One day soon, I’m going to tie her up and force her to face her sexuality full on. I’m going to make her beg for orgasm after orgasm, and use all of her holes. I won’t stop until she’s a limp, quivering mess.
But alas, we don’t have time for that now. It’ll take hours, and she deserves my full attention.
I lift myself off her, drawing back, sliding from within her welcoming depths. I kneel between her legs, stopping her from closing them. She still tries, but I grip her thighs with my hands.
“No,” I warn. “When you’ve been fucked by me, you lie there and you enjoy it.”
Some of my cum is already leaking out of her, and I push it back in. Her breath catches, hips jerking at my touch. My thumb comes away coated in our combined fluids, and I lean over her and present it to her mouth. I don’t even have to tell her to open; she takes it in without a word from me. So fucking hot.
Her eyes glare as she fights herself again, and that’s even hotter. I wait, not taking my thumb from her mouth, and I don’t have to wait long. Her tongue dabs tentatively against my skin, then she’s cleaning me, tasting both of us.
“Good girl,” I murmur, and she rewards me with a full body shudder. Her eyes flicker closed, and she moans her shame and arousal, but doesn’t stop sucking. That’s my Vicky right there: losing the fightas she falls deeper and deeper into her own sexual awakening.
I’m loath to move away from her, but we do need to get going. This isn’t a meeting we can be late for.
“Up you get,” I say, pulling back and slipping off the bed. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’ll order room service.”
She blinks twice, coming back to herself. “I’m going to take a shower while you do that. I need to clean…youoff of me.”
Her choice of words hits me in the gut, and anger uncurls so fast I clench my fists. It’s not like me, but I don’t care. “No.” The word comes out as a growl. “No showers after I fuck you. No washing away my scent.”
And I’m not going to shower either, I decide. We’ll go and see Fournier like this, the smell of our sex clinging to our skin. Iwantus to go like this.
She frowns at me, sees there’ll be no give, then shakes her head, incredulous. “Whatever.” Her tone turns sarcastic. “Can I put something on?”
“Wear a robe,” I say, feigning indifference, but secretly pleased she asked, even with the attitude. I order breakfast with the room phone. Pancakes, fruit, bacon. Watching her as she picks up her bathrobe from the night before, and pulls it on.
She sits at the dining room table, gazing out of the window at the mountain view, and I join her after I fetch my own robe from the bathroom.
“Why are we here?” she asks.
“I told you. I have a meeting.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Stay in here, chained to the bed?”
That’s a good idea. I should get some chains.
“You’re coming with me.”
If Fournier hadn’t insisted she needed to be there, I’d be reluctant to leave her behind—she’d go ‘missing’ again. I’m less concerned now, because last night, while she slept, I put a tracking app on her phone. It’s buried in a folder of apps and I’m betting she doesn’t find it, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
What would she do anyway? Object?
She won’t. She’s mine.
And now she won’t be off hiding for a week at a time.
She drags her eyes from the view and stares at me. “You’ve never taken me to a meeting before.”
“This one’s different.” I’m hoping she doesn’t ask what it’s about, because I can’t answer.
And she doesn’t. “What do I wear?”
“Whatever you like.” I point to her suitcase. “I brought clothes; pick any of them.”
She nods in acceptance, then pulls a face and squirms in her seat.
“What is it?” I ask.
