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Instead, I wait for her to relax a little rather than giving her greedy pussy what it clearly craves. Now it’s easier to move, and I do, moving her along with me. She slides up and down the wall with every deep stroke, her arms around my shoulders, legs wrapped around my hips.
“If I didn’t know better,” I whisper, my mouth nearly touching hers, “I’d think you wanted this all along.” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, so I settle for running my lips and tongue over her throat.
Let her pretend all she wants. Every thrust undoes her will a little more, bringing her a little closer to me, to where I need her to be. I know her resolve is about to shatter, and the thought leaves me pounding her pussy until she buries her face in my neck and moans.
The sound, the tightening of her tunnel, the danger we’re in—it all comes together and leaves me barely hanging on by a thread, holding on only for her sake, wanting her to come with me. And she’s so fucking close, practically snapping my cock off as she approaches the inevitable.
I’m close to grunting in pain when she tightens unbearably, then coats my cock and balls in a flood of warmth that sends me over the edge. A few deep, hard thrusts and I’m gone, lost in the sweet rush of release.
For a single, breathless moment, there’s nothing in the world but the two of us. The rest of the world? What does it matter? I wouldn’t care if we did get caught, wrapped up in each other, both of us grunting and panting like animals as we come down from the dizzying height of pleasure.
I knew it would be good. I didn’t know it would be this good.
Slowly, reluctantly, I pull out. The thought that she might become pregnant from this is a thrill I couldn’t have predicted. My chest swells in pride at the very idea. Talk about the ultimate claim.
“Now. Let’s get your things together, pay, and get out of here.” No, she didn’t try on a single thing, but what’s the difference? It’s not like I can’t afford to buy more. “Will you be a good girl and cooperate?”
“Yes.” She pulls up her jeans, buttons them, then checks out her flushed, rumpled reflection in the mirror. Mine, all mine. I’m already looking forward to taking her again. This time, I’ll have her suck me first. The idea makes me smile—and my smile widens when I catch her checking me out in the mirror.
“Are you ready?”
“Mm-hmm.” She won’t look me in the eye. Because I’ve fucked her into submission or because she’s ashamed over drenching my dick like she did? As long as I live, I’ll carry with me the memory of making her fall to pieces in spite of herself.
“Try not to look so guilty,” I murmur before peering out, the door open a crack. The coast is clear. “Okay. Let’s go.”
She’s like a different person.
Nobody looking at her now would know what I know, that my cum is leaking from her pussy even as our purchases are rung up. That I’ve claimed her, finally. Fully.
There’s something more, something I doubt Winter would admit under threat of death. It’s no less true, though, for all her denial.
She loved every second of it.
7
WINTER
As soon aswe're back at the house, I take my bags and head upstairs without saying a word to Warren. I don't know what to say, anyway. It's like he can't help but come up with new ways to make me question myself.
“Dinner is at seven thirty,” he calls after me. You’d never know what he just did. I don’t even get an apology.
I should hate him after what he did back there in that dressing room. It was humiliating and scary at times. Yet one more reminder of his control over me, how what I want doesn't matter.
But in the end, it was the same as before, when he went down on me. I wanted him, wanted what he was giving me. It was torture not being able to scream out how good it felt and how much I loved it.
This is not who I thought I was. What else do I not know about myself?
I can't think about anything right now but how much I want to get in the bathtub and scrub myself clean, though I doubt there’s enough soap in the world strong enough to clean my conscience. I should not want this. I shouldn't crave his touch.
Yet as I fill the tub and strip off my clothes, all I can remember is the thrill of it. How hard I came.
How I can't wait until it happens again and again.
I can't make sense of this. On the one hand, as I slide into the tub and surround myself with bubbles, I think back on the man I met at the hotel and how kind he was, that instant attraction I felt. That attraction is still there. I can't deny it. Something about the chemistry between us and what happens when he touches me is special. I know it.
If only he didn't go about things this way. That's the problem. This could all be different if he had pursued me instead of kidnapping me. There wouldn't be this lingering sense of wrongness. I wouldn't still feel like I have to hold myself back. I could let myself enjoy without the crippling sense of guilt like I’m betraying myself.
Instead of enjoying it almost against my will, like I did back at the store.
