Even that didn’t stop him. He laughed like a madman and kept fucking her with the dildo until she went limp, moaning in pleasure and mortification. Then finally, finally, he withdrew the toy and tossed it aside, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Cheryl stared up at Patrick. He was flushed, every highly toned muscle in his body rigid with blood. He looked beautiful and terrifying. A warrior God, come to claim what was his.
He caught her watching him and smiled. “More?”
Did he mean him? Or more of these games? She licked her dry lips. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good girl.” He patted her cheek with two fingers. “You learned your lesson, yet?”
“Yes… Sir.”
Patrick’s eyes went black. “You haven’t learned anything, or you wouldn’t be calling me that.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Cheryl. I told you, you’re not in charge here.”
“I know. I—”
“You know what I tell you.” His knees pushed down even harder on her thighs. “And don’t ever, ever, call me things you’ve called other men.”
Cheryl’s insides shimmered. “Sorry, Patrick.”
“You will be.” He pointed to the curtained window. “Out there, I’ll do anything you say. In here? I’m the man. I say what goes. Understood?”
She nodded.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Patrick,” she breathed. “Please, Patrick. Please?”
“Please what? Please give you this?” He picked up her still-humming vibrator and Cheryl whined so loudly the whole motel must have heard her. “No!”
“Sorry, honey.” Patrick lay the soft head on her poor little clit where it hummed like a hive of angry bees. Cheryl’s willpower was all burned up. Gone.
“Please just fuck me. I’ll do anything—I just need you to fuck me, I need your cock. I need it.”
“Here’s the thing,” Patrick said, running a thumb over her upper lip. “You act like you don’t like the vibrator, but I heard you telling Eden that if you’re having a good session with that thing, you can come over and over again. For hours.”
Cheryl blanched. She remembered that conversation, but not him being there.
“We were in that cocktail bar in Docklands,” he said flatly. “The one with all the John Wayne photos on the walls. You were drinking Sours. Wearing that glittery gold dress.”
The event came back in 3D colour. She and Patrick had been hanging with Willow and Eden after one of Eden’s shows. She and Eden had been curled up on a couch together and across from them, Willow and Patrick seemed engrossed in their own conversation. She’d never have said that if she’d thought he could hear her.
“You were listening?”
“Yup. We stayed at that bar for three more hours. Three hours of pretending to listen to Willow while I thought about you coming. You and Eden went on and on and on about it, and then when you were done talking to her about all the things you’ve fucked, you asked me back to your place to watch movies.”
The vibrator seemed to sink deeper into her tissues, making her scream. Patrick gripped her wrists and leaned down, his face inches from hers.
“I jacked off on your couch when you went to bed. I spent the whole night fucking my hand, panting over your pussy.”
Cheryl was coming apart at the seams. “I’m sorry.”
