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Smith sits up beside me on the mattress, tension beginning to coil his muscles.
Unconsciously, I run my hands over his muscular back and arms, biting my lip at the sight of his erection. It’s always ready to give me pleasure. How many times has he taken me since the first time? I’ve been on top, face down over the table, pummeled against the wall. I’ve shaken with so many orgasms that every single muscle in my body is sore, inside and out. And yet, I ache to have him on top of me again, that big body moving in vicious drives.
My body has steadily become addicted to the relief he gives me and I need it now.
Need it now.
But there is more knocking. Louder.
“It’s Baker,” I say, almost too drowsy to form words. “Are you going to let him in?”
“No,” Smith says immediately, shaking his head. That’s when I notice the sweat forming on his hairline, the bunched quality of his jaw. “He’s here to take you.”
Take me where? Away from the pleasure?
I think not.
“What day is it?” I yawn. When Smith doesn’t answer, I prompt him again, nerves beginning to make their way under my skin. “What day is it, Smith?”
“Saturday.”
“Saturday,” I breathe, my senses coming back online, alarm infiltrating. “It’s opening night of the show. I’ve been here…five days?”
There is no way Baker waited five days to retrieve me. I’ve missed too much practice.
Everything comes back to me in a rush.
The loud hip hop music Smith played while taking me over and over again on the mattress. I could hear nothing but our moaning, feel nothing but him. The world has not existed for the last five days. Only Smith. Only the ecstasy. Was he purposefully drowning out my coach’s frantic knocking? He can’t disguise the sound now, though. For once, the stereo across the room is silent. The knocking of my heart is louder than a steel drum, though.
“He comes here to take you every day,” Smith says thickly. “Don’t worry, Posy. I won’t let him.” As he says these words, he rolls me onto my back and enters me in a swift pump, his eyes fastened on the door for long moments before they begin to lose focus and he starts to groan, long and guttural, the slaps of our flesh growing louder, quicker—and God help me, I raise my knees and roll my lower body, chasing the lightning he gives me with his huge shaft. I claw at his shoulders and arch my back, entering a state of delirium that I know is dangerous, but the fog is so heavy, I can’t wave it away or cut through. It surrounds me. Owns me.
Smith bares his teeth at the door.
Wraps a hand around my throat.
“Mine!”
The knocking shakes the door on its hinges.
I whimper Smith’s name and there’s a disgusted sound outside the room. “That does it. I’m calling the police,” Baker growls. “We have three hours until curtain call, Posy!”
Three hours.
To curtain call.
Smith’s forehead presses down on mine. “I’ll lick and fuck you so well, little girl, you won’t even know three hours has come and gone.” He reaches down between us and presses the pad of his thumb to my clitoris, robbing me of breath. “Starting now. Make Daddy’s last few thrusts good and creamy.”
I’m so sensitive. So sensitive and primed that my climax crests automatically and I sob through it, trembling, looking Smith in the eye and falling deeper, deeper, deeper in love by the second. But something is wrong…
There’s something…
Smith’s hand tightens on my throat and he bears down hard, sinking so deep, I swear I can taste him in the back of my throat and I explode again, screaming his name, my flesh in a torturous flex that never ends, never ends. His teeth are buried in my neck and he’s…can I call it anything other than fucking at this point? He has scooped my knees up under his forearms and his hips collide with mine in rapid succession, his sex swelling inside of me, eyes rolled back into his head, grunting, cursing…and finally exhaling my name, wet warmth filling me up in a way I’ve become eager for. So insanely eager.
His seed is mine.
I pine for my prize. I love earning it.
I love him.
