Like earlier, where he denied me my orgasm, he does so repeatedly for us both. I’m sweating and begging and finally realize that the couple in the other room is now gone.
“Please,” I beg over and over, like a chant. It’s not for him to put me out of misery; it’s for him to let me fly, unrestrained and free.
He lets go of my hips, and one hand comes around to my front. He pushes two fingers inside me along with his thick length, and his thumb presses and rubs on my clit. He works his other hand between our bodies, somehow not missing a beat with his mad thrusts, and pushes a finger into my ass.
I instantly seize. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t move.
Then I’m a fireball come to life, and all I am is the pleasure he’s unleashed.
I feel him thicken and jerk within me. Then the sounds of his grunts and groans of ecstasy almost make me come again.
I collapse, boneless, onto the sofa, making him pull out of me in the process. His hand is warm and gentle on my ass as he caresses it. Then I hear him stand, remove the condom, and go dispose of it.
Reality crashes back in as my lust and pleasure subside. My cheeks heat at what we just did: I got railed while watching others have sex.
When I sit up and pull my dress down to cover my bottom half, he’s there, kneeling in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I go to stand, but he refuses to move. “I need to go.”
“So, running after sex is a common thing for you?”
“It’s not like you’re going to hold and cuddle me, now, is it?” There’s a bite to my tone. Like, I’m hurt that he won’t be doing that.
He goes to say something, but cuts himself off quickly. Then he starts again. “Aftercare is important. Let me take care of you and what you need.”
“I don’t need anything from you.” Tears try to fill my eyes, but I resist them. “This was just sex. And now I need to go. This can’thappen again.” I’m rambling, spouting quick words that I hadn’t consciously thought of saying.
But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, like heseesme and what the mask hides, and I need to get out of here.
I need to run.
I push to my feet, regardless of him not getting the hint and being a gentleman to move out of the way. But why would I expect him to be a gentleman? I came here looking for the opposite. And he’s here, too, so it means he’s a frequenter of establishments like this.
Suddenly, I feel ill, thinking of the lovers he’s had. He’s an animal in bed. Powerful, all-consuming. Dangerous.
The need to get out of here and run is screaming within me.
I step toward the door, but he grips my arm. “Siren, let’s talk—”
“Lotus,” I blurt the safe word he gave me our first night together, and he jerks. “Lotus.” I pull my arm free and step back.
His big hands close into fists. “You don’t get to safe word because you don’t want to talk.”
My chin lifts in defiance. “I can safe word whenever the hell I want.”
Pushing past him, I almost make it to the door. Almost.
He pins me to the wall with his large, strong body. When I look up, I expect to see angry eyes glaring at me. Instead, I see understanding.
He cups my chin, keeping my face tilted up so I’m looking at him. “You’re scared. My tattoos…and them revealing who I am,” he guesses.
I swallow and slowly nod. “I don’t want to be touched by that world.”
Something passes through his eyes before it vanishes. “You have experience with that world? Have connections to someone in it?”
“It’s in my past.” I glance away from his searing eyes that see too much. He tightens his hold on me, silently ordering me to look at him. Which, of course, I do.
He steps closer, and my eyes widen at the feel of his hard length pressing into my stomach. “I’m your future.”
