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“You have no other choice,” I whispered. “Nobody will train me for you. Nobody wants me. Nobody wants to touch me. You’ll have to keep me or get rid of me forever.”
“Never,” he growled possessively, and I clung to him.
“Take my clothes off,” I said, and he let me down on the bed.
He looked at me splayed on the bed like that like a savage. Then he acted like one, too, tearing down the middle of my designer dress as if it were nothing but rags. The fabric ripped in shreds, sequins and pearls flew everywhere, white fabric slipping from my body and pooling on the floor. He stared at me like that, bared open for him with my feet still in the heels he’d chosen for me; nothing else. He’d instructed me not to wear lingerie and, ever the good girl, I’d obliged.
“You’re beautiful,” he muttered darkly.
“So why won’t you touch me?” I whispered, my hands sliding over my slender body. “Why won’t you take this for yourself?”
He didn’t say a word, only staring at me.
“Almost every night you make me sleep alone,” I said. “Someone could take me.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” he groaned when I slipped my fingers between my lips and sucked on them hard. “They wouldn’t dare so much as to look at what’s mine.”
“But you won’t have me,” I said. “You won’t let go. You won’t train me. You won’t teach me.”
“I can’t,” he said, his voice rough, on the verge of breaking.
“Why not?” I whispered. “Why not, Thorn?”
My hands went down as he stared at me, down, down, down, and between my legs, opening my sex and showing him how wet I was for his hungry eyes.
“Fuck,” he muttered as I positioned my finger over my clit, lingering over the bundle of nerves and ready to make myself come at the nearest opportunity. “Stop, Rose.”
“I’m not stopping,” I told him plainly.And then two fingers went inside my cunt, and one inside my asshole while he watched. I moaned myself towards an orgasm, fucking myself as his fists grew tighter and tighter, his knuckles so white I thought he’d bust a goddamn vein.
“Tell me,” I begged him while I played with myself. “Tell me why I’m not good enough to be trained by you, Master…”
“You are,” he breathed, and I pushed another finger into my cunt, moaning obscenely. “Fucking shit, Rose, would you stop that?”
“Nuh-uh,” I shook my head, licking my bottom lip when I felt myself nearing that inevitable orgasm. “Not until you tell me why you’re so…”
I moaned. So close.
“Why you’re SO…”
“I’m what?” he asked urgently, taking a step closer.
“You’re so fucking stubborn,” I cried out, verging right on the precipice. One more push of my fingers, and I would be coming.
“Stop it,” he said, sounding like he were in pain. “Last fucking warning, Rose.”
“No,” I growled and fucked myself harder.
It was coming, building inside me. The second I fell, he was on me, his mouth swallowing my moan, and his hand forcing my fingers out of me. He slipped between my legs, his mouth hungry as I cried out his name, latching onto me and drinking from my pussy like it was going to be the last thing he tasted in his whole life.
“Thorn,” I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Thorn, tell me. Please!”
He paid no mind to me. He fucking feasted on my pussy, sucking my clit, licking desperately until I came apart on his tongue. I felt the pressure building, and suddenly there was no way of holding back anymore. With a cry, my pussy squirted on his willing tongue, and he lapped me up, tasting every drop of my arousal. I cried out in shame, but he wouldn’t let me squirm away – he kept fucking drinking.
Once he was sated, he rose above me, his eyes dark and cloudy, as he took in my shaking naked form.
“I need to show you something,” he muttered, and I sat up, still feeling dizzy from my orgasm. “I need you to come with me.”
Chapter 7
Rose
He gave me some of my clothes that were kept in the playroom: a pair of leggings and a long top with a hoodie over it. I felt strange dressed casually around him, but he didn’t seem to mind. He even zipped my hoodie closed and pulled the hood on for me, and when he did, the ghost of a smile was still present on his handsome face.
“Where are we going?” I asked, but he wouldn’t give me an answer, only took my hand and led me out of the playroom.
We went back upstairs, through rooms and hallways that I knew well by then, but then he took me down a staircase I hadn’t descended before. He held my hand more gently than ever and slowly led me through a long hallway into a room made of glass. There was a door at the back of the sunroom, and it was open.
