Page 29 of Freddie

He moans, writhing, and I wonder if he’s too far gone to hear me.

“Yes, God. Fuck me, Simmons, give me every fucking drop of your come.”

Pegging his prostate with hard-hitting thrusts, I allow the name slip since he’s out of it.

A guttural scream that has me wondering if I’ve hurt him bounces off all the walls of the dark red room. His face is sideways, eyes open as he looks up at me the best he can. Fuck, he came like that.

Caged, sore from being rubbed into the carpet while he could barely breathe from my weight on him. It’s too much and I fall over the edge as we stare at one another. Waves of rolling pleasure hit me, and I’m pretty sure I’m not far off meeting my maker from the way I hold my breath through my orgasm.

Panting, sore, and in need of a shower, I climb off Freddie and head to the attached sink to get us cleaned up. Stripping off the vest, I welcome the cool air hitting my chest and back as I get washed up and grab a washcloth to take back through.

Freddie is still on the floor when I return. Eyes glazed as if there were tears in them; he blinks them away when he sees me watching, and the expression of what looked like vulnerability in him is gone. Back grinning at me like the devil.

“This was fun. When do we do it again?” He’s trying to keep it light, but from the lip biting and the fact he’s stopped looking me with those beautiful green eyes, there’s something up.

“You okay?” I narrow my eyes to detect any discomfort there but find none. He doesn’t stop me from cleaning him, so I go further by zipping him up and helping him over to sit on the bed. The headboard is padded, so I sit against it and pull his head onto my lap, stroking his hair.

“What.. what the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s called aftercare,” I say in a hushed tone, giving no more.

“Oh, right? Well, no need. I am all good. The scene went off script because of me, so there’s no need to… oh fuck, that feels good. You should be a professional head masseuse.”

I chuckle, and he looks up at me, a small smile of his own that tells me I’m getting the real Freddie. He looks away and resumes his position, so I do too.

“I’m on a yacht all next week. Work. Free the week after that, though,” he says as he plays with the hair on my thighs. It feels nice. Domestic. Why am I not pushing him off, telling him it’s too much?

“Yeah, that’s fine. You do that a lot?”

“Work? Well yeah, Simmons, there is this thing called bills and taxes and food,” he teases. I chuckle again and find myself unable to move and leave the room now that the sex is over. I lie and tell myself that these stolen moments won’t make me more attached to him.

“You know what I meant, brat.” He just laughs but continues to tell me about his job. Sometimes people invite him to places to interview people, businesses, etc. Sometimes it’s reviewing a product or club, like with me. It’s interesting work, and I admire him for his work ethic and dedication not just to his career but to the work he does in sex education as well.

After a while of silence, we move with the promise to organise the final date of the next scene before parting ways. My body begs me to follow him, but I can’t. He might be everything I want and more. A craving I’ve had all my adult life, but I fucked it before it could take root, and this is all I’m left with.

All I can allow myself. Freddie deserves better, but I’m too selfish to let him go just yet. For now, I’ll take all the scraps I can get.

Chapter 31

Freddie

Finding the loo downstairs after parting with Simmons, I slam the door on the private room and lock it with a trembling hand. It only takes about four seconds before the tears burst free.

Fuck. I have fucked this. Totally fucked this up.

My arse hurts with the pounding it took, but that’s not where I’ve fucked up. No. I fucked up by not telling Simmons I was a virgin before tonight.

I can’t see him being okay with that now that it’s happened. My plan to tell him didn’t align with my bratty sub nature in the club. Wiping the tears away, I look at myself in the mirror. My lipstick is matching my smudged eyes, my face is flushed with that fresh fucked look and despite my misery I just can’t not document the first ever fucked look I have achieved due to finally losing my virginity to a cock that wasn’t plastic.

I sit on the toilet with the lid closed and think about what just happened as I scroll through the photos, not really paying attention. Replaying it over and over again in my mind, I groan at how hot the whole thing was.

Simmons holding me down, a tight but not painful hold on my forearms. His thick cock stretching me felt unreal, and I squeeze to feel the emptiness that replaces it now. He didn’t even question the cage, because he’s so like me it’s scary. He wants me to suffer for pleasure, and although he said he isn’t into doling out pain, my cock and knees are well and truly burning from the carpet.

Knowing I have to tell him soon, I wash my hands with a sigh and leave without bothering to fix my makeup or hair. As I head towards the cloakroom, I rummage around in my bag for the token and see movement to the right of the dance floor. Simmons charges over, lust-filled frustration on his face, and I know exactly why it’s aimed at me. He corners me immediately and gets all up in my face like the big grizzly he is. God, he smells divine. Like leather and sweat, with that underlying scent of honey. Think he would let me lick his armpits until I come?

“Where is my wallet, Freddie?” I sway as I look up at him with my best impersonation of Bambi.

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”