“Does your husband know what a whore he married?”
The word sends a shock through my system, and a ripple of pleasure runs from my fingertips to my toes.
It fits. Fits like something I’ve been missing without knowing it had a name.
“Yes.” My voice comes out wrecked. “He knows. He loves it.”
Adrian laughs. Short, humorless. “Then he’s just as fucked up as we are, because knowing you’re married just makes this hotter.”
He drives into me without warning. I cry out. His palm clamps over my mouth. He’s thick—so thick—and for a second I hang there. Impaled. Forgetting how to breathe.
“Quiet.” His hips move. Hard. “Unless you want the whole casino to hear what a hungry whore you are.”
The pace he sets is relentless. Each stroke shoves me into the concrete. His other hand digs crescents into my hip. More marks to bring home to Robert.
“This what you wanted?” His tone is controlled as he fucks me like he’s trying to break me. “You come here to lose thousands of dollars so someone will fuck you and use you?”
“Yes.” The word is muffled against his palm.
“Say it again.”
“Yes. Please. I wanted this.”
“Wanted what? Be specific.”
My mind scrambles for words. “I wanted to be used. Wanted someone to look at me and see—“ I gasp as he hits a spot that whites out my vision. “See what I really—”
“What?”
“A whore.” The confession tears out of me in fragments. “A bored—hungry—slut who can’t stop—“ Another deep plunge almost makes me lose the thread. ”—thinking about this. About being fucked by men who aren’t—oh god.”
The pleasure builds and my thighs are shaking. My nails scrape against concrete. My whole body is straining toward the edge.
Adrian pulls out.
I make a sound I don’t recognize. Half sob, half animal. I rock backward, but there’s nothing there.
“Turn around. Get on your knees.”
I turn. My legs almost give out, and I sink to the floor awkwardly in my heels. The concrete bites into my knees, and I look up at him.
He’s stroking himself slowly. Watching me with that assessing expression.
“Open your mouth.”
I do. Wider than I need to. My tongue is out, waiting. I close my eyes instinctively.
I hear the wet sound of him speeding up his hand until he groans. Hot stripes across my cheek and lips. The warmth drips down my skin. I lick my lips, tasting salt and musk.
When I open my eyes, he’s gazing down at me, an unmistakable glint of triumph in his expression as he tucks himself into his slacks and buckles his belt.
“Next time,” he says calmly, “I might let you come.”
He retrieves a box of tissues from a nearby shelf.
“Clean yourself up. And Shannon?” He opens the door and pauses as I blink at him. “You coming isn’t a guarantee. I want you to think about that.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me kneeling on the storage room floor.
