Page 40 of Sinful
She doesn’t move for a few seconds and I wonder if she’s actually fallen asleep sitting up, but then she turns her head to the side. Seeing her profile hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve spent the last week trying not to look at her. On the covers of magazines, her cheeks are always contoured, her eyebrows drawn to perfection. In reality, her face is softer, less sharp, less fashionable. She’s let her eyebrows grow so they resemble actual eyebrows and not painted on lines. She’s almost the same as she was back then.
She stands and feels along the arm of the sofa. Looking for the remote, no doubt. Feeling for the remote. She’s wearing a long white nightgown. Another gift courtesy of Dacre’s mom. It makes her look like an angel rather than the whore I know she is.
When she can’t find the remote on the sofa, she disappears behind the front of the couch. I pull on the brandy again, wondering how long I can make this game last. It’s giving me no satisfaction, but I’m enjoying anticipating what she’ll do. She crawls around the side of the sofa where I can see her. She’s on her hands and knees as she sweeps the floor with her hands. Her pert breasts sway beneath her, clearly visible through the opening of the gown. Now I know why Dacre gave her this. Fucking pervert. Not that I can talk. I’m the one watching her. The gown’s supposed to tie at the neck, but either she hasn’t figured it out or she keeps forgetting we can see her. Two white ribbons hang from the gown at her neck.
I’ve seen her pose like this in magazines, but I’ve never seen the live version. She never got on her hands and knees for me when we were younger. Not once, but she’s been on her hands and knees for every fashion photographer in the whole of Manhattan. She probably sucked their cocks while they were taking pictures of her. Just the image of those pretty lips of hers around a long line up of sleazy photographers has anger burning through my veins. It’s about time she did for me what she’s done for everyone else. I pull back the dregs of the brandy and set the glass on the table quietly. She moves back onto her knees when I quietly open the French doors and close them behind me. Those blind eyes of her search the room, skating right over me.
I don’t move as panic fills her features. She knows I’m in the room with her. That’s right, Sin. Be scared. Be really fucking scared.
“Josh?”
No one calls me Josh. Even my teachers at school knew to address me as Nix. My name on her lips turns me on and angers me at the same time. The fear on her face has me so fucking hard. I’ve waited for this moment for a really long time. I wait it out, enjoying her panic.
“Josh?” she calls again. Her bottom lip trembles. If only the world could see her now. Sin Waldgrave at my mercy.
She angles her head slightly, like a puppy might. It’s unbelievably cute and weird at the same time. I realize she is listening, trying to hear me. She won’t. The French doors are thick, but they don’t block out all the Manhattan traffic.
She finally gives up and begins her search for the remote again, sweeping her hands around the floor. Silently, I unbutton my pants as she crawls closer. I wrap my hands around my cock. I’m so hard. Every man in the world would swap places with me right now. I look down at Sin’s lips, so fucking moist, the bottom one tinged red from where she’s been biting down on it. Another habit she seems to have picked up since being around Dacre and Mercier. My cock throbs in my hand, and the need to stroke it is overwhelming, but I don’t. I wait until she’s inches away from me before I run my hand up and down. I’m going to come in her face and she won’t even know what hit her, literally.
She stops again, hearing the movement. There’s that startled look again, which only turns me on more.
She looks terrified, as though she hasn’t had a thousand men come in her mouth, on her face, over those gorgeous tits of hers. As though she’s the vestal virgin, she appears to be in her white gown and make-up free face. But then Sin could always play her part well. She’s a fucking actress, and this is no different. The bitch is playing with us all.
My cock strains in my hand, desperate for release. Her lips are so close to my cock, hovering inches away. I really want to shove it between those gorgeous lips of hers and let her gag on my cum, but then there’ll be a struggle and I like her like this. Fucking terrified and yet serene.
My breathing begins to labor as I come close to coming, but I don’t take my eyes off her. I don’t want to miss a second of my triumph over her. The ache in my cock builds and the desire to touch her, to let her know I’m here, is overwhelming. I want to fill her, to finally claim what was mine long ago. I want to know what her tight little pussy feels like, to know what she can do with those cherry lips and the small pink tongue of hers. I want all of her. She’s not even touching me and yet she’s got me more turned on than any of the women I’ve been with for years. I finally let out a groan, breaking the silence as I let out a stream of cum over her face. It’s a fucking masterpiece. She lets out a cry of surprise and her eyes go wide. She doesn’t even make an attempt to wipe it from her face as I button up. Her surprise is as shocking as it is intoxicating. She must have known what was about to happen, and yet she’s kneeling there as though she has no idea. Sin Waldgrave, the cock-sucking whore of Hollywood.
Disgust fills me as I button up. My triumph over her means nothing if she doesn’t know. She must know, but she’s a fucking brilliant actress. I pull a cloth from the kitchen and throw it at her face before heading back onto the terrace and pulling the door closed behind me. I pick up the remote and angle it at the TV, turning it on. Sin jumps at the sudden noise, but a calmness descends over her features. It’s like the TV is a drug and she’s an addict. She wipes my cum from her face and rounds the sofa, sitting down where she was before. Engrossed in the same shit soap opera.
Despite the euphoria from coming all over her, anger rolls through my body. I thought by marking her I’d have more reaction, but she’s gone straight back to her TV coma as though nothing happened.
My fists tighten until my nails dig into my palms. The brandy didn’t work, the cigarettes. Not even covering her in my cum has appeased the intense rage that’s working its way through my veins like poison. I’ve wasted the day watching her. Mercier and Dacre will be here soon, and I’m nowhere close to letting them near her. I barely kept my anger in check this morning when I saw him feeling Sin’s tits right in front of me. If I have to watch that in tandem with whatever sick shit Mercier does to her, I’m going to lose it completely and blow this whole thing up.
My toe taps against the concrete floor. I desperately need a smoke, but I don’t want to take the edge off. I tried that, and it didn’t work. Now I’m going to go with the pulsing rage. She doesn’t deserve the safety net of her soaps. Life isn’t a story and if hers was, it’s going to be a fucking horror story. I head back inside, no longer keeping quiet.
She cries out as I grab her arm and yank her to her feet. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking slut?”
She hits out at my hand that’s gripping the top of her arm, digging into the flesh. “You’re hurting me.”
Tears are already filling her eyes, reminding me of how different she is to how she used to be.
“Good.” She can’t swat me away easily. She might have changed, but so have I. I’m no longer the scrawny teenager she used to know. Years of working out have turned my body into that of a god. And just like a god, I’m going to make sure she ends the day on her knees, praying.
“I know you are playing us, Sin. You’re not that good of an actress.”
She pulls against me. She has no chance of escaping. My hand almost fits right round her arm. She’s skinnier than I remember. She’s probably spent the last few years on every fad diet going.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
My fingers dig in deeper. “Bullshit. You’ve been lying to us from the second we picked you up.”
“You threw me in the trunk of your car!” she snaps back. That was Mercier and Dacre, but I’m not going to argue about semantics. “And you wrote your own ransom letter. Pretty impressive for a blind person.”
I’m fucking reveling in her fear. I’ve dreamed about this and the reality is so much sweeter. I won’t be surprised if she pisses herself. I can smell the fear, see it in her expression. Just what I thought. She’s lying.
“I did write it!” she whimpers. I’ll admit she’s a fucking trooper. Even caught in an obvious lie, she’s holding onto it.
“Let’s see then.” I drag her round the sofa. She screams out as her leg gets caught. I don’t even stop pulling. By the time we get to the kitchen island, her face is red and puffy and dripping in tears and snot.
