“You’re going to get pulled into the circle if you keep that up.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not unless you want to see me trip over my own feet.”
His hand brushes mine. The accidental contact lingers just a fraction too long, sending sparks up my arm. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.
For a moment, I let myself just stand there, bathed in artificial light, the world’s biggest screen wrapping us in its glow. Back home, everything is quieter, smaller. Here, I feel like I’m inside the center of something bigger.
“You look excited,” Rhett says softly, almost amused.
“How could I not be? It’s like the whole city is trying to dazzle me into submission.”
“Is it working?”
I glance at him, and my heart skips a beat. Not because of the lights. Because of him. “Maybe,” I whisper, but the answer is already written in how I feel.
By the time we decide to leave, the night is thick and humming. The subway takes us back out of the city and toward the coast, but the energy of Times Square clings to me, like glitter you can’t shake off. I keep replaying everything from the day in a mind movie. The gifts we bought, the purse snatching, the way Rhett ran after the thief without hesitation, the pizza, and the message from George I ignored. And the way my heart decided, in a moment of shock mingled with relief, that it belonged to Rhett.
The beach house is quiet when we arrive back, the waves outside whispering against the shore. We step inside, the hush a stark contrast to the chaos of Times Square. I set my bag down, my pulse still quickened from the city, and glance at Rhett. He’s closing the door, his shoulders relaxed now that we’re back, but his eyes meet mine with a heat that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was, and I’m only just admitting I can see it.
For a beat, neither of us moves. Then he crosses the room slowly, deliberately. If he’s giving me every chance to step back, I don’t take it. When he reaches me, he lifts his hand and lets his fingers trail down to my jaw, light as a question. My breath catches. My heart is pounding, but not with fear. With certainty and anticipation about what’s to come.
“Pippa,” he says, voice low, rougher than usual. “Why are you so beautiful?”
“I’m not,” I mumble.
The corner of his mouth curves, just a little. And then he kisses me. Not tentative, not performative, not like the staged moments we’ve shared for other people’s benefit. This is real, slow, deep, and full of everything we haven’t said out loud. My hands find his shoulders, his chest, anchoring myself in him as the world collapses away. The universe becomes empty. There is nothing but us.
Hand in hand we rush upstairs towards Rhett’s bedroom, laughter bubbling up between kisses as I nearly trip over my own shoes. He catches me easily, murmuring something against my lips that makes me shiver. But when we finally reach the bed, he stops, stock still.
“Do you care much for your top?” he asks tightly.
“Not at all,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says as he rips my top down the middle and tosses it away.
There is something in the air. It vibrates between us. Something nags at me. Something I once read in an erotic romance book. Though it made me tingle inside at that time, I dismissed it as a gross fantasy. Something I thought I would never want done to me. But right now, with the expression in Rhett’s eyes … my nipples ache, and my clit throbs for it.
I open my mouth, and hoarse words tumble out.
“Are you going to be one of those bad men who curl their fingers tight in the hair of their women … and hold their heads while they insert their thick, hard, pulsing cocks into the women’s mouths? They can see the partners choking on those big, turgid dicks, but the men don’t let them escape. No, they don’t. They climax directly into their mouths and force them to swallow. Pulse after pulse of hot seed get deposited directly into the women’s mouths. Until their stomachs are full of it. They watch their semen flowing out of the corners of the women’s mouths with satisfaction, and praise the women, thank them, and call them good girls, while they keep their turgid cocks in their mouths until they suck them clean.
Sometimes these men will tie up the women, bind their wrists behind their backs, and make them kneel naked before them. The women become a lewd offering for their exclusive use.”
I see an animal-like lust enter Rhett’s eyes. His erection bobs and flexes against his pants. His fingers touch the front fastening of my bra, and my breasts pop out. He grabs my breasts and squeezes my nipples.
I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. My panties are soaking wet as his dark head swoops down. His mouth sucks and pulls at my nipple and I feel as if my body is on fire, but I take a deep breath and continue.
“Then he whispers his dirty desires. He tells her in a hushed voice of the things he wants to do to her. He praises her for being so cooperative, so submissive. Such a good girl. All the while she waits, tied, helpless, and utterly accepting the total loss of control that is to follow. It would be so dirty … so naughty to let a man use her body … and do whatever he desires with her.”
Suddenly, his hands halt playing with my breasts, and his mouth stops sucking my nipple. He raises his head and his eyes are full of molten lust. Cool air hits my wet nipple makingme feel as brazen as a hussy. Wordlessly, his hands go to the waistband of my jeans. He unzips them. Rough. His movements are rough. I’ve got to him. He pushes me on the bed and tugs them off me in one smooth effort. My tiny thong has no chance. It is gone in an instant.
I lay on the bed, naked. For a few seconds, we stare at each other almost as if we’re seeing each other for the first time. Then I slowly open my legs and show him my dripping slit. Show him that I am that woman waiting for him to use me sexually.
With a growl, he picks up a discarded tie from the edge of the bed and ties my hands. Then he secures me to the headboard. He opens my thighs, and his thick fingers touch my freshly shaved mons. He rubs the mound with the heel of his hand. I widen my legs as my body arches invitingly for him. His fingers play with my clit, the wet folds of my sex. Gathering the slickness there, he puts his fingers in my mouth and instructs me to suck. I obey and taste myself. Those same fingers move down to torment my breasts and twist at my nipples, drawing moans of pain and pleasure from me.
Finally, his fingers enter me roughly.
My mind goes white hot with heat. He manipulates me manually to a roaring climax. All I can do is tremble and squirt helplessly while he calls me a good girl. Then his fingers are inside my folds once more, wet, hot, slick.
