Page 151 of Deep End

“I . . . if you want to, now, we can—”

“I want.” He sounds mocking, even a little contemptuous, but his hand is gentle enough as he pulls me out of the chair. “Am I allowed to kiss you?” His smile is bitter. “Would that be unfair toward Pen?”

He’s angry, and anger doesn’t go well with power exchange. I just have to decide whether I care. “Of course you can kiss me.”

But he doesn’t. He pushes me onto the bed, belly down, and his strength vibrates throughout my body. And we haven’t even started.

Or—Ihaven’t. Lukas has pulled my shorts down to the bottom curve of my ass. I didn’t bother with underwear after my shower, and feel the heat of skin against mine. His fingers tangle in my hair, lifting my head until his other palm is right in front of my mouth.

“Get it wet.”

“I—what?”

His grip tightens on my scalp. “Since when do we ask questions, Scarlett?”

Oh mygod. “I—I’m sorry.”

A hard slap on my ass. “If I tell you to do something, you just fucking do it. Lick it.” He’s rough, which addles my brain. I’m so turned on, I can feel the smear of it between my thighs. I part my lips, running my tongue up the center of his palm. “Again.”

I repeat it four, five times. When he deems his palm wet enough, he pulls back, and then I feel the thick denim, the rhythmic bump of his knuckles against the soft part of my bottom, the sticky wetness of his skin dragging over my lower back. He’s just jerking off. Using my body—barely.

I’m at his disposal. Any disgusting thing he’s ever thought of, he could do with my blessing, but he doesn’t take advantage. It’s detached like this, like I’m a canvas, nothing more than a picture he found on the internet, some faceless, nameless girl he doesn’t care about and never will.

His grunt when he comes is familiar, embedded in the back of my brain. I squeeze my thighs together and my eyes shut, hiding my face in the cotton sheets.

A dip in weight, the bounce of the mattress.He’s leaving. My heart sinks for a flurry of reasons that have nothing to do with the fact I’m this worked up and he won’t make me come. Then his shirt hits the floor, and relief floods over me. He presses a kiss between my shoulder blades, long and lingering, a stark contrast to the clinch of his hands around my waist as he arranges me. His fingers dip in the come at the base of my spine, and he asks, “You know what I like about fucking you?”

I shake my head.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? You trust methatmuch. You’re just that perfect.”

It’s Lukas who’s perfect. Who knows how to push my boundaries but never cross them. To make me hurt just enough to feel good.

Maybe we’re just perfect for each other.

More valid than sharing the same sexual—

“What do you say if you want me to stop?” he asks. But I’m distracted. His hand slides down my back, between my ass cheeks, smearing his come against my hole.

My breath catches and I squirm. I thought he’d leave me like that, a fair punishment for my lies, but instead a single finger presses inside me, foreign and new.

I tense. Gasp in fear and hunger. It’s all messed up, blended together in my heart and in my belly. The fullness aches, a slick, perfect burn.

“Lukas, I—” I’ve never done this. He knows it.

“Scarlett.” He’s immensely displeased. “What. Do. You. Say?”

“Stop.” He rewards me with agood girlthat makes my cunt flutter.

He’s gentle, but not too much. He makes the head of his cock slick with his own come, and it takes him long enough to fit it in that I’m a puddle underneath, trembling and clutching at the sheets and forcing myself to breathe around him.

“Okay?”

I nod, overwhelmed. He’s not all the way inside. Without real lube, evenwith, I’m not sure he’d manage. He parts my cheeks, rubs against the place where his cock stretches skin, and lets out a husky, surprised grunt, like he didn’t expect to enjoy itthismuch.

“I want to take a picture of this.”

I twist my hips, searching for something—not surewhat. It’s too much. No room. I shudder. One of Lukas’s palms plants on the side of my head, and I turn into it, rubbing into the tendon of his wrist, pressing a simple kiss on his skin, because—he couldreallyhurt me. Split me and make me bleed. The thought is as much a turn-on as knowing that he’d rather slash his own arm off than harm me.

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