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She sucks in a shuddering breath when my cold fingers meet her bare skin. The sensation of her warm, silky-smooth skin without a trace of stubble has my cock aching to the roots.God, I’d fuck her so good if she wasn’t so bad.
“Beg,” I order.
“Please,” she cries without hesitation, her hands coming forward from behind her back. She reaches for me, but when I withdraw my fingers, she quickly clasps them behind her again. “Please, Colt.”
She drops her head back and closes her eyes, and I see her lashes darken, like her desperation has her in tears. Combined with the sound of my name on Gloria Fucking Walton’s lips, the way this prissy little princess begs so pretty, it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
I slip my finger between her lips, ready to get her worked up, but she’s so wet I lose my focus for a second. “Why are you wet?” I ask, tightening my grip on her hair and forcing her head up, so she has to look at me.
Her lids flutter open, and I can’t tell for sure in the shadowy night, but I think her cheeks color. “Because you’re here,” she whispers, her voice so faint I can hardly hear it.
And for one second, I forget that we’re locked in a battle of wills at this very moment, that she’s playing me as well as I’m playing her. Better, even, because for one moment, I believe her.
“You like that?” I ask, stroking over her tight, swollen clit. “You want the dirtiest scum of the earth fingering your precious little pussy?”
“Yes,” she says on a sigh. “Yes, please, my king.”
A shuddering wave ofdéjà vousthreatens to crash over me, but I shove it back this time. I’m barely holding onto control, and I don’t need distractions.
“Tell me.”
“It feels so good,” she moans, dropping her head back.
“That’s a good girl,” I murmur, unable to take my eyes off her. She’s captivating, and I never want to stop drinking her in with my eyes, my mouth, my hands. I want to own every inch of her skin, taste it and lick it and bite it, take my time and leave nothing behind.
I’ve never seen Gloria with even a single hair out of place except on race nights, when she doesn’t wear her full face of makeup. At school, she’s a cartoon, a robot, not even a real person. She’s an evil villain with red lips and slick hair and heels that pierce hearts, a forked tongue that can cut down the strongest man.
But now… Now she’s a mess in my hands. I slowly sink a finger into the slick, hot grip of her cunt, my head spinning as I watch her perfect pieces slip out of place.
“Oh god,” she gasps. “Colt, my god…”
She rocks her hips, her hands losing their grasp again.
“I am your god,” I growl at her, pumping my finger into her. She rocks her hips, moaning and biting down on her plump lower lip. I watch her come undone, and it nearly undoes me. She’s a wreck, for me. Her tits are bare above her bra and shirt, rising and falling with each breath in the cold night; her nipples hard little points in the pale orange glow of the lights. Her jeans are open, undone, and my hand is buried in her panties as she begs for the man she’s caused so much pain to give her back nothing but pleasure.
“Destroy me,” she whispers. “Oh god, do it.”
“I will,” I say, circling my finger slowly inside the hot suck of her cunt until she whimpers for relief. “Someday.”
“Tell me how you’ll do it,” she pants, clearly getting off on this. “Would you film it? Put it on Dixie’s blog?”
“No,” I say, sliding my finger from her, even though my entire being is screaming at me to keep going, to feel her cum on my fingers. “I’d never tell a soul.”
She stands there looking stunned, and I know it’s not just because of what I said I’d do to her, or what I did to her. It’s because she understands what I mean by saying I’d never tell. It’s like telling her it means nothing, thatshe’snothing. She’s not even worth finishing off.
“Pull yourself together,” I say harshly, nodding at her bare tits and gaping jeans. “You look more like a whore than a queen.”
She swallows, her eyes narrowing and her nostrils flaring. She blinks rapidly a few times, then reaches down and slowly zips her jeans, letting me see that she’s not ashamed of her body. Not its reaction to me, and not the way it looks. She doesn’t rush to cover herself. She lets me stare at her tits a few more seconds as she buttons her jeans, watching me the entire time.
I tear my eyes away so she won’t know that I’m fucking memorizing them, adding this night to the fantasy of the girl in the pool house and the fantasy of making her crawl. I examine my finger, still glistening with her arousal, her desire—for me. I resist the urge to slide it into my mouth.
I will not let her know how much I want to taste her.
I will not give in and greedily suck her wetness from my fingers like a man dying of thirst.
I will not lick her off my fingers.
While she zips her jacket, I gather my thoughts. She’s tough, but I know I hurt her. She deserves it. I shouldn’t feel bad. I wanted to. That’s the game, after all. To get back even an inch of the miles and miles of my life she’s burned to ash.
