Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2) Page 15

  “Please, no. It’s just...” She bit her lip. “The whole time...at dinner... I thought when we came back...”

  I waited patiently for her to make her point, because I figured it would be entertaining.

  “I mean, it’s been so long since you…”

  “Put my cock in you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And whose fault is that?” I turned her toward the bed. “Go spread ’em, starshine. I want to see a show.”

  She gave me a long-suffering look. Silly girl. I was going to fuck her to pieces before tonight was through, but I wanted to play with her a while before she got the cock she hungered for.

  “Get to it,” I said in my most threatening voice. “And spread your legs wide enough for me to see everything, or I’ll use my belt on your pussy and make you come that way instead.”

  She probably would have loved to get whipped on her pussy, but she wasn’t in charge here. I was, and I wanted to see her jack herself off. She went to the edge of the bed as I’d instructed, sat down and spread her thighs. Oh God, her legs, her tits, her shining, swollen pussy. I sat in a chair by the desk and leaned back, and unzipped myself.

  “Spread them a little more,” I said. “Arch your hips. I want to see every fucking thing you’re doing.”

  “I don’t know if I can come with my hips arched.”

  Her and her sassy mouth. I glared at her. “You’d better try.”

  With one more sigh of protest, she started to stroke her clit. She was a little slow to warm up—it was hard to get off when you were angry—but soon she was going at herself with rough, jerky movements. Well, I knew she liked it rough. Why wouldn’t she masturbate rough?

  I stroked my cock as I watched her abuse herself. She was gorgeous, thrusting her breasts out and rocking her hips. Why had I never made her masturbate like this before, for my enjoyment? I never saw her masturbate when I was watching from across the street. She must have done it shamefully, under the covers. I thought of the ass plug and lube in her bedside table and smothered a smile.

  When it looked like she was getting close, I went to stand in front of her. She’d been in her own little world, but when she felt my presence, she opened her eyes and sat up a little straighter.

  “Keep going,” I said, flicking one of her taut nipples. “Never stop until I tell you to stop.” I played with her breasts, pinching, teasing, caressing. Mostly pinching, because I loved to hear her gasps.

  She whimpered and bucked her hips forward. I could have put on a condom and stuck my dick inside her. She would have come in an instant, but this was about making her perform for my amusement. It was about watching her writhe and whimper, and wish I was inside her.

  “It’s so hard to come when you’re hurting me,” she said. “It’s hard to come sitting up like this. It’s so hard.”

  “I don’t care if it’s hard. You do what I want, and I want you to come.”

  “Will you fuck me? Please?”

  I let go of her nipples and popped her on the cheek. “What did I tell you?”

  “Please!”

  “Maybe later.”

  She groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wouldn’t sleep with you for so long. But I’ve changed my mind now. Please, I want you to fuck me! Please forgive me. Please fuck me!”

  Her babbling beg-session was gorgeous. Her frantic masturbation was gorgeous.

  “You need to come in the next sixty seconds,” I said, starting to strip, “or you’re getting it in the ass.”

  I threw my clothes over a chair and grabbed some condoms from my luggage. Of course I’d brought condoms. Never, ever went anywhere near Chere without condoms. I dug out the travel-sized bottle of lube, too, just to scare her, but I wasn’t in the mood for anal. I didn’t want to force myself into her asshole tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, when I wasn’t so wrought up from our re-connection.

  She watched me as I rolled on a condom. “You’re running out of time,” I said, flicking at the lube’s cap with a blasé expression.

  The threat of forced anal turned her on enough to make her come. I could tell because she gave that little hitch of breath that always signaled her climax. She jammed her fingers into her pussy and rode it out, bouncing on the edge of the bed.

  “That was beautiful,” I murmured, fisting my shaft. “That was a very entertaining show.”

  She stared at my cock in that hungry, desperate way she had.

  “You want this now, don’t you?” I said, brandishing it at her. “You want me inside you?”

  She nodded, still pawing at her pussy. I took her chin and gave her a few choice slaps.

  “Say it. Use your words. You want my cock?”

  “Y-yes, Sir. Please. Please, Sir, I want your cock.”

  “Louder.”

  “Please, Sir, I want your cock!”

  I let go of her chin and shoved her back on the bed, and yanked her hands over her head. I slapped her breasts a few times, her reddened nipples still offered up by her helpful bra. She wanted to shield herself but she couldn’t. Her struggle was gorgeous. The small pleas in her throat had me driving for her entrance. When I pushed inside her, she groaned and opened her thighs wider to accommodate me.

  Oh God. Oh fucking God in fucking heaven. I gritted my teeth against the sensation of her body opening, stretching, clenching around me. Her pussy was so tight, so fucking tight and responsive. She squeezed around my dick and I almost went off.

  “Wait,” I growled. “Don’t move.”

  I blew air through my teeth. I didn’t want to come too fast. I didn’t want to fuck her too hard and possibly injure her. Get your shit together, Price. Take a fucking breath and man up your shit.

  When I had control again, I started to move, sinking deeper. I’d forgotten how soul-searing it felt to be inside her, how everything in the world came down to my shaft and balls, and the electrified jolts of pleasure every time she moved her hips to take me deeper. Electrocution. Destruction. Violence. I needed to give her violence to find peace, so I gave her violence, driving into her, using my knees for leverage to fuck her across the bed. She ended up at the headboard, braced back against it.

  I gazed at my wanton slut, my whore, my Chere, her dark hair and caramel skin a delicious contrast to the pristine white upholstery. I lifted her up, held her hard and fucked her from my knees. To a voyeur, it might have looked like I was worshiping her, because I was kneeling before her, and her head was thrown back like some priestess in ecstasy. Maybe we had a spiritual moment. I don’t know. I was too busy fucking her to figure that out. She clung to my shoulders while I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her, and grabbed her by the neck, and kissed her through her moans.

  I know, starshine. I know you like it. That’s why we belong together.

  She snapped her hips against me, close to another climax. No more denial tonight. I let her have her squeezing, shuddering orgasm with my cock wedged up inside her like a club. As her walls contracted, she started crying, perhaps from the intensity of it all.

  I yanked her under me, planted my hands on either side of her, and pummeled her with driving thrusts. I’d burned so long, waiting for her, aching for her. Chere was still sobbing, and I realized she was coming again. Her pulsing walls milked me to orgasm, and massaged me all the way through a series of magnificent aftershocks. I shuddered and collapsed on top of her, holding her head between my palms. Tears flooded her cheeks. I brushed them away with my thumbs, searching her gaze.

  “What?” I asked. My voice sounded raspy. My cock was still inside her. I was afraid I’d been too violent. “Did I hurt you?” I pressed when she didn’t respond.

  “No. I’m not hurt.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “It’s just... I missed this. I’m sorry I didn’t let you have me for so long. I’m sorry. I was scared.”

  I pressed my lips to her forehead. “You were worth waiting for,” I said. “You’re always worth waiting for. Now stop fucking crying.”

  She squeezed on my cock. I
gritted my teeth and withdrew from her. It was too much sensation now, too much everything. “I’ll be right back.”

  I went into the bathroom and threw away the condom, and started running a hot bath. The two of us might have sore muscles after all. I wondered how my associates’ club hopping was going, and then I quickly shoved them from my mind. I only wanted Chere and me in this moment, no one else. I went back in by the bed. She was lying where I left her, sprawled in a heap. I took her ankle and dragged her over to me, and lifted her in my arms.

  Mine also, little painted poem of God. I kissed her, licking the corners of her lips, her nose, her dark eyebrows. She laughed and pushed at me, and let me carry her in to the tub. We lay together in the hot, relaxing water, barely talking. Mostly touching.

  “I’m glad you agreed to come with me to Oslo,” I said, stroking her hair. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you here.”

  I didn’t only mean the sex, although that was great. No, it was her secret glances, and our walk around the city. It was lying in this tub with her head against my shoulder, and our legs intertwined. If the damned museum ever got built, I’d find some way to put a memory of Chere inside it, in some lovely angle, or a bank of windows.

  “I never would have imagined we’d be here like this,” she replied softly. “I mean, years ago, when I first met you, I never would have imagined this.”

  I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t sure what she meant by “this.” I had to think long and hard about how to proceed from “this.” I had to be careful not to lead her on again, and make her want more than I could give her. I had to be careful not to destroy everything she was working for. I had to figure out how to get enough of her to satisfy my needs, and still allow her to be free. Well, free enough.

  It was hard being an ultra-possessive, ultra-protective sadist and pervert. It made my life complicated as shit.

  For now, there were more immediate tasks to work on, like moving her to a closer hotel room, and making sure she was sitting beside me next week when we flew back to New York. We’d stay a secret for now, for professionalism’s sake, but she’d be a secret beside me.

  I’d gotten drunk on her tonight, but there was so much more of her I planned to drink.

  Chere

  Our time in Oslo passed like a dream. It was so beautiful and cold and white, with Price’s hands hot on my skin. Then we returned to New York and nothing seemed as clear anymore. I questioned the wisdom of my choices. I’d avoided entanglements for two and a half years because of what he’d done to me, and now, for some reason, I was allowing him right back into my life.

  I sat in his office during the day, trying not to think about the things he might do to me later in my apartment. His apartment. Our apartment, now. He was there at least two or three evenings a week, fucking me, terrorizing me, renewing my acquaintance with nipple clamps and zip ties. Sometimes he stayed over, but more often he left, stealing away in the wee hours while I slept off the sexual high.

  We still hadn’t gone to his apartment, and I didn’t ask to go. I sensed a continuing preference to hold me at arm’s length. It wasn’t about privacy now, as it had been in the escort days, but about personal space. He insisted that we shouldn’t get too close, that a relationship with him would be bad for me. I remembered how he’d turned me inside out last time I’d fallen under his spell, and agreed that a relationship was off the table for now.

  Still, I asked him for poetry, and he humored my requests. He left verses on my bedside table, whispered poems to me, and sometimes scrawled them on my body where they wouldn’t show. Andrew said I should demand more, but he was young and naïve, and trying to be a caring friend. He didn’t understand our history, and how anxious I was to avoid heartache. In the end, I understood that our thing was just about sex and release.

  And design.

  Price had a fertile mind for design, just as he had a fertile mind for perversity. I’d learned a lot from him over the course of my internship. I’d learned that the same principles for beauty and utility applied whether you were designing an eighty-story building or a bracelet. I’d learned about tempering vision with collaboration, creating with serenity, and keeping your cool when nothing was working. There’s always a way, he told me over and over. Don’t let people tell you no. His words inspired me to try designs that people like Cantor used to discourage, designs that were avant-garde, asymmetrical, or excessively delicate.

  “Chere?”

  I looked up from my most recent sketches. Price was at his desk, leaning back in his chair. He crooked a finger at me. “Come hither.”

  I went to stand beside him, and followed his pointing finger to an open email from Norton.

  “I have to submit a formal evaluation of your work during this internship,” he said.

  “Oh. Yes. I need that to graduate.” I frowned at the questionnaire, thinking how supremely silly it was for him to have to do this, and how supremely hard he was going to make me suffer for it.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” he said. “We’ll work on it together.”

  His idea of having a seat was for me to sit on his lap. He hooked an arm around my waist and he pulled me against him as I glanced at the door. We were supposed to keep things professional at the office. That was what we’d agreed upon after we’d returned from Oslo, that we’d keep a dividing line between business and sex. When I tried to stand up, he pulled me down again.

  “Sit.”

  “What if someone—”

  His fingers untucked my blouse and tightened against my skin. I squirmed in self-protection.

  “Don’t pinch me. Ouch!”

  “Hush and be still.”

  He read the first question, running his fingers over the bit of skin he’d just tortured. I had no doubt he’d do it again if I tried to get up.

  “Let’s see. Did you find the candidate cooperative and well-mannered? Not always,” he said, giving me a look.

  “What? I’m cooperative and well-mannered.”

  “Yes, when it fucking suits you.”

  I glared at him. He stifled a smile and typed Yes.

  He went on to award me high marks for punctuality, appearance, and professionalism, while he muttered under his breath that professionalism could be overrated. I laughed at his snarky commentary, and his arm tightened around me until it almost felt like a hug. Don’t fall for him. Don’t. Sometimes he made it really hard not to fall for him. Sometimes he was sweet and playful, like this. It never lasted. Nothing between us would ever be lasting and I had to remember that.

  I sobered as he answered questions about my level of design capability and my willingness to learn. He wrote that I was detail oriented and ambitious, and a pleasure to have in the office.

  A pleasure to have in the office. I knew that wording was intentional, just as I knew his thigh working itself between my legs was intentional.

  “What strengths did this candidate display in the course of the internship?” he read next. He thought a moment. “Flexibility, for sure. Patience. Horniness,” he said, running a hand over my breasts.

  I waited. He didn’t type any of those things. He typed this:

  Ms. Rouzier exhibited an immense number of talents under my purview.

  I expected him to start listing sex acts. He didn’t.

  From the first day, he typed, the candidate exuded an unwavering focus and willingness to learn. I found her to be an articulate and thoughtful designer, and I was constantly surprised by her attention to detail. Her creativity will serve her well in future endeavors, but her determination is her greatest asset. He paused a moment, typed a few letters, backspaced, and typed again. Ms. Rouzier is ready for whatever her future holds.

  “Do you think that’s good?” he asked.

  I couldn’t say anything. I had all the feelings. Her determination is her greatest asset. He was the one who’d sparked that determination, who’d made my vague aspirations seem possible when I was working as an escort.

 
; “Too gushy?” he asked when I remained silent.

  “No, it’s good. It’s nice.”

  “It’s true,” he said gruffly, like he was angry that I’d accused him of being nice. He moved the cursor down to the final question.

  Is there any task you wish the candidate had completed during the internship, which was not completed?

  I watched as he typed Blowjob under my desk in the space allotted.

  “You can’t write that,” I said, turning to him in exasperation.

  “Why not? You never did it.”

  “You can’t write that on my actual evaluation. They’ll never let you mentor anyone again.”

  “I don’t want to mentor anyone else. I made an exception for you.”

  I glared at him. He frowned back at me and shrugged. “If you don’t want me to put that on your evaluation, then I suppose you’d better get busy. Your internship ends in a week.”

  His fingers spread under my blouse, tracing along the line of my waistband. I could feel his cock solidifying against my ass.

  “You said no sex in the office,” I reminded him.

  “Uh, no. You said no sex in the office.”

  “But you agreed. You promised.”

  His hand moved higher, to caress the underside of my breast. His voice rumbled against my ear. “You know I’m not to be trusted. My promises are shit.” His thumb grazed my nipple, a flash of sensation over the silk cup of my bra.

  I wanted to argue with him, but that brush of his thumb resonated in my pussy. It resonated everywhere as he gazed at me with his intent blue stare.

  “I know you’ll find this hard to believe,” he said, “but I’ve never had a blowjob under my desk.”

  “Poor, deprived man,” I replied with as much sarcasm as I dared.

  My gaze dropped to his lips. Any moment now, I knew he would make me. I saw it in his face, felt it in his body’s tension. I could have saved both of us the trouble and slid down under his desk where he wanted me, but no, that was no fun. I looked at the door.

  “What if someone comes in?”