“That’s right. Cry for me. Moan for me. Beg.”
My eyes capture his. There’s this undeniable pull between us. “I want to touch you, please. Release my hands so I can touch you.” I need to feel him. Know this isn’t a dream. He doesn’t immediately let me go, and I fear he won’t. Slowly, he releases my wrists. I run my palms up his solid chest and wrap my hands around his neck. He thrusts into me, and I dig my nails into his back. I’m so lost, so infatuated with how he makes me feel, I drop my lips to his. He stills for a beat, then takes my mouth, heatedly kissing me back. His grip is brutal around my hips as he slams me down on him.
“More. I need more,” I moan through our kiss. He bites my bottom lip. His fingers reach behind me, and without warning, he inserts one into my back hole. My entire world shatters as my orgasm detonates. Gabriel grunts deeply, pushing me down on him until I feel him expanding inside me, his heat filling me.
We stay connected for some time, catching our breath. “Fuck, you’re dangerous,” he murmurs into my neck.
“Me? I think you’re the bad one.”
He feathers kisses down my shoulder. “Are you on the pill, pet?”
In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t thought about the fact that he came inside me.
“I am. Don’t worry.”
He pulls my head away so our eyes lock. “I’m asking because filling you felt amazing. I want to do nothing but come inside you so you know who you belong to.” He takes my lips and kisses me with intent. It’s different from the other kisses we’ve shared, but I can’t pinpoint why.
His phone starts to go off, killing the moment. We separate and clean up, then he drives me to my dorm. I don’t want to get out of his car. I want to beg him to take me with him. I’ll take the bus back. Miss classes. I don’t care. I just want more time.
“Why so sad, little bird?”
God, I suck. Why do I have to be so needy? If I don’t pull it together, I will kill our relationship. His fingers capture my chin, forcing me to look his way. “Because I don’t want this to end. And one day it will,” I finally reply.
He drops his hand to my neck, his thumb over my pulse. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s just a fact. I can withstand the physical. But I’m not strong enough to handle the mental. My emotions will—shit, already are becoming a factor, and I know that’s not what you signed up for. And for that, I know you’ll stop wanting me.”
His grip tightens, and I fear I’ve gone too far with my loose tongue. He never promised me anything but pleasure, and now I’ve crossed the line. “You’re correct. I tell you when this ends. Not you. I decide what you want.”
He’s lost in his own head, his grip becoming too tight. I wince and grab at his wrist. “Gabriel, you’re hurting me.”
It’s as if he doesn’t even hear me. “Don’t think you’re bowing out now. This arrangement—it’s not temporary. Not anymore.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’re mine, little bird—all of you.
Time stands still. I swear I’m dreaming. “Your nights belong to me now. I’ll send a car for you twice a week and get you back to school in time for your morning classes. You’re also home on the weekends. In my bed. In my playroom. Do you understand?”
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest. My voice is almost unrecognizable as I respond. “Yes. Yes, completely.”
His seductive smile was the starring role in my dreams at night. “Now, get out of my car before I make you stay and suck my cock the whole drive home.”
“I wouldn’t mind that.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. ’Til then, pet.”
I climb out of his car and practically fly inside and to my room.
Gabriel
Macallan Fine. It’s the rarest and most sought-after scotch one can obtain. Only forty bottles have even been produced, and I’m sitting here sipping on it. I should feel elated. Empowered by the sixty-year-old, aged to perfection, single malt. Instead, irritation scratches at the surface of my mind. The girl dancing in front of me should spark my attention. I should want to take her to my private room and relieve all this built-up tension. Instead, I’m fucking annoyed.
“Shoo.” I fling my wrist, dismissing her, and slam my drink. This is not the first time I’ve denied a woman. Hell, it’s not the second or third or even tenth. Ever since she lured me into her little trap, I haven’t been able to find pleasure in anything or anyone. Only her. I saw it coming. Knew the danger of getting involved with her. And now, I’m trapped in her web of desire. I want nothing more than to control her. But she’s the one controlling me.
I flag down a girl to refill my drink. I should drown my indecision in liquor. But the last thing I need is to not be in complete control when she arrives. I look at the time. The car should be arriving within the hour. More irritation takes up my headspace. I should have sent for her sooner. Told Heath I couldn’t meet for a drink.
I don’t know how much longer I can sit next to my best friend and do what I’m doing. How the fuck do I explain that I’m in the same exact position he’s in? Wrapped up in a girl who does not belong to me. Never will. I should text my driver and tell him to turn around. Take her home.
Who am I kidding?
I’ve been anticipating her arrival since the moment she got out of my car two days ago—another reason I’m a bastard. I’ll sit here with Heath, as if I’m his loyal friend, knowing soon I will make up an excuse to leave in hopes of defiling his daughter.
Finally, my mood lightens, thinking of how sweet she’ll be in my mouth. Compliant when I tell her exactly what I plan on doing to her. My sweet little bird, who has broken down the steel wall I’ve built around myself and my cold heart.
I wish Heath would hurry the fuck up so I can get out of here.
“Sorry I’m late.” He throws himself in the lounge chair next to me, loosening his tie.
“Thought you changed your mind.”
“No. Long fucking day. Just spent the last three hours watching a pissing contest between two clients to see who was worth more. If I wasn’t interested in the two-mil commission, I’d drop them both.”
“Ah, yes. Rich motherfucker problems,” I laugh. Luxury does have its downfalls.
“Last I checked, you’re also fucking rich. And a motherfucker…” He tugs at his tie.
A girl shows up, handing me a new drink. She lingers, waiting for me to demand she dance, but I wave her off. “That is true. So, tell me, where did you end up with your little toy?”
Heath, for the first time in our whole friendship, shows his fangs. “She’s not a fucking toy, asshole.”
“Oh, well…my apologies. Please do enlighten me on what exactly she is then?” I laugh, enjoying his discomfort—the same discomfort I’m suffering from because I’m also stuck in a turmoil of shit. In any other situation, I would comfort my friend. Tell him it’s going to work out. Throw a few grand on his tab, so he receives an unexpected surprise the next time he takes a private room. But the fucked up thing is, I’m starting to think his private room engagements are coming to an end too. Jesus. I shake my head, laughing. Not like mine already haven’t. I have no interest in taking a girl into those rooms unless it’s the one I want.