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"Harder, faster." I pant. "More. Please, Law."
"Say my name again," he demands.
He begins giving me exactly what I asked for, hand moving from my shoulder so his arm can wrap across my breasts to hold me tight to him while he pounds into me harder, faster, his cock barely out of me before he's thrusting back in. But I don't say it his name. Instead, I moan it. I gasp it. I breathe it like it's a damn prayer, the tension in me becoming unbearable as my body begs for release.
"Come on my cock." He groans. "It's mine. Give it to me."
I just need one more thing. One more. It comes from Law licking the shell of my ear as he buries himself so deep inside of me that I can't even make a sound come out of my mouth from how good it feels. A breathy moan is all I can manage as I spasm around him.
"Yes." He pants. "Make me come. Take it from me. Keep tightening around me."
I couldn't stop my body from doing that if I tried. I reach around and grip his ass, pushing him harder into me while I come downon his cock as much as this position allows. Sudden pain flares when he bites down on my shoulder, muffling his groan as he comes, slamming into me and stilling there, holding my body as tight to him as possible. His cock pulses and twitches inside of me, making me shudder at the feel of it, at the fullness of it inside of me.
His teeth release my shoulder, licking where the pain remains. His hand lets go of my hair and my head falls forward as I try to catch my breath. His arm lowers from my breasts, and all energy suddenly leaving me, I fall forward, back onto my hands and knees. Law pushes forward and I go down farther, until I'm lying on the bed, his weight at my back. I like his weight on top of me far too much.
"I don't want to move," he says.
"So don't," I reply. More like plea.
But he doesn't answer my plea, pulling out of me and rolling to the side. I watch him take the condom off and drop it on the side of the bed, then lie there for a few seconds, taking deep breaths. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but without our bodies connected, it seems there's so much distance between us now. And then my own thoughts turn to what happens now?
Do I go? Does he expect me to stay? Do I want to stay? Is he lying there expecting me to say or do something to let him know what I'm thinking?
Without a word, he gets out of bed and begins dressing, pants getting dragged up his legs, shirt being buttoned. He picks the condom up off of the floor, walks it over to the small trashcan next to the chair he just sat in so I could suck his cock. I sit up in the bed as he sits down in the chair, beginning to put his socks back on.
"You have the room until 11am tomorrow," he finally says. "Get anything you want while you're here. The money will be in your account by the time you wake up."
"Suddenly, I feel very much like a real whore," I murmur.
He stands and comes over to me. I watch his every step, tilting my head back when he reaches me. He leans down and brings his lips mere inches from mine.
"But come next Saturday, I think you'll like being a whore again."
He gives me one final, slow kiss and then he's walking over to his shoes, stepping into them before crossing the room.
"I expect a text by Friday," he says when he reaches the door. "Goodnight, Sophie."
"Goodnight, Law."
My eyes follow him out of the door, and keep staring as the door closes behind him, leaving me in the room all alone. The room, this bed, feels too big now. I fall back to the pillow, replaying each moment, relishing at the ache between my thighs, the pain at my shoulder and scalp, at all the reminders I will have of this night.
Enough reminders to hold me over until next Saturday. Because, already, I need to see him again. I yearn to see him again. Want all his words, touches, kisses again.
And it scares me as much as it excites me.
Chapter 5
“And how exactly did you come up with this amount of money since we last spoke?”
Her arched brow is full of judgment, but I couldn’t care less about what some lady in a small financial department office thinks of me. All I care about is her getting my sister’s name on the transplant list.
“Does it matter?” I snap back. Okay, maybe I care a little. “This is payment in full, so what’s the next step?”
“If the payment goes through,” she says with way too much sass for my liking. “We will notify you and your sister in person if she’s been placed on the list.”
“You mean when,” I interrupt her. “When the payment goes through, and when my sister is placed on the list. Because since I just wrote you a check for two hundred and sixty thousand dollars, I very much expect to see her name on a list within the next few days. Verifying a payment shouldn’t take much longer than that, right? Especially since money seems to matter so much to this hospital.”
I tilt my head just to drive home my point. It sickens me the amount of times I’ve had to sit in this office, basically haggling for my sister’s life. I hate that this woman has watched me cry, begging her for any option there was, all with a straight face, not a bit of sympathy in her eyes. Now, here I am, paying every God damn cent this hospital had demanded just for my sister to have a life-saving surgery, and she still has the audacity to have a smile that’s dripping with condensation.
