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He lets out an exasperated huff as he crowds me. “Fuck it,” he mutters. “Sage, look at me.”
There’s that authoritative tone again that makes me weak. So I stare up at him obediently.
The next thing I know, the fingers of his hand are smacking me on the cheek, making me gasp and my eyes clench shut. A moan flies out of my mouth. Then his hand is around my throat, and he’s jerking my attention up toward him.
“Open your eyes, Peaches,” he mutters with a tight jaw.
My lids pop up just in time to see him lean down toward me. Arousal burns in my belly as I stare up at the ferocity in his eyes. His guard is down like I’ve picked a scab so long I’ve made it bleed. And now it’s gushing.
Then, with a firm grip on my face, he slides two fingers into my mouth, making me gag and choke as he pulls them out. Spit flies from his mouth, landing on my face. But then he’s there, running his tongue along the length of my cheek.
His face is inches from mine as he grits his teeth in my face. “You fuck me up. You make me want shit I know I shouldn’t want. You know that?”
Disoriented, I nod.
“But I love it, Peaches. I fuckinglovehaving you like this.”
He hesitates a moment before adding, “Like the dirty slut you are. Aren’t you?”
Again, I nod. This strange, all-consuming sensation washes over me. Like adrenaline and arousal mixed together, and as ridiculous as it sounds, it all feels so…intense.
Then his mouth is crashing against mine, as the grip on my throat tightens, so much so that I start to feel my pulse in my own ears.
I’m lost in his dizzying kiss and all too quickly, it’s gone.
He pulls away, leaving me swaying on the floor. He’s walking away again, pacing frantically. “Cut,” he barks loudly.
I don’t rise from the floor. I can barely move. So I stare at him until he finally freezes and glances back my way. The features on his face melt into unadulterated shame and sympathy combined as he rushes toward me.
“Fuck, Sage. Get up,” he mutters as he lifts me to my feet.
“I’m fine,” I mumble.
Grabbing his own discarded shirt from the couch, he uses it to wipe down the surface of my cheeks, lips, and chin. Then he holds my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Turning my face in his hands, he examines my cheek, where he slapped me. “I said I’m fine,” I argue, regardless of the fact that my voice quivers as I force the words out. Why the fuck do I feel like I’m about to cry? Ididlike that. I liked ita lot. But suddenly the feel of his arms around me and the gentle touch as he dotes on me has me wanting to bawl.
So I shove him away. “Adam, stop!”
“You made me do that. Now I’m going to make you do this,” he says in a commanding tone.
“It was a ten-second clip, Adam. It’s hardly grounds for aftercare.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he snaps. “Sit down.” His words are sharp, sending chills down my spine as I suddenly find myself doing what he says. A moment later, he’s handing me a glass of water and holding a cool rag against my face.
I stare up into his eyes, growing more and more emotional at the sight of this pure and kind version of Adam. And all the while, the camera records on the tripod, catching every second of his aftercare.
And I let it.
* * *
“Have you still not heard from that asshole ex-boyfriend of yours?” Adam asks, sitting across from me at the same diner we met at. It’s become a bit of a Saturday morning ritual, but considering that we’ve spent nearly every waking minute together since all of this went down, it really doesn’t matter which day of the week we eat here.
“No,” I mumble with my lips against a cup of coffee.
“Do you think he’s seen the videos?”
Setting the cup down, I think it over. Has he seen them? Probably. I mean, how could he miss them? The little degradation snippet we posted is already doing better than the first video. Viewers love a little slap and spit.
