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I slap her hand away from my tie. Grabbing her throat, I guide her atop my now empty desk.
“I can’t let you lock yourself into that bullshit prenup.”
She grabs my face again, forcing our eyes to lock.
“That’s the fucking problem. There’s no I anymore, mutherfucker, it’s we.”
“Then, we need a plan.”
I sink my teeth into her nipple through one of the lacy bras she’s always wearing. Her scream is stifled underneath her palm like she’s trying to be quiet.
“If you want to elevate to taking my dick, never hold back with me. I don’t give a damn where we are.”
“B-but.”
“No buts. You’re not ready for my dick. Fucking me is habit forming. The euphoria I’ll give you will be in your blood, sinking into your bones until your very essence can’t function without a hit of me.” I continue holding her down and yank up her dress to admire how I’ve soaked her underwear. I rub my thumb along the panel, pressing just hard enough for her pussy to chase it. “Are you ready for that, Trophy? Do you want to know what it’s like to crave my dick until the thought of getting it controls your day?”
“Yes, but I don’t have the time… to be addicted.”
“That’s the only dick you’ll get from me, so you better be fucking ready.”
The lacy bullshit has to go. She growls when she realizes I’ve ripped away her lingerie.
“Those were three-hundred dollars!”
“So? Wear shit you don’t mind losing around me.”
We groan at the feeling of my fingers sinking into her wet pussy. My fascination with my fingers stretching her has me picturing how my dick will push her limits. It screams to join the action, but it’s not time.
“Oran,” she screams as her first orgasm hits.
Too fucking easy.
I pull out, slap her pussy, and shove my fingers inside harder. She bucks from the intrusion; I add a third one just to be a dick.
“You said I came with terms and conditions. Those aren’t mine.” I pump my fingers hard with each statement. “Here’s my dick’s terms and conditions. You move back home and fucking stay. You trust me completely or not at all. Always remember that I never was and never will be anything like my fucking sperm donor.”
Robbing her of the orgasm she was chasing, I remove my fingers and suck her juices off them. Her eyes are hazy and lustful as she watches me with her tits quivering on her heaving chest.
“You taste good, baby. I would’ve feasted on your pussy if you weren’t so fucking annoying.” I adjust my dick, still denying her a view of it. “When I come home tonight, you better be there. No more of this bullshit.” I pull her to me by her bra to take one last taste of her mouth. “Understand?”
Chapter 20
Karessa
I’m not saying I listened to Oran, but I stopped by the store on the way to “our house” to get some groceries for dinner. I was running out of outfits and my sisters were tired of me interrupting their normal schedules. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Fine, I listened to Oran. He’s my husband despite how we got together. I can’t get answers from afar, and if I want to be super honest with myself, he’s hard to stay away from for too long. Oran is all the way in my system and has me craving something I’ve never had. Even when he’s being mean, he’s so attractive it hurts to look at him.
Balancing my grocery bag and my purse on my left, I use my free hand to unlock the door. The sunlight bounces off the golden key, bringing my attention to it. It looks like something is engraved on it. The lock clicks its surrender and the door swings open. After toting the bags inside, I lean on the island to study the key closer.
In delicate cursive, the word “trophy” is engraved with a date. I snort and my irritation tells me to junk punch him when he comes home, but my teal vase with hand-painted cherry blossoms catch my attention.
How did that get there?
Curious, I turn an assessing eye to my surroundings as I notice other things that belong to me like my burnt orange fluffy throw that’s slouching over the top of the sofa. In the master bedroom, there’s a picture of me in the golden frame Esme gave me sitting on Oran’s nightstand. I tilt my head to the side because it’s odd seeing pieces of my old life in his home. And I’m pretty sure there was another picture in that frame. In fact, I don’t have any framed photos of myself, not even my graduation photos.
Opting to ask Oran later, I take a quick shower then return to the kitchen to prep dinner. I’ve cooked the ingredients and have it finishing in the oven by the time I hear Oran’s car zooming into the garage. The salad is ready and waiting on the island when Oran appears. My breath hitches, and the stupid butterflies congregate in in my belly. I know we’ve just seen each other, but his inky hair, light eyes, and dark shading of his bread has him looking delicious and dangerous.
