I take her hand and press it hard against my cock, wanting a reward for my hard work. Her fingers knead me through the thick fabric of my sweats, the heel of her palm grinding against me when her thighs twitch in anticipation of another orgasm on the horizon.
Then the toy stops.
I press the button again and there’s a brief pulse of power, then it stops again.
Esme’s jagged moan engages something deep inside me, and I withdraw it, tossing it aside, inserting my fingers instead.
“No,” she mutters, trying to twist away, but it’s too late for that. Has been from the moment I knocked on the door.
I fumble to release my cock, pulling her hand back to me, back to work. The touch of her slender fingers around my girth draws a guttural moan from the back of my throat.
“I fucking despise you,” I whisper, rolling closer, grinding the heel of my palm so hard into her pussy that she flinches. “I’m going to fuck you so raw you won’t be able to sit down for a month without feeling me inside you.”
The hand pushing against me grows more insistent but the fingers pumping up and down my length never pause.
“You need a condom,” she whispers, and I bite into the meat of her shoulder, dragging my teeth down her pristine flesh, my tongue licking the sweat from her skin. “I’m serious.”
“Where?” I ask, mindful of my lingering unease from the last time I ignored the request. She struggles to get out from under me and there’s no fucking way that’s happening. I’m not risking the slightest chance of her getting away.
Everything in these shoe boxes masquerading as rooms is within an arm’s length. She points at the desk drawer, and I remove my fingers from inside her, wiping them on the covers so they don’t slide off the handle as I tug it open, fumbling inside until my fingers clutch what they need.
“You have to use it,” she says, removing her hand from my cock to grasp my chin, turning it towards her, the darkness obscuring everything except the flash of her teeth and the glistening whites of her eyes. “I’m serious. If you stealth me again, I’ll report you. You can spend the next six months with an ankle bracelet for company.”
I start to utter a retort about proof, about the unconscious misogyny of the police, the courts. Then my muscles tense as I think of a video, a link that’s already circulating.
I haven’t watched it all the way through yet. Don’t know if it captured that moment in its grainy archive but it’s a reasonable bet.
“Fine.” I tear the wrapper, rolling onto my back beside her and grabbing her hand so she can smooth the slippery rubber onto me while I squeeze its teat, the motion of her fingers almost making the wrapping irrelevant as I struggle to hold back at her touch.
I drag her shorts an inch further down, not enough to grant her full freedom of movement. Her knickers follow and I shove one, two, three, fingers inside her until she winces, raising them to smear her own juices across her face, trailing them across the lips swollen with her own teeth marks, jamming them inside to rub against her gums.
But I soon pull them away. The lack of light is suddenly an irritation because I’m desperate to see the hatred in her eyes. The fury that lets me know as much as I hate wanting her, her repulsion is equal.
I could lunge off the bed and grope for the switch. Instead, I push her shorts lower, to her ankles, then force her knees apart. I guide myself to her, rubbing the rubber-encapsulated tip of my cock against her clit, not bothering to check myself, not being gentle.
Finally, I enter her, resting with just the head of my cock inside, panting, hearing the hiss of frustration from her, feeling her fingers stretching to clutch my hips, my arse, trying to force me further, to give her what she’s desperate for.
I slip back out, the loss of sensation almost making my mind explode with need. But the caught cry in the back of her throat is worth it. Just like the strangled sob as I change direction and thrust into her as deep as I can.
“You like that?” I ask, pouring my anger into my voice, grabbing her chin and holding her face steady as I pound into her, my stroke increasing as it becomes fuelled by my unending rage. “It’s what you needed, isn’t it? For all you pretend you want me to go away, we both know if I moved next door, you’d be gagging for this every night.”
She muffles her response against my chest, licking, biting, sucking at me, her tongue slobbering her desperation in sticky stripes across my flesh.
“Would you like that?” I ask, some part of me curious for her answer.
But all I get is her clenched jaw, her grinding teeth crushing the gasp as my thumb and forefinger find her clit, pinching lightly, then with a vicious twist.
All for the gargantuan crime of being here, being the depraved and attention-starved girl who made my mother unemployable as some part of a cruel and secret game. “You want me on demand to meet your needs, Princess? Now you don’t have my mother at your beck and call.”
Her grunts and moans annoy me, and I put my hand across her mouth again, my head pressing into the mattress next to hers as my thrust grows quicker, seeking to be over with, to be done, to be finished with her greedy cunt.
She makes a snuffling noise through her nose and as I lunge towards the finish line, I pinch her nostrils shut, feeling the slap of her body as she bucks, fighting for air, fighting for her life and her walls pull me deeper, gripping me as waves of ecstasy take hold, her spasms setting off mine, mine triggering hers larger in return, until I release my hold for the pleasure of clutching her shoulders, palms on her back, digging my cock so far into her I half expect it to explode out the top of her head.
My muscles soften and I collapse on top of her, driving the air from her lungs with my weight just as she gulps in a breath.
She struggles then submits, lying panting under me. The soft curl of her fingers lightly press against my neck.
Some deep part of me wants to spoon with her, wrap my arms around her lush body and hold it tight.
