Page 28 of That Girl is Trouble

There’s a moment of reprieve when he rubs my sore skin gently, but it’s followed by another slap. I can’t help the sound that comes from my mouth this time. A needy, desperate moan for more. With each sting of his hand, of his skin slapping hard against mine, a throb pulses between my legs, a pool of wet flooding from my pussy.

Another slap, and then another. “Ten songs, Kitty. Understand?”

I nod.

“Words.”

“Yes,” I say, and another moan slips from my mouth with the next hit. “Ten songs.”

The last slam is the hardest, and I bite down so hard on my lip I taste blood. He ghosts the pads of his fingers over my burning skin, and then he dips his hand between my legs, making me jolt when he grazes my clit.

“Fuck. You always this wet after I do this to you?”

I nod again, and then, remembering, I say, “Yes.”

Axe has always known how much I like this, but he’s never actually felt it. Didn’t matter that I was half-naked in his bed. Didn’t matter if I begged. I was never rewarded with his hand between my legs.

He moves his fingers back and forth, gathering my wetness and circling over that needy little spot until I’m shaking, my body begging for more—for the release I’ve been dreaming he’d give me since the moment he first touched me.

“Been thinking about this cunt for too fucking long. You gonna be good and do what I say?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“You need to come, Kitty Kat?”

“God, yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl, Kitty.” He quickens his pace.

In seconds, my body trembles, and an explosion of pleasure rips from my core and shudders down to my toes. My legs shake, my nerves ignite, and that sensation—the one that pushes my pulse too hard, that makes my breathing a little too laboured, that lights my goddamn soul on fire—rushes through me like a fucking hurricane.

Axe barely gives me a moment to recover before he’s pulling up my panties, flipping me over, and propping me up on his lap. “Ten songs, Kat,” he says, and then he traces his pussy soaked fingers over my cherry lips. “Wanna taste?”

Taking his fingers into my mouth, I steady my eyes on his and lick myself off his skin, only stopping when his fingers are clean.

“Ten songs,” he says again. “Not one less. Ass on the couch.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He knows I won’t move. I watch him push through those curtains, and I wait.

Ten songs.

Not one less.

Ass on the couch.

9

I pace the room, my attention darting to the curtain every minute or two. I wait for it to swish open, but minutes tick by, and still nothing.

He’s doing this on purpose.

With a huff, I take in the couch, where two days ago, Axe had me bent over his knee. Where two days ago, he slid his hand between my legs and made me come on his fingers.

And fuck, I can’t stop thinking about that.

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