Page 26 of Hard Ride
“Very,” Lucas replies. “Slippery pussy too, from what I can see.”
My face burns at the frankness of their conversation. Lucas can see how turned on I am just standing in front of him while he examines me, and I’m embarrassed about it. I’m embarrassed to be feeling anything at all if I’m honest.
He strokes the backs of his fingers over the curls between my thighs yet again, and again, I tremble helplessly. “Is that for me, sub?’ he asks, his golden eyes looking up into mine. “Is that all for me?”
No, I want to say. No, it’s not for you, it’s just my stupid body being a little slut. But that’s not what comes out of my mouth. “Yes, Daddy,” I whisper instead.
“You might want to see to that,” Tate says absently, turning away and going back to his armchair before sitting down.
Lucas turns me around, then pulls me back with a gentle, irresistible force until I’m sitting in his lap. It’s awkward with my hands behind my back, and I stiffen, my breathing hoarse. Except then his fingers push into my hair, closing into a fist, and he’s tugging my head back until I’m resting back against him, my head on his shoulder. Then he holds me there as his free hands slides beneath one of my thighs, lifting it and draping it overthe arm of his chair, before doing the same thing with the other thigh.
I stiffen further in instinctive anxiety, painfully aware of how I must look lying against Lucas with my legs spread wide and held open by the arms of the chair. Vulnerable. Exposed. And Tate, sitting opposite, watching us, his expression inscrutable.
This feels so wrong, dirty, and confusing to be positioned like this. And I can’t move. I can’t close my legs or use my hands to push myself away. His fingers gripping my hair keep exactly where I am, and I’m so turned on I can barely speak.
“You’re very tense, sub,” Lucas says. “Is there something you want to say?”
My safe word, presumably. Except I’m not going to say it. I’m not going to acknowledge any of those confusing, awful feelings, not in any way.
“No, Daddy,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Tate’s gaze shifts from me to Lucas, and some kind of wordless communication passes between them that makes me tense even more.
Yet Lucas only says, “I want you to lie still, just like this, and to stay quiet. Don’t make a sound. Can you do that, sub?”
“Y-yes, Daddy,” I stutter.
He takes a sip of his drink, then he and Tate start talking idly about the club, about overheads and tax breaks, and donations. But as they talk, Lucas’s fingers casually stroke over my stomach, making me shudder, then push through the curls between my thighs to the wet, sensitive flesh of my pussy.
The breath hisses between my gritted teeth as he touches me, a jolt of hot pleasure making a gasp catch in my throat. His fingertips brush my clit, oh so lightly, and the jolt becomes an electric shock. Then his other hand strokes down the side of one breast before cupping it and squeezing it gently. His thumb strokes over my painfully hard nipple, pinching lightly, and Ialmost gasp aloud. He does it again and again, and the shocks of pleasure become more and more intense.
I set my jaw, trying to stop the whimper that pushes against my teeth, threatening to escape. I’m achingly aware of the arms of the chair pressing against the backs of my thighs and his fingers in my hair. My hands are behind me in the cuffs, and the feeling of being restrained makes everything more acute.
Why do I like being held down like this? Why is Tate watching Lucas toy with me such a turn-on? Why does the fact that Lucas is touching me make me want more and more and more?
‘Dirty little slut,’ my mother shouts at me. ‘What do you think you were doing? Flaunting yourself, weren’t you?’
I wasn’t flaunting myself. I was just talking. That asshole was the one who pushed me up against the wall, and he was the one who kissed me. I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t want it. I didn’t.
But I want this. I can’t fight the relentless build of pleasure as his fingers stroke me, exploring between my thighs with a delicacy that makes me want to moan. I lose track of their conversation, too busy trying not to make a sound as he continues to play, one long finger sliding around and over my clit, and I shift under his touch, unable to help myself.
His body is so hot beneath me, and I can feel how hard he is. Yet he’s talking to Tate, lounging in the armchair opposite, as if the pair of them are having a fucking office meeting.
I shake and shake as Lucas’s finger finds the slick entrance to my body and eases in, his thumb pressing on my clit, but adding only pressure. No friction except for the lazy slide of his finger in and out of me.
I forget about fighting, my hips lifting to his hand, a whimper escaping me.
“Ssh,” he growls softly in my ear. “What did I say?”
His breath is warm on my skin, and he smells good. Cedar maybe, or sandalwood, but it’s not like Tate’s. His scent is warm and delicious, and I don’t want to like it, but I do. His body is as hard as Tate’s, but leaner, and the press of his cock is insistent. Yet there’s no impatience to him. It’s as if he could fondle me all day, without any urgency.
“Answer me,” he orders, low and soft, his authority irresistible.
“You s-said to be quiet and k-keep still,” I force out.
“I did,” he agrees. “And are you doing what I said?”
“Is she being disobedient?” Tate asks.
