“You should be.”
He shoved the vibrator out of the way and descended on her clit, licking in furious laps, as he forced two fingers inside her. Then his tactic changed. It wasn’t like he wanted her to finish, but like he wanted her on edge for as long as possible. She shifted and strained, and he went even slower, looking up at her like a sportsman studying his opposition for weakness. Soon he stopped penetrating her, not with his fingers or his tongue. Then he gripped the base of the plug.
“No,” she whispered.
He ignored her, easing it from her body, leaving her even emptier.
“Last summer you came to the Sharks’ barbecue,” he said. “You could see your tits right through your top.”
“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I’m sorry.”
His fingers closed around her left nipple. “You like guys looking at your tits?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You like them thinking about putting their dicks between them? Fucking them until they cum all over your face?”
She liked the thought of him doing that. “Yes. Can you…?”
He gave a hard laugh. “Sorry, honey. You’re not getting me for a good while yet.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he snarled. “Because your perfume makes me wanna fuck you through a wall. Because you cuddle up to me like you’re trying to get my dick hard. Because every time you’re in a skirt I can see the bruises all over your legs from where some old cunt held you down while he fucked you.”
Cheryl flinched. She always tried to hide the bruises, applying concealer, and wearing patterned tights and pants wherever possible. “I’m—”
“Sorry?” his lips curled into a bloodthirsty smile. “You fucking should be. Did you like showing me those bruises, Cheryl? Like making me think about you with other men?”
“Noooooo!”
“Bullshit. You remember the night we went to that electro gig in South Yarra?”
“I don’tttttt…” Cheryl whispered as he slowly pushed the plug back into her asshole. “Patrick!”
“Concentrate. You were flirting with that old prick who ran the club, remember?”
“Yesssss.” And she kind of did. Work had been crazy. Her mum had sprained her shoulder. She’d needed to get out of her own brain for a while. She and Patrick had arrived at the club together, and she’d thought he’d go home with a French exchange student he kept talking to, but he’d stayed later and later…
The plug nestled deep inside her, seating itself in her ass.
“I like knowing that’s inside you,” he said. “If I could, I’d make you wear it to work. Call you every hour and ask you how it felt.”
But it’ll never happen, she thought, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. He gripped her face, slapping her cheeks a little. “That night at the club, you asked me to come for a walk. You said we were going to get cigarettes, but I realised after you already had cigarettes. You know what I think?”
She recoiled. “Oh God…”
“I think you made me come with you to get fucking condoms.” He leaned in, his breath hot on her face. “Surprised you didn’t ask me for one, since we’re such good friends.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t even sleep with—”
Patrick clapped a palm to her mouth. “Outside you do all the talking and I don’t give a fuck. But I’m gonna talk now.”
He brushed a fingertip over her aching pussy. She shifted, trying to fuck herself on it, and he laughed. “Ask me for a condom, Cheryl. I’ll give you one.”
“Can I please… can I have a condom?”
“No.”
