The thought fades as he finds my clit again, sucking it into his mouth. A finger slides inside me, and he’s being careful. It’s still sore within, but I’m so wet it almost balances it.
Pain. Pleasure. Edging me toward release. I can’t stop him, and I don’twantto. I’m weak.
Alex rises to his feet, tipping me back as he does. His hand catches the back of my neck, lowering me to the table, hard and uncomfortable. At least I can’t see the mirrors anymore. I know he’s going to fuck me, in this quiet room where everyone will hear, and I know it’s going to hurt.
“Alex, please, no…”
“Don’t fight me, Tink,” he growls. “Not now. Not when you’re already testing my control.”
He forces the camisole up until my breasts are bared, grips one in each hand, squeezing as he bends over me. His mouth finds my pussy again, and my cry is one of pleasure, pain, and relief. Maybe hewon’tfuck me.
But it doesn’t matter. He’s still going to make me come, and I can’t keep quiet. His tongue is merciless, I’m too sensitive, it hurts too much, it feels too good. He lashes my clit and my hands search for something to hold onto. There’s nothing; the table is too flat, toosmooth.
I grip his head instead. Clinging on, fingers entwining. He hisses like it hurts, and that’s ironic. But I can’t stop, and neither does he. He punishes me with his tongue, his finger penetrating me again, one hand finding my nipple and twisting, and it pushes me over the edge. I pull him tight against me as my orgasm explodes.
I’m half aware of my cries echoing in the room, but I’m past caring. And he doesn’t let up; his fingertip rubs over my tender g-spot, his lips enclose my clit, and his tongue flicks back and forth, back and forth, over and over.
It won’t end. He keeps me riding it, and my body is so attuned to him, tothis, that it goes on and on. I’m quivering beneath his tongue when at last it fades, and then an aftershock makes me jerk, and he chuckles.
“There’s my Tink,” he murmurs against me. “Now everyone here knows you’re mine.”
He’s not wrong, damn it. I don’t know how many people are in this shop, but they can’t have missed it. I’ll have to walk out past them all—assuming I can walk.
And he’s fucking loving it.
“Let me up,” I say, angry at him.
He doesn’t, of course. Instead, he leans over me, his weight on me, rubbing his crotch against mine, his cock hard through his pants. His mouth finds a nipple and sucks it, then his hand slides beneath my neck and grips, holding me as he comes in for a kiss. It’s aspossessive and domineering as everything else he does, and damn my traitorous body for responding, for the whimper I can’t contain, for the way my hips rub against his.
“You’re making a mess on my pants,” he murmurs, lips curling in that sadistic, smug little smile.
It’s my fault, of course. He turned me on, pinned me here, made me come, pressed himself against me, and it’smy fault.
“Get off me, Alex.”
His head tilts in puzzlement, like he’s trying to figure me out. “What’s the matter?”
He doesn’t know. He genuinely doesn’t know.
And I’ve almost let him see how I truly feel. That’s dangerous.
Be careful, Vicky.
“Nothing… just hurting.” My center, my head, my heart, mysoul. “It was nice, but… please, I want to go home.”
“Nice?” he echoes, his smile returning. “You screamed loud enough. I’m surprised they don’t think I’m murdering you.”
I tense; I can’t help it. It takes everything I have to calm myself, will my heart rate to slow, my body to relax. “What do you expect when you pin me down and torture me with your tongue?” It’s not a bad effort; a little trembly.
He likes it. He grins his grin, gives me a soft kiss, then straightens. His gaze takes in my nakedness, and he’s still between my legs. I’m opened and exposed tohim, and he’s not in a hurry to move away.
Then his thumb brushes over my pussy, making me twitch, and he lifts his hand to my mouth. “Taste,” he says, forcing my wetness between my lips. I close my mouth around his thumb, and lick my cum from his skin. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Delicious, aren’t you?”
I nod, still suckling, giving him what he asks for. Hoping it’s enough.
“We’ll buy this camisole,” he says. “I don’t think they can sell it now anyway.”
He turns away, gathering some other items that catch his eye. “And this. These.”
