His other hand tangles in my hair, and suddenly he’s pulling me across the center console, onto his lap. He grips my ass again, hard, and I can feel that throb of desire straight down into my clit. He tilts my head to one side, and trails his tongue along the edge of my ear. When he speaks again, his whisper is right beside my ear. “Or maybe I’ll just have you suck my cock again. You liked that, didn’t you, you dirty girl.” He slaps my ass now, lightly, but hard enough to make me jump in his lap. I feel his cock press against my thigh, and I curl my hips under me to grind against him.
“You are a naughty thing, aren’t you.” His eyes meet mine, and without thinking, without planning to, I close the distance between us and kiss him, hard.
For a second, we both freeze. I’m as surprised as he is, I think. But he doesn’t lose his stride for long. He tightens his grip on my hair, pulls my body against his as he deepens the kiss. His tongue parts my lips and slides into my mouth, tasting me, controlling me. I surrender to him with a shiver of delight.
I haven’t had enough of his mouth, not nearly, but he’s already pulling away, kissing along my neck, down to my collarbone. My head falls back on my shoulders and I groan softly through my teeth.
“You like it when I take control, Bonnie.”
“Yes,” I murmur, before I lean in to kiss the side of his jaw. His stubble scratches my cheek, my lips, as I kiss my way along his neck, but I love the roughness.
His hand comes down in a sharper slap, right across my ass, and I inhale sharply. “Yes what?” he says, his voice dark with warning. I can feel myself grow wet in anticipation.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, my voice barely audible.
He smiles. “Good girl.” Then he tilts my head back so my neck is exposed, and pushes my dress down far enough to expose every inch of my cleavage. An inch to either side and he’d have my breasts on full display to the whole street around us, but I’m too lost in the sensations to care. “Or should I say, bad girl.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Has anyone ever called you a slut, Bonnie?”
I almost laugh at the idea. Then I catch his eye, and realize he’s serious. “No, sir,” I respond.
“Do you like the sound of it?” His hand leaves my ass to slip under my dress and explore my breast, my bare skin against his palm this time. “When I call you my little slut, does that get you wet?”
I swallow hard. “Y-yes, sir,” I stammer. Because holy hell, does it ever.
He grins. “Good. Because I really think you ought to know, Bonnie . . .” He pinches my nipple suddenly, roughly enough that it stings and aches with pleasure at the same time. He pulls it gently, and the pain arcs up my spine. “You are the sexiest little cum slut I have ever had the pleasure of corrupting.”
“Thank you, sir.” I reach between us, empowered by the heat in his voice, and trace the outline of his cock. I want him, dammit. Fuck our deal, fuck what he owes me; I’m too lost in this moment to care. His lips find mine again, and I sink into that kiss, surrendering. Fuck, does it feel good to let go.
I’m so distracted by the feeling of his soft lips against mine, contrasted by the rough brush of his stubble on my cheek, that I don’t even notice his hands close around my wrists. Not until he pulls my arms behind me, anyway, and folds both of my narrow wrists into one of his strong hands. My eyes go wide, but he just grins at me as he leans in to kiss my chest again, his tongue inching toward my nipple.
“God you are fucking exquisite,” he breathes against my skin. My head falls back as his tongue laps roughly across my already-hard nipple, then circles the areola, before his teeth graze the very tip of my breast, making me gasp.
“You’re mine, Bonnie,” he growls. He licks hard at my breast. I moan something between pleasure and agreement. “Say it.”
My head swims with pleasure, but I manage to find my tongue. “I’m yours, sir.”
His free hand, the one not restraining my wrists, slides between us to cup my crotch. His eyes meet mine, serious and dark in the dim light of the car. “Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours,” I manage to reply, lost in the sensation of his fingers cupping my lips.
Without warning, he slaps my mound, hard enough that I flinch.
“Sir,” I gasp, realizing my mistake.
In response, he shoves my panties aside roughly, and spreads my pussy with two fingers. Another finger toys at my entrance, sliding up and down my wet slit, circling my lips. But he doesn’t enter me. Not yet.
“Say it again,” he orders.
I meet his eyes and feel my heartbeat triple, pounding against my ribcage. “It’s your pussy, sir.”
He smiles. His finger presses harder against me, slick and wet. He’s right at my entrance, and my hips buck in desperation. I want his finger inside me, I want him to take me. But he holds back, for some reason.
I groan in desperation.
“What do you say, my little slut?” he commands.
“Please, sir.”
“That’s it.” His smile widens. “Beg for me, Bonnie. Tell me what you want.”
“I want . . . you,” I pant.
But he shakes his head. “In detail, my lovely little slut. Tell me you want me to finger-fuck you. Tell me how badly you want to come on my hand.”
“Please, sir. Let me come for you.”
His finger slides inside me, and every nerve ending on my body fires. I try to thrust against him, push his finger deeper, but he holds me back, his hips preventing mine from moving, his other hand still tight around my wrists, restraining me. I’m helpless in his grasp, half naked with my dress pulled down and hiked up, spread on his lap in a parked car in the middle of the street like . . . well, like a slut. And I fucking love it.
“Oh fuck. Faster,” I gasp.
“Only if you promise to come for me, my gorgeous little tease.” He kisses my neck, the sensitive spot just beneath my ear, as his finger finally pushes all the way inside me. I buck against him.
“I want to come for you, sir. Please, make me come. Fuck me . . .” I barely even hear myself talking now, I’m so lost in sensation. His finger glides out of me, thrusts back in, finding a rhythm, and I sway against him.
He adds a second finger, and I moan in response, my pussy tightening around his thick, strong fingers. He fucks me faster, and his thumb brushes across my clit, sending waves of pleasure rocking through my entire body. I moan again, unable to form words as he pulls me against his strong, solid body.
He releases my wrists, and I grab onto his shoulders for support as he wraps his other hand in my hair, forces me to look him in the eyes. I can hardly keep mine open, as he thrusts his fingers into me faster, harder, his thumb now grazing my clit with every thrust. I feel full to bursting, ready to lose my mind, and he catches my eye, seeming to stare right through me, into my very core. He knows me better than I know myself, I think for a confused, blazing instant.
Then he says, “Come for me, Bonnie,” and I don’t see or hear anything else.
I cry out as the pleasure peaks inside. My whole body shakes against his, but he’s holding me tight, keeping me upright, and all the while, he doesn’t stop thrusting into me, circling my clit, making my head swim and my pussy clench hard with every spasm of ecstasy. I feel that orgasm all the way down to the tips of my fingers and toes, as if my whole body just lit up with electricity.
When I finally stop coming, I’m panting for breath, trembling. But he’s not finished yet. He keeps stroking me, slower now, his touch ever so light against my sensitive clit. Before long I feel myself clenching again, my body shaking as another orgasm hits me. I shout his name, and he grabs my hair with his other hand, pulls my mouth to his and crushes his lips to mine in a rough kiss.
Our tongues are intertwined, and I’ve lost all track of time and place. He let go of my wrists, so I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair. He breaks away from the kiss, and I gasp in protest. But he’s only gone a second, leaning over to tap the glove compartme
nt. Then he’s back, and his finger is toying with my clit again.
That’s when I feel cool metal slide between us. I glance down, my eyes widening.
“Did you think I was finished with you already?” Pierce smirks as he presses the egg-shaped metal orb against my mound. He circles it slowly, and the cold of the metal makes me shiver. “I’ve only just gotten started, Bonnie.”
I swallow hard. “Is that . . . ?”
In response, he parts my pussy lips again and slides the egg closer to my opening. “A remote-controlled vibrator, yes.”
I swallow again. Though I can’t disguise my quick breath or the way my pussy clenches in anticipation. I’m still so fucking thirsty, dammit. And he knows it.
Pierce smirks as he presses the vibrator against my entrance. It’s thick—not as thick as his cock, but close to it. My lips part in a groan as he forces it inside me. My pussy is tight from all the orgasms, but he’s patient. And persistent.
As he slowly presses the toy inside me, he goes back to licking and sucking at my breasts, his teeth grazing my sensitive nipples every so often, making me jump and tense.
Finally, he slides the egg all the way into my pussy. I feel tighter and fuller than ever. This is thicker than any vibrator I’ve ever used on my own. I expect him to turn it on, but instead, he slides me off his lap and back into my seat beside him.
He’s breathing fast, too, and the bulge in his pants is huge, straining. He locks eyes with me, smiling knowingly, as he lifts his hand to his lips and slowly licks my juices from his fingers.
I swallow hard, still trying to orient myself. Fucking hell. I didn’t know it could feel like that. I’ve masturbated, of course, but never that roughly, or for that long . . . And I still feel full, stuffed with the vibe he put in me.
He’s still watching me, hungry, excited, and I can’t help myself. I reach across the console and grab his cock again, my hand curling around his thick, excited length.
But he pushes my hand away and starts the car.
I lean back in my seat, confused, and a little stung. “So you can get me off, but I can’t return the favor?” I ask.
In response, he switches on the vibrator.
I cry out as it starts. He positioned it right against my G-spot, damn him. It’s all I can do to sit up straight now, as it feels like my pussy is on fire with pleasure.
“I told you, Bonnie. You’re my little cum-slut. Which means tonight, it’s your job to come for me, and nothing more. Now.” He turns the key in the ignition, as I pant for breath. “Which way am I going?” He smiles at me, enjoying my torment.
I grit my teeth and manage to answer with a direction. Then I lose my voice again, gasping in pleasure.
The whole ride is like that. I lose track of how often I come. Eventually I’m leaning against the door, unable to sit up straight, this feels so intense. Every now and then, usually when he asks me for further directions and I actually manage to respond, he taps the remote he keeps clutched in his hand, and the vibrator amps up again.
By the time we pull up outside my place, I’ve soaked through my panties, this dress, probably the seat beneath me too. I can’t even tell. I’m shaky and still yelling in another long, drawn-out orgasm, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain now, as the car pulls to a stop.
“This is you, Bonnie,” he says, and I stare at him, wide-eyed. Surely he can’t expect me to get out of the car right now. Like this.
But he just smiles. “I’ll see you soon.”
I reach between my legs to pull the vibrator out, but he catches my wrist, and locks eyes with me.
“Leave it in until you get inside,” he orders.
I swallow hard. Stare him down. Is he serious?
He looks it.
So I climb out of the car on shaking legs. I don’t know how I manage to stay upright, especially when I’m halfway to the door and he starts making it pulse—on off on off, over and over with every step I take. I fumble my keys a few times, glare at him over my shoulder, but eventually I manage to get inside. Once I’m there, I must be out of range, because the vibrations stop all at once.
I lean against my closed door, listening to his car drive away, waiting for my heart to stop racing and my pussy to stop pulsing and for sensation to return to my extremities.
Only once my blood returns to my head do I realize that I didn’t even ask him about paying me again. I couldn’t think about business, not with all those mind-blowing orgasms taking control.
This is business, yes. And he’s still winning.
Fuck. I am in so over my head.
6
“Right, Miss Slutty McSlut-Slut, out with it.”
I squint through a mess of curly bedhead hair at Erin. She’s bouncing around the tiny kitchen, boiling water for coffee and burning some scrambled eggs at the same time. “Huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Don’t play the innocent act with me; I’ve tried it way too many times myself for that to work. Sit,” she adds, sternly, and I take a seat at the two-person countertop we use for a mail holder and occasional breakfast stand. She plops a plate of congealing eggs in front of me, along with two slices of toast, one overburnt and the other barely cooked. Yeah, okay, we could use a new toaster. And maybe a better frying pan while we’re at it.
But I’m too exhausted to even contemplate making food for myself right now, so I dig in with a nod of thanks. “Not sure what you mean,” I try through a mouthful of toast, even though I know by now it’s a futile effort.
Erin rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, a gesture she has perfected over the years. “You came home at like, one in the morning last night. After getting all dolled up around noon, no less, for your secret internet date. Come on, do you think I’m dumb? When was the last time you were out that late without me?”
“Uh, every night that I work?” I point out, taking a swallow of the coffee she drops in front of me next.
“Okay, fine, when was the last time you were out that late without me on your night off?” she clarifies.
I shrug one shoulder and dig into the eggs. “I went out to eat.” I can’t do this with her. She’ll ask a million and one questions, won’t let up until I give her details, and the minute she asks me where we met, what am I supposed to say? Oh hey, I took your advice and signed up for that sketchy site you mentioned where people auction off their virginity. He bought mine. Oh, right, because also, I lied about prom, I’m still a virgin. And, he still hasn’t even paid me and I already did way more with him than I planned to . . .
“Out to eat. Alone?” She raises her eyebrow.
Okay, so most of my reasons for not talking is because I’m afraid where all this will lead. But part of me might enjoy torturing her too. Just a little bit. “No,” I say, trying to hide my smirk. If she won’t let up, I can at least throw her off the scent.
“Ugh, you’re the worst!” She throws up her hands. “What is he, some kind of spy? Is he part of a secret government organization here to investigate me, is that why you can’t tell me anything?”
“He’s not spying on you, don’t worry.” I grin.
“So he’s spying on someone.” She makes a fake pondering face, scratching her chin in exaggeration. “Oh, is it Mrs. Bishop on second? She’s always seemed sketchy to me. Like, she has a Greek accent but she speaks Croatian? What’s the deal there?”
“I’m pretty sure she is Croatian,” I point out.
Erin waves me off. “Where even is Croatia anyway? Is that a real place? Did she invent it as a cover story while she’s here to spy on local university students?”
“Yes, because The Fashion Institute of Design is just a hotbed of spy-worthy political conspiracy theorists.”
“Girl, you have no idea,” she deadpans, and we both laugh. Then she plops down in the seat beside me with a sigh. “Come on, though, seriously. Why don’t you want to share details? I love sharing details, that’s the best part of dating! Well, that and the sex. But sometimes even then, talkin
g about it afterward is better.” She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, god, was that it? Was he bad? Did you have to sneak out his window at one in the morning?” She pats my hand reassuringly. “Been there, honey, no shame in that game.”
I snort. “No, Erin, he wasn’t bad.”
Her eyes light up. “So you’ve hooked up already.”
“No!” I groan and shake my head. “I mean, kind of. A little. Not really. Just making out.” And sucking him off under the table of a fancy restaurant. And him finger-fucking me in the driver’s seat of his BMW. And then sticking a vibrator inside me and torturing me the whole ride home.
“Okay, good start. He’s good at making out, that’s promising.” She smirks.
“Good at making out” would be the understatement of the year. I can still feel his hands all over me, his mouth on mine. I can still hear his voice in my head. You’re mine, Bonnie. And fuck, how I want to be.
When I zone back in, Erin’s watching me with a knowing smile. “Very good, apparently,” she says, and I laugh, but I don’t correct her. “Well, fine, keep your secretive secrets. But this new boy better treat you well, or I swear I will find him and I will end him. That’s all I’m saying,” she adds as she pushes out of her chair.
The mental image of tiny little Erin going up against rich playboy gazillionaire Pierce does bring a brighter smile to my face. And hell, after the way he dumped me in front of the house last night, with barely a parting word, I can’t say I’d hate watching the fight go down.
Though I’d much rather her not need to beat him up. I’d much rather he fuck me the way he started to in that car, drive me wild and fill me to the brink with pleasure, and then . . .
And then pay me and get of out my life, I tell myself firmly. That’s the deal here. Nothing more. He’s a hookup, end of story.
Maybe it’s a good thing he dumped me so summarily last night. It shows he’s got his head on straight. It gives me a chance to screw mine on tighter, and stop fantasizing about a one-time thing.
“Oh, by the way.” Erin turns back to me and I tense, ready for another round of rapid-fire questioning. How much more of this can I take? But she doesn’t lay into me with more questions. She just drops a stack of mail on the counter beside my plate of eggs. “These came for you yesterday.”
Best of Penny Wylder: Virgin Romance Page 23