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Twenty-Nine
Aidan
I lether into the shower and cleaned her up, but I used the nozzle to direct where I needed her clean.
That pussy was staying full of my cum, and she seemed to be into that as well because she didn’t redirect the shower stream.
When I grabbed another necktie, one that wasn’t wet, she let me tie it in the same way even though it wasn’t long enough for full coverage and would pull on her waist.
"The second it gets uncomfortable, tell me."
She blinked sleepy eyes at me. "I’ll tell you."
She wouldn’t. She liked it.
I didn’t tie this one as tight so it was more manageable for at least an hour, but knew I’d have to check on her and make sure that she was doing okay.
The prospect of dragging her into a bathroom at my parents’ home and ‘checking’ on her made my dick twitch, but there was no way she could handle more.
She already looked spaced out, her eyes slowly blinking like she could just crawl into bed, and I almost felt guilty because she was about to meet one of her weird anti-idols, but she’d needed to learn a lesson.
Positive reinforcement worked the best in my opinion.
Sure, I could have denied her any pleasure at all, that would have worked, but instead, she’d remember the intensity of what I’d made her feel, and it would sink in.
Delighted with her, delighted that she’d squirted, I petted her as I cleaned her up, taking care to smooth soap over her arms and legs, just keeping that filthy pussy stuffed full with me, taking special note of all the bites on her body, most of which were between her legs so for my eyes only.
I dressed her, then readied her to leave, and when I found the white van gone, satisfaction of a different kind hit me. For all that she looked exhausted and ready to nap, I was prepared for the fuckfest that was about to go down.
Da was not going to be happy, but I wasn’t averse to twisting the situation to my own advantage.
If it meant diverting him from the fact Savannah wasn’t dead when she was supposed to be, and if it meant that Conor finally got some vengeance, then so be it—I’d ruin his Christmas.
Before we left, I handed her a can of Monster from the fridge, telling her, "You should drink all that. You’ll need the energy for what’s about to go down. Christmas in my family is crazy."
She blinked at me, smiled sleepily, and popped the tab.
Fuck me, I wanted to kiss her. I wanted nothing more than to haul her ass upstairs to the master bedroom and just go to sleep with her, but that was for later. For another time.
I took a deep breath.
We had many other times coming our way.
I knew it. I had, for the first time in a long while, faith.
She’d survive today, she’d survive the family, and she’d live to see another day.
Who wouldn’t?
New York’s Archbishop.
Both buried in our thoughts, neither of us spoke all that much until we made it to the family estate. As the gates loomed up ahead, she whispered, "Does he think I’m dead?"
I cleared my throat. "I try not to bog him down with information that isn’t necessary for him."
"Meaning that he does," was her dry retort. "Didn’t he see my reports?"
"Probably not. He might have skimmed them, might not. While he has the memory of an elephant, because you write under S. Daniels, and because he's a sexist asshole, he thought you were a guy.
