d thought the last time was intense. Irritated Sam was bringing his A-game tonight. Once I’d disentangled my feet from my discarded dress, I glanced back at Sam’s challenging smirk before taking off toward my room with as much grace as my uncomfortable footwear allowed.

“You’ve got two minutes,” he taunted as I pushed my partially opened bedroom door, flinging it into the wall with a thud.

“Shit,” I whispered as I got down on my hands and knees at the side of my bed and pulled out the black trunk I’d purchased to house my growing collection, courtesy of Chase’s submissive friend, Talia. I’d insisted on fact checking parts of Chase’s steamy BDSM novel with her directly, and she’d welcomed me into her fold. She was a sex toy blogger who loved giving her friends new things to play with. There was no way for her to test out everything some of the companies sent her for free, and I was not about to turn down her kind of gifts.

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