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“Fuckkkk.” My body bucks uncontrollably, sending water over the edge of the tub, no doubt soaking Sinn’s pants where he’s still seated on the edge.
He doesn’t even seem to notice as he holds my gaze and draws out every last wave of my orgasm. My body continues to spasm with the force of it, and when he finally removes his hand from between my legs, I’m left trembling in his hold.
He leans in, whispering in my ear, “That look is for me and meonly, Wendee. You are no longer allowed to touch yourself unless I tell you to. Your orgasms are mine to give or mine to deny. Do you understand?”
He pulls away far enough to see my face. I think I’m still too lost to pleasure to really understand what I’m agreeing to, but I’ll do anything this man asks of me. It’s like he has the master key to my
entire being and onlyhehas the power to unlock me.
I nod.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I understand.”
He reaches behind me and under my legs, pulling me easily out of the water, cradling me to his chest. There’s no doubt that his clothes are one hundred percent soaked now but he still doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs the towel off the rack and then walks me back to my bed. He sits me on the edge and then proceeds to dry me off. Once he’s done, he wraps the ends of my wet hair in the towel and pulls the covers back. I climb into them, and the cold sheets against my naked skin makes me shiver as he pulls the covers over me.
Sinn leans over me, for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, but he veers off to the side, brushing his lips against my cheek as he whispers, “Don’t forget.Mine.”
“You shouldn’t do this,” I say to his back as he’s walking toward the door.
He stops and turns, facing me, “Do what?”
“Be nice to me.”
“Why?” His question is a harsh growl.
“Because I don’t want to fall for you when you’re just going to leave anyways,” I admit on a quiet whisper.
“I’m not the one that’s going to leave, Wendee. You are.” Before I can ask why he thinks I’ll leave, or even try to argue that I’m not, that I don’t want to, he reaches the door, opens it, and then hits the lights.
His silhouette fills up the doorway for a brief second before it’s gone. The click of the door is the last thing I hear before I’m left alone in the darkened silence.
Sinn
My Drug by Anthony Mossburg
“What the fuck am I doing?” I run my hand through my hair in frustration and confusion as I walk quickly down the sidewalk, heading back to Sinful Delights.
I peel my wet sleeves back down my arms but don’t bother buttoning the cuff. I’ll just be taking the fucking soaked shirt off in a few minutes anyway. And to answer my own question, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Something about Wendee hooks me deep into my core and I just…act. I act on pure fucking impulse and my impulse is to protect her, touch her, and fuck her. And the one impulse that’s turning my whole goddamn world upside down…the urge to take care of her. I don’t even think about what I’m doing before I’m headed into disaster and have to just commit to the action. Either that or admit I’m fucked.
I was pissed when I woke up to the sound of Wendee sneaking, or trying to sneak, out of my penthouse. The fact that I fell asleep at all, as I lay on the bed watching her sleep, has me disconcerted. I never let my guard down. I never let anyone take me unaware or get the upper hand against me.
Then there’s Wendee.
I was left in a vulnerable state because of her. My body and mind betray me at every turn. I felt a peace and quietness like I’ve never felt before as I laid next to her and watched her sleep. It’s as if her presence alone soothes my tumultuous soul. She quiets the storm in my mind just by being near me. Because when she’s near me, she’s all I see. She’s all I hear. She’s all I fucking feel. I can feel her digging into my skin and embedding herself into my fucking soul. What would happen if I gave in completely? What would happen if I held her in my arms instead of keeping her at a distance?
No, Sinn. It’s not an option.She’s going to leave, just like all the others. Not that I gave a damn about anyone before her but it’s inevitable. I can’t get close. I can’t let her in only to have her torn away from me. Or even worse, have herchooseto walk away from me.So, get your fucking shit together, man.
I storm into the penthouse, a hurricane of emotions rolling through me as I head straight for my bathroom. I strip out of my wet clothes and stare at myself in the full-length mirror that takes up half of one wall. I know what people see when they look at me, when they see only what’s on display. Only what I allow them to see.
A six-foot-five threatening force of fucking nature, if nature was a rock-solid body, lithe with both muscle and grace, and a flawlessly sculpted face. A face that can chill even the biggest and hardest of men with one look from my icy-blue eyes just as easily as it can melt the panties right off of every female with a perfected smile.
No one ever gets to see the real me; the me underneath the anger and the façade of normalcy. No one sees me underneath the scars that mar half of my body, and it’s been so long since I’ve even attempted to show anyone the real me, that I’m not even sure who that might be anymore. Maybe the angry version of meisthe real me after all.
I glance down at my exposed arms. The scars are clear as day against my skin. There’s no way Wendee didn’t see them as I
bathed her earlier. I was expecting her to gasp in horror and shy away from me or frown and pretend to care and have pity for me. Both reactions would have been normal and both reactions would have pissed me off. But she didn’t react at all. She acted like she didn’t even see them, which I know is not the case. You can’t NOT see them. So why didn’t she react?
