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“You’d have to want me to want to play with me, Nate.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “You’re supposed to say you’re not a toy and I shouldn’t want to play with you.”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“A normal person probably would, but I’m a little weird and a very bad girl, so you can play with me all you want. I’ll be your toy.” At least that way he’s not putting a thousand walls up between us.
That way, I can get close, even if only by sex. I’m fine with sex. I like the feelings it brings and the surrender of it all. And if what happened last night is any indication, sex with Nate will probably bulldoze through all my thoughts and expectations.
As if to prove that it’ll go way different than I’ve fantasized, Nate reaches a hand to the waistband of my skirt and toys with the zipper, his thumb grazing my hipbone beneath my shirt. “You’ll be my toy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I can play with you?”
“You can.”
“Do you let boys play with you often, Gwyneth?”
“Sometimes…”
He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like it one bit, and that translates through the crowding tension in his shoulders and the way his touch turns from explorative to downright dominating. He grips me by the hip, hard, even though his tone is still calm. “You do, huh?”
“Uh…”
“Answer the question.”
“Yeah.”
I thought he was seeking confirmation of my earlier words, but his hold is tightening by the second. “What do you let them do?”
“I let them touch me, grope me, and take my nipples into their mouths.” I’m not sure why I’m saying this, but I like how it drags out the harsh dominance from inside him, so I don’t stop. “It feels good, when my nipples are between their teeth, when they’re tugging and pulling and biting.”
Still gripping me by the hip, he rips my shirt from inside my skirt and I jolt with the movement, sliding over his desk. I nearly squeal when his hand shoots up my bare stomach and beneath my bra.
When his thumb and forefinger grab hold of my nipple, my mouth falls open in a wordless whimper. He squeezes it, pressing his thumb on the tight bud that’s been aching ever since he touched me yesterday.
“These felt good when the boys played with them, huh?”
“Uh-huh. They did.”
He presses harder until pleasure pools between my thighs, and I clamp them shut in a helpless attempt to keep the wetness from leaking.
“Open your legs, Gwyneth.”
“But…”
“Open.”
My pulse roars in my ears at the non-negotiable order and I do. I let my legs part, releasing the friction I’ve been fruitlessly attempting to keep there.
“Now place your feet on the desk, bend your knees, and keep your legs wide apart.” With each order, he strokes and squeezes my nipple until I’m gasping for air.
But I do as I’m told, stretching my skirt up and opening my legs.
“Wider. Let me look at that pussy.”
