“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
The mattress dipped beneath my weight as I got on my knees and settled between her legs. “I might be a monster, a killer,” I traced my oiled hands across her skin, starting at her calves, all the way up her thighs, “but I’m not a selfish lover. You just needed to be taught a lesson, and now that that’s over,” I cupped her ass, “I think you deserve a reward.” Her back arched when I dragged the pads of my thumbs all along her sensitive folds.
I sucked in a rush of air when she pushed down, lifting her ass, opening more for me—allowing me to stroke a thumb all the way from her ass to her clit and back up.
“It’s quite a mindfuck, isn’t it? To hate me yet crave my touch.”
“I don’t hate you.”
Her words took me by surprise, and I stilled.
“You’re not on my list of favorite people, but I don’t hate you.”
The thought of her not hating me unsettled me in a way I’d never experienced before, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the way it twisted my insides as if trapped in barbed wire.
I continued to rub between her legs, the gray sheets beneath her already wet with her arousal, and my dick once again hard and ready. Every time I nudged at her entrance, my cock twitched with a need to enter her, and by the way her body squirmed, I knew she was hungry for it—craving to be stretched and filled. Maybe it was the guilt of how I treated her earlier, how I left her unsatisfied and aching, but my need to give her pleasure outweighed my need to feel her from the inside.
Greedy fingers stroked through her slippery slit, and I gave a little extra attention to that sensitive bud that would ultimately push her over the edge.
“Saint, this isn’t what I want.”
I smirked. “Your body seems to disagree.”
“No, I mean…” she sucked in a breath when I pressed hard against her clit, “I mean, I don’t want your fingers.”
“Then what do you want?”
She tried to glance over her shoulder, but her bound wrists made it too difficult to do. “I want you.”
I slipped a finger into her entrance, and she buried her face in the sheets. “Are you trying to say you want my cock?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and the sound slammed against the tip of my dick. Maybe I loved this game too much. Maybe playing with her had become too entertaining to stop. To watch her squirm, hear her beg, witness her surrender her fight in a bid to satisfy her aching body was fucking beautiful. I just couldn’t stop.
Faster, harder, and with vigorous strokes, I worked her sex, her panting breaths turning into loud gasps of pleasure as I rushed her to the orgasm I had denied her for long enough.
“Saint, don’t. Not like—” Her body tensed, her neck arched, and she cried out the same time her pussy walls slammed down on my fingers. Settled between her legs on my knees, I watched as her ass cheeks pulled taut, her thighs clenched as the climax ripped through her entire body. Her arms trembled, her breaths loud and labored. It was the most erotic scene I had ever witnessed—even better than the night before when she came on my dining table.
The final tremors of her orgasm left her trembling body, and she sagged into the mattress. I dragged my wet fingers coated with her release down her thigh and untied the chains around her ankles. It left red circles of tortured flesh around her feet, and I loved the sight—proof of how fucked-up I really was.
I got up, adjusted my hard-on in my pants, and removed the belt I had tied around her wrist.
She pushed herself up on hands and knees, her dark curls a perfect mess around her flushed face.
I smirked. “Feel better?”
Angry eyes locked on mine, and I could swear to God I saw the flames of hell burn in them. “Now, I hate you.”
21
Mila
Hate was a strong word.Bold. Powerful. And in this case…a lie. But I couldn’t think of any other word to describe what I felt. While he was gone, drinking the bourbon I could smell on his breath when he cleaned my face, I was down here in agony. My body was so desperate to get off, I couldn’t stop rubbing my sex against the silk sheets, which did absolutely nothing to relieve the ache. I was fucking ten years old again and just discovered the beauty of masturbation without understanding the mechanics behind it.
The entire time I lay there hoping he would return, I tried to force the image of Brad’s body bleeding on a plush white carpet. I tried to remember how scared I was when Saint rushed me out of that hotel with threats of creating a massacre if I even thought about running. I wanted to feel the fear again, the panic, the humiliation I felt when he made me walk down his hall naked and shower while he watched. If I could remember all those things, pull it to the front of my mind, maybe then I’d stop thinking about how I wanted to feel him inside me. Feel his body rock mine into a state of euphoria that would knock the air right out of me.
But no matter how hard I tried to force those feelings into my system, the fire he ignited was too strong, the flames too fierce…and there was nothing I could do to extinguish it. For what felt like a day and a half, I couldn’t move while I tasted his cum on my tongue, forced to fantasize about what it would feel like to finally be fully satisfied. And when he came back, all he did was tease me with just the tip of pleasure. One could compare it to giving a carnivore tofu to live on.
I got up and shimmied the dress from around my hips to cover myself, no sight of my panties anywhere. Saint stared at me, an expression of stunned surprise and skepticism. “Excuse me?”