“M—Mr. Jones.”
I groan as he yanks my tights and panties down and pushes his finger inside me in one, perfect, brutal thrust.
“What is my fucking name?”
“Mr. Jones,” I breathe out as my hips punch upward, chasing his finger as he pushes another in beside it, and my hand comes down to grip his wrist. It’s too fast, too hard, and somehow not hard enough.
“You fucker,” I grit out, but he just pulls his fingers free and shoves them in my mouth.
“Get them wet,” he instructs, and I find myself sucking on them. I writhe beneath him, my legs hugging his hips as I feel his hardening cock rubbing against my thighs.
He pulls his fingers free and slides them back inside me, something about the rough usage and the uncompromising gleam in his eye turning me on even more.
“You’re a f—fucking asshole,” I moan as he shoves his fingers harder inside me, pulling them out and thrusting them back in as he bites at my neck.
I’m trembling as he pulls them free, moving down to the floor of the car, tugging me across the seat so the tops of my thighs are on either side of his head.
“What’s my name?” he asks me again, and this time he reaches into his pocket and draws out a wad of cash. He waves it in front of me, smirking as my eyes follow it, and I feel a burst of heat between my legs.
“You’re getting even wetter at the sight of it,” he says, staring down at my entrance as he runs his thumb over my clit. “This is for you if you’re a good girl, and you tell me my fucking name.”
“Mr. Fucking Jones,” I bark out, and then my hands slap down against the leather of the seat as he shoves his head between my thighs and aggressively tongues my clit. It’s so hard and ruthless, I see stars.
He’s thrusting his tongue and his fingers into me in quick succession, his thumb pushing inside me as he crooks it upward, his eyes meeting mine as he pulls back.
He rubs at his cock through his pants, groaning deep as he opens the clip of money and throws it onto my stomach. It should be degrading and demeaning, but instead, I could almost come looking at it.
He smirks as my thighs tremble against him, and then he picks up a hundred-dollar bill, showing it to me before he lowers his hand between my legs and then rubs the paper against my entrance as I push down against his hands.
“Say my name, and I’ll let you come.”
“Ah! Fuck. Fuck you.”
He chuckles again as his tongue dives back into me. I can’t bear it. He’s giving me just enough to keep me on the edge, and it’s the best torture of my life.
He still has the money in his hand, and as I watch, he places it over my stomach, tonguing my clit, our eyes meeting as he groans against my skin.
If I don’t come, I’ll die.
“What’s my name?”
“GRAY!” I scream, collapsing against the seat beneath me as he shoves his fingers back inside, scissoring them and twisting them until I can’t stand it anymore.
I’m screaming for what feels like hours. I come, and he holds me down against the seat, lapping at me, drinking me in.
I’m catching my breath when he rises up, one knee on the seat as he works his dick. I’m barely coherent as I twist around in the seat, my back moving smoothly over the buttery leather until my head is level with his legs.
I take his swollen dick into my mouth, sucking at it and gripping his ass, shoving it right to the back of my throat.
In three seconds, he comes with a low groan as I swallow every drop he gives me. My whole body goes limp, and I lie there staring at the ceiling of the car as we slowly descend from whatever fucked up ecstasy that was.
Chapter 23
Jax
By the time Sunday rolls around, the anticipation for the meeting with Monroe has reached a fever pitch in our house.
My brothers are all on edge. They don’t know where the ten grand I’m bringing will come from, but they know I’m going to have it by the end of the day, and some of the fear has gone from Scott’s eyes as a result.
