Page 58 of Wicked Little Game
“Don’t you dare,” I force out, my voice laced with more desperation than I’m proud of. “Please, behave, just this once.”
She whines something in response, but at least she stops moving, even tries not to arch her back too much as I bite down on her neck. Fuck, how much I want to leave bite marks all over this pretty body.
“You’re gonna be a good girl and come for me?” I slide my tongue over the sensitive skin of her neck and her breath hitches. “Without touching yourself, just from my cock rubbing over your needy pussy? Fuck, you’re such a desperate little slut.”
Her hole clenches around nothing as she comes, her nails digging into my arms, and it doesn’t take me long to join her. My thrusts get sloppier, all that wetness causing a squelching sound with every move and soon, my cum adds to the mess between her thighs.
For a few minutes, none of us wants to be the first to move. I watch the rise and fall of her chest while I count down the seconds I’ll allow myself to stay like that with her. But my time runs out, so I hoist her up and pull her shirt off of her to clean up the mess we both made.
“Did you have to take my shirt for that?” She pouts, rolling her eyes at me, and I really thought she’d be at least a bit more compliant after she just came.
“It was already wet,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders while I keep on cleaning her up.
Why I’m even doing that is another mystery, maybe just an attempt to restart the touching-Ruby-timer in my head.
She’s shivering slightly, even with her blanket over her and I could tell her to go upstairs and get a sweater if she’s cold but no, instead I’m pulling mine off and hand it to her like an idiot. I think I lost a few brain cells during my orgasm.
Great track record for one night.
“You think we can watch the rest of the movie in peace?” I ask while I watch her putting my sweater on. There’s a smile on her face, a genuinely happy one instead of the usualI’m about to fuck things upsmile.
“Mhm,” she mumbles sleepily as she cuddles up in my lap. She grabs a few sour cherries before she wraps her handsaround one of my arms. I catch myself stroking over her head with my free hand.
“Never expected you to be one to cuddle.”
Adding salt to the wound, little dipshit.
“I don’t. It’s an exception.”
Must be the fifth time I made an exception for her on this cursed couch.
23
RUBY
“Sam, Sam,help,” I yell in my best panicky voice, loud enough that I know it reaches him. He’s currently in the kitchen, I smell it, disobeying the kitchen ban I put on him. But since we had no fire alarm incidents in the past week, I let him.
I really expected things between us to be weird again after what happened at the country club, and on the couch two days ago, but somehow, things aren’t weird.
Samuel is still, well, Samuel, but other than that, he doesn’t go out of my way or anything. He even allows me to touch him from time to time.
He insists on putting on a timer for my cuddle sessions with him on the couch, but I happily take whatever little scrap of attention he gives me. It’s not a given that he even cuddles with me, or realistically put, lets me cuddle with him.
The approach of treating this as a dirty little game that can be won is going really well.
I hear his heavy footsteps in the hallway and a second later, he stands in my doorway, looking at me like he wants to ramme into the ground upon seeing that I’m not in any kind of danger.
He sighs, and it’s just now that I see the fork in his hand.
“What is it?”
I feel a bit bad for interrupting his meal, but he ate without me, which also isn’t very polite.
“I need your help with my hair,” I say, holding my still bandaged hand out to him, pointing at my straightening iron with the other one.
“Are you fucking serious, Ruby? I thought you hurt yourself again,” he says, coming closer.
I’d prefer it if he put the fork away. In his hands, everything could be a dangerous weapon. I’m pretty sure that Samuel could fatally injure someone with a hair tie if he’s angry enough.
