My cheeks smart. Both sets of them. I’m not crying, am I? My eyes are wet, yet I feel warm and fuzzy. My chest heaves a little, my breath rapid and shallow as though I’ve been running.
“This was worth more than five thousand.”
“We’re finished?” I sound a little panicked as I turn my head over my shoulder, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“That’s up to you. What is it you want, Amelia? Use your words, beautiful.”
I want more sensation. More pleasure than pain. I want this to be a prelude more than anything, but I can’t find the words. How do you form words for something you can’t comprehend? Instead, I fall back on what I know works for us as I turn and press my aching breasts against the marble. Lowering my head, I stretch my arms out in front of me like a supplicant. Or someone who’d just offered herself on a platter as I whisper, “Please, Daddy. I need you.”
“What do you need? Be more specific.”
“I need you to fuck me.”
“That wasn’t hard now, was it?”
“It had better be—oh!” I stretch under him like a cat as he presses the head of his cock against me. In one long thrust, he’s inside me, hot and thick.
“That hard enough for you?” His dark words curl around my ear, his body pressed to mine. He slides the hair from my face and the tears from my cheek. He doesn’t need my answer. It’s in my whimper as he slides back, leaving me empty, and it’s in my cry as he thrusts into me once again.
“Yes, oh God!” I push back against him as a lightning storm of need burns to life inside me.
“Fuck!”
He fills me again and again, his hand curled around my shoulder to keep me in place as he gives and gives. As my body received. My pleasure registers somewhere outside of me, sounds that are hardly feminine, rough sighs and sharp gasps, whispered encouragements that overlay Whit’s masculine grunts.
And then it happens—I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am because there is no soft buildup, just a burst dam of sensation that fractures through me as my fingers scrabble against the counter as though it could keep me from falling.
It doesn’t.
“Fuck, yes. That’s it,” Whit growls, his body pressed tight and undulating against mine. “Who gets to fuck you, Amelia? Who is it that fucks you so well?”
“Y-you!” I whimper as this liquid, hot climax drowns me.
I’m aware of nothing else but the soft grunt of his own release against my neck.
27
WHIT
I liftmy hand and wave at old Mr. Maqsood as he stands in the doorway of the newsagents. Polly says his eyesight isn’t great, but he never fails to spot the Bugatti. Or frown at me.
“Did you upset that man?” Mimi turns her head to stare at him as we pass him by.
“Yeah, when I was about seven. He caught me trying to steal a Mars Bar from the confectionary counter.”
“Wow. And he still bears a grudge?” She turns to face the front again. “That’s some commitment.” This is probably the most she’s spoken since we left the apartment.
“Spite more like. It’s probably the only thing keeping him alive.”
“So these are the mean streets you grew up on?”
“Something like that.”
She smiles. It’s not one of her regular smiles. More a vague, professional tip of her lips that reveals no hint to what had passed between us just a couple of hours ago. Is she upset? Regretting it? Fuck knows I didn’t spank her as hard as I wanted to. The thought of her being with someone else made me want to paddle her arse hard. Which would make me sadistic as well as an idiot for forgetting how young she is. How inexperienced. In my defense, she’s been so self-assured. So forthright.
I thought I was annoyed on Friday when she told me El was taking her out, but the thought of her dating random men just makes me feel a hundred times worse, makes me feel all twisted up inside.
No matter what she says about her reasons for dating, I know it’s her way of reminding us both of the fleeting nature of our time together. I get that’s the whole point of joining Hinge, and I can tell her heart isn’t in it. She’s not punishing me, and while a part of me wants to punishher, the more human part of me, a more sensible part, knows he should be thanking her for her efforts.
