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She rocks on me. Fuck.
“You like watching . . . What else do you like?”
“I’m still discovering that,” she says, breathless. “I like this.”
“Anything off the table?”
Her hips slow. “Nothing sharp. No belts. I don’t want to be held down on my front.”
I want to bite a hole in my cheek; that’s how she got the scars. “Never, I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”
She nods, kissing me again. “I believe you.”
“If you ever decide to tell me about your past, I’ll believe you too.”
Her eyes flicker—the fresh vulnerability is there—but she doesn’t back down and I’m proud of her.
“We’re good,” I tell her.
“Yeah?”
I offer a small nod. “You were trying to handle things your way.”
Her expression softens like she thinks that’s it. Like we’re past it.
“Don’t get comfortable.”
Her brow furrows.
“Now I get to handle things my way.”
I grip her waist, tossing her beside me on the bench and bracing a knee on the seat. The faux leather upholstery is thin and cracked where too many hands have pressed into it. I don’t like imagining the men who have seen her dance for them in this room.
The cheap shorts she’s wearing give way far too easily when I tear them open at the seams of her hips. Anna’s thighs part on instinct, and I press my thumb into her mouth, pushing deeper until she gulps around it. I kiss her cheek, soft enough to make the rest of it feel cruel, then drag my fingers lower, bracketing her swollen clit and massaging with slow, deliberate pressure until she shudders.
She scoots toward the edge of the seat, offering me more. I intend to take it all. A darker, heavier lust pulls tight in my chest. I sink two fingers inside her, and the sound she makes—sharp, breathless, wrecked—goes straight through me.
With one hand braced on the back of the bench and a knee beside her, I stuff a third finger in her tight cunt while staring her down. She’s getting no mercy from me tonight.
“Oh fuck,” she says, tossing her head back as I continue to pump inside her. She whines, squirming under me.
“You can take it, Duchess.”
Her palm slaps next to her, frantic as she attempts to dig her nails into something to hold on to. “I’m going to come,” she stutters.
My heart hammers. Her distress as she fights against the impending bliss is captivating. “No, you’re not.”
Her eyes grow big with worry and she parts her lips.
I chuckle under my breath. “Aww, don’t be scared . . . You can take it, can’t you?”
She bites her bottom lip and her pussy grips me like she’s already getting close.
“Casper, I can’t handle—”
“Yes, you can. Now . . . I have some things to ask you.”
She writhes beneath me. “Huh?”
