Page 22 of The Club

“And you need it to be real. No contrived play. No safe word. You’d rather fuck yourself and imagine it than have someone disappoint you.”

I shudder so hard that I can’t even try to resist as Dominic’s fist in my hair forces my head down. He holds my face against the lacquered wood floor.

“You’re such a violent, psychopathic whore. You were completely wild the other night, cutting that guy up.”

“Did you enjoy watching me?”

“Why do you think I fucked you in the alley?”

I wish I could remember all of that more clearly. I have flashes of the alley but they’re disconnected.

Dominic pulls me up from the floor and closes a hand on my throat, squeezing and releasing. “Tell me about when you woke up, bound to your couch and covered in cum. Did you like it?”

I close my eyes, remembering. “Yes.”

“Were you sore?”

“Yes.”

“Good. How often do you use a plug?”

“A lot.”

“Do you have one in now?”

“No.”

He nips my ear. “Why not? Did you think I wouldn’t come find you tonight?”

“I knew you would.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Because there’s no else you could fuck like you can fuck me.”

His hand stills on my throat, then he squeezes again, almost massaging. “So why didn’t you prepare?”

“I did. That’s why I didn’t stretch myself. I want you to do with your cock.”

Now Dominic is the one who shudders. His powerful body quakes against mine. He needs me, maybe as much as I need him.

With his hand still on my throat, Dominic pulls me to my feet. He squeezes. “I want to kill you so badly.”

I let my head fall back on his shoulder. “I know.”

His hand drifts from my throat to my bare chest then my abdomen. It splays there, following the rhythm of my breathing. His pinkie dips behind my waistband. “My beautiful, psychopathic, suicidal whore.”

I relax against him, so relieved by his understanding that I can’t think.

He unbuttons my pants. He glides the zipper down. He murmurs in appreciation when he finds the sheer black cloth covering my cock. He starts to rub his hand up and down my stiff length.

“Were you jealous last night?” he asks.

“Yes. And angry.”

“Because you thought I wanted her?”

“No. Because I knew you didn’t—and you chose her anyway.”

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