The sound of the motorcycle pulls in behind me, and I watch out of the rear view as he pulls in easily. His big body is so rawlymasculine, so sexy. I want him again. The way he fucked me, I can’t even put into words what it felt like for him to move that body over mine, inside me to orgasm with him. I touch the cut on my neck. It still stings, but even that sliver of pain turns me on. The way he licked the blood off my body. I shiver
He lights a cigarette, sitting on his bike. He looks at me. I can feel it. The stare. I shakily open the door, wondering if I should invite him upstairs. What does he feel right now? Stepping out, I round the back of the jeep and stare at him. He climbs off the bike and walks to me.
We stand facing each other. His face is closed; nothing tells me what he’s thinking. We don’t speak. I don’t know what to say. We fucked the entire weekend. The man gave me more orgasms in those three days than I’ve had my whole adult life. We did taboo things that I still can’t believe. I wouldn't believe it if it weren’t for the bloody rag in his sink the next morning and the small bandaid right between my breasts. The fact that I loved it should have shamed me, perhaps would have shamed me a few years ago, but I can’t find it in me to feel any sort of discomfort about what we did, because I liked it. No, I loved it. The way he groaned and whimpered when I cut him, taking control. That kind of power has never been a part of sex for me. The way he begged me to taste him is something I won’t ever forget.
“So what happens now?” I finally blurt, determined not to scurry away from this, from him.
“Nothing.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I don’t live in tomorrows.I live in today.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, confused, consumed with the need to hold on to something, to maintain something with him.
For a second, I see something in his eyes, something that looks like regret, and it pisses me off. The smoke from his cigarcurls around, enveloping us. “That means that I want your pussy whenever I want it.”
“So just sex?”
He’s slow to respond, his eyes searching mine. “Yes.”
He says it simply, as if just wanting is enough for him, but after spending time with him, I’m not so sure if it’s enough for me.
“There is shit in my life Cam that you cannot fathom. Pain and destruction and you don’t?—”
“I don’t what, Stone?”
“You don’t deserve to be caught up in it.”
“You don’t know shit about what I deserve. You won’t let it be more,” I argue, hating the look on his face.
“Fuck’s sake.”
“You can pretend all you want, but I know it’s good between us.” I don’t need him to agree with me. I know he knows. I felt it in the way he called my name. The way he held me. I’ve never had that before, and if he’s faking it, then he’s a damn good actor.
“We fucked, Countess, but that’s all it can be.”
His cruelty is rolling right off me, because I know him better now. It’s his way of keeping me at arm's length. “So I’m just supposed to be ready and available for your dick?”
“Or anything else I want.” He barks, pissed off, energy radiating off him.
I step closer and touch his chest. The telltale shiver pumps power into my veins. “What about my brother?”
“What about him?” He watches my lips, and even though I’m annoyed and exhausted, my body wants him.
“He’s your friend.”
“That doesn’t change things. He doesn’t change this.” A hand grips my ass, bringing me right into the V of his body. The ridge of his dick rubs against his long T-shirt. “You’re going to stillfuck me when I want, and how I want.” He drops the smoldering cigarette on the ground and grabs my head, blowing the last remnants of smoke into my mouth as he kisses me. I open my mouth and swallow the cloud of tobacco; memories of the last time he did it bombard me. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lean into his body, sliding my tongue along his, moaning, allowing him to control my body.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I whimper, ready to fuck again.
“No.”
A flare of anger hits me
“That bothers you, Countess?”
“Yes.”
