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I lift my hips, murmuring some inaudible words, clenching and releasing both with my inside muscles and my hands on his arms. He closes his eyes briefly and jerks, and that one sharp move puts pressure where I need it, and I burst beneath him again, drawing him into me.
And he goes too, his head becoming limp again, his dick expanding inside me, his groan deep. “Shit,” he gasps, collapsing on top of me, panting, our chests pumping. My throat’s sore. My muscles are screaming. Between my thighs feels deliciously raw. I close my heavy eyes and sink into the mattress, arms splayed above my head. I wince when Brad slips out, closing my legs, and he falls onto his back on a huff, one of his long, muscled legs bending at the knee, his palm on his broad, pumping chest. He’s drifting off.
I roll away from him, onto my front, and stare across the room. Why me? And what now? I feel his fingertip meet the top of my arse and drag slowly up my spine, making my shoulder blades pull in. He stops on my scar, and I subtly inhale. He doesn’t believe my lie about where it came from.
“Are you ready to talk?” he asks softly.
I close my eyes, feeling my time ticking away fast. “No.”
He pinches my bum, and I yelp, but I remain front down on the bed, looking across the room. “Who was that man?”
“The one in the alley?”
“No, the one in the club flashing pictures of you around.”
“I don’t know.”
On an impatient huff, he takes my hip and pulls me over onto my back. “Who would hire someone to find you?”
“My family.”
He frowns, eyes a little narrowed. “You lost your parents in a burglary.”
Give him something. Anything. “It’s complicated,” I say.
“Try me.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
He pinches my boob in warning, and I yelp on a buck. “You know, I like that more than I don’t.”
“Pearl,” he says lowly, warningly.
“I’m just saying, you’ll need to find another form of punishment if you want it to be effective.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He moves so fast, the room is a blur.
“Brad!”
I’m spun onto my front, he slaps my arse, really fucking hard, and spins me back. “Talk.”
“Fuck, that hurt,” I yell, the sting biting.
“You want me to go again?”
“No,” I grate.
“Then talk, gorgeous.” He straddles my stomach and tickles his way from my armpits to my wrists, his fingers moving in delicate, feathery circles across my skin. Then he pins me to the bed. Trapped. But free. I can feel his soft dick lying on my lower stomach. Can see the demand in his lazy eyes.
Talk. I have never talked to anyone about anything. I’m not sure I should start now. “I didn’t lose my parents in a burglary.” I shrug, apologetic. “It’s just an easier story to tell than the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?”
“I lost my mum when I was thirteen.” I’m aware of the lack of emotion in my voice. I won’t bother trying to fix it. I’m no actress.
Brad flinches on a blink, releasing my wrists. “I’m sorry.”
I smile sadly at how uncomfortable he is right now. But . . . he asked. “Don’t be.”
