Page 28
I tried to imagine the way the warm sun turned the sand pink, but all I could see in my head was a large hand wrapped around a thick cock. Not my hand. Someone else’s. Large fingers callused from mechanic’s tools. Or beating the shit out of people in a cage.
“C’mon. You know you want it,” he cooed, forcing unwanted thoughts and images into my head. “You know you want to jerk yourself off tonight. You’d sleep better.”
I hated that he was right. Hated that the only time I’d gotten hard in ten days was with his annoying voice in my ears, taunting me.
“I’d sleep better if I suffocated you with your own fucking pillow,” I assured him.
More shifting in his bed. The sound of shorts being pulled down. The drawer opening and the snick of a plastic cap. Was he…? I glanced over and peeked one eye open.
Yep. The man was pouring lube into his hand. My lube. His cock was right fucking there, visible in the lamplight and hard enough to be pointed straight up. His large fist wrapped around it and stroked down, then up. Another groan rumbled out of his chest.
Instead of looking at what he was doing, his eyes were on me. Waiting. Assessing. Tempting.
I started to sweat.
This wasn’t happening. Surely my cock wasn’t actually leaking right now, the sensation sticky and uncomfortable in my shorts.
Anyone would be turned on by listening to sex, though, so it made sense that my dick was hard. This was a new form of Vaughn-based torture. Making me suddenly want sex when I definitely couldn’t have it.
He was doing this on purpose.
“Baby, why can’t you stop being such a prude and just let yourself have this?”
My heart rate went skittering off the scale at the pet name. “Not your baby!” I choked, and my cock jumped. “Fuck!”
“Mm, you like it when I call you that. I know you do. Every time I’m fucking someone else and call you babygirl, your body does this thing—”
“It doesn’t!”
Except maybe it did. A little.
Only because it was such a surprise. And he’d even admitted it. He wasn’t calling his sex partner babygirl; he was aiming it at me.
And, fine. Maybe it made me feel… a little smug that I was in his head enough to break him out of his sex trance. But that was all.
“I think you secretly like it,” he said in a breathy voice. “I think you secretly want me telling you what to do with your cock.”
What I hated the most was that he was right. Clearly, he had some kind of magical spell over me, and it was pissing me the fuck off. Why was he allowed to have the easy release of this, and I wasn’t?
If I just let myself do this—just this once—then I could finally fucking sleep.
I turned my back on him, shutting out the view of his fist shuttling over his ruddy dick and trying to block out the shick-shick sound of it. My balls were heavy, and my lower belly ached. My cock continued to add to the wet patch in my shorts.
It was mortifying. The cherry on the shit sundae of my day.
“I fucking hate you,” I said, and even I could hear the wobble in my voice. I snuck my hand to the front of my shorts, hoping like hell he couldn’t see. My cock just needed a hard press to calm it down. “Fuck,” I whimpered as soon as I felt the heat of my own palm.
He hesitated for just a moment, and then, “That’s it. Good boy. Keep giving me those sounds, pretty baby. I could come from listening to you touch yourself.”
My body vibrated like a live wire. I clamped my teeth together to keep from satisfying him. After a few more excruciating moments of hearing him jack off, he let out a low chuckle.
“If you’re not gonna talk, I can at least look at those sexy dimples on your lower back. Imagine my thumbs pressing into them. Imagine my teeth grazing over your shoulder blades. My tongue licking up behind your ears. Would you like that, baby?”
The sound of my own rapid breathing filled the room as my hand moved inside my shorts. I could only hope he didn’t hear the panting over the sound of his own relentless teasing.
“Lie on your back, princess. Show me how you touch yourself.”
“Fuck off,” I said, but it didn’t sound as angry as I felt. It sounded…
