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It was torturous being kept so close to orgasm but unable to reach my peak. His hands were trapping my arms on the wall, and I arched my back desperately, trying to rub my clit on him, my nipples hardening under my shirt.
“Agree to marry me,” he growled in my ear.
“Probably,” I hedged.
He stopped moving inside me, and I mewled with need, my pussy feeling so full and needy that it was a heavy ache in my core.
“Maybe you don’t get to come,” he hissed.
“Fine, goddamn you. Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, I love you, too.”
“And what do you want in you?” he asked, and I could feel the triumph in his voice.
“Your cum, Beau,” I breathed. “I want it inside me.”
“And do you want to put a patch on?” he asked, his mouth now skimming my panting throat.
“No,” I said, and I felt my thighs start to shake. “Nothing between you and me.”
And he roared his satisfaction and victory, and he tipped my hips down, letting his thrusts rub again my clit and I came, hard, on his cock, my hands clutching him tighter, closer, and he released deep inside me, and I cried loudly with the pleasure of his obsession.
31
ELOWYN
Protesting was going just as shittily the next day. These protesters were tough nuts to crack. And I was sick of being around them. Their conversation was frankly subpar at best. So I went to Pastor Jeffrey’s car and stole his laptop. Then I shoved it under my voluminous modest dress and snuck it inside.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Rupert, noticing him heading to his office with a well-swathed arm.
“Not well,” he said, shaking anxiously. “I know those protesters are going to shut us down.”
“Nonsense,” I said bracingly. “I’m just about to crack their dirty little secrets and then we’ll have them out of here soon.”
He didn’t look convinced, but I hurried away to the dressing room. The queens were all already performing, but this couldn’t wait. I motioned impatiently for Snatch Devereaux and eventually she saw me and followed me out to the hallway.
I took out the laptop, looking both ways nervously to make sure we weren’t overheard.
“Snatch, I need you to hack into this laptop and find out who is paying these protesters,” I said.
“That would be illegal,” she said disapprovingly, putting a hand on her sparkly yellow dress.
“Let me paint you a little picture,” I said. “Heavenly Lights shuts down. You are forced to do computer science all day without the release of performing in drag shows at night. One by one, all the other drag clubs shut down too. There is nowhere to perform. Mold grows over your dresses, and you slowly shrivel into a mere shell of your former bright happy self, the weight of no drag in your life giving the rest of it a dull, gray sickly sheen.”
“Shit, Elowyn,” she said. “Get out the way. I’ll do it.”
We headed to the dressing room and Snatch set the laptop down and began to work. I stood guard at the doorway.
I knew absolutely nothing about computers, so I had no clue if this would take 30 seconds or 3 hours. I was so nervous it felt like an eternity, but by the big clock on the wall it had only been a few minutes.
Without a word, Snatch turned the laptop around.
Shit.
There, as plain as day, was Rupert Bartholomew-Buxton’s grubby little bunny paws all over the money the Holy Church of the Eternal Golden Righteousness was getting paid to protest Heavenly Lights.
“I should have known,” I said. “Who else could be responsible for all these weak, half-ass attempts to shut the club down?”
“Didn’t he justgetshot?” Snatch asked, but I saw her look at the screen. It was pretty goddamn clear.
