My core throbs when it has no business to.
“Violet is not purple, you know. You should’ve at least picked an aesthetic color—”
My words are interrupted when he shoves the plug in my mouth, glides it against my tongue as if it’s his cock, and then wrenches it out.
I’m panting when he kneels behind me and grabs my ass cheek in a hand.
“Relax.”
“Easier said than done,” I mumble, but I try my best not to stiffen.
“Do you trust me?”
“Not all the time.”
A dark chuckle surrounds me like a fucked-up symphony.
“Smart little brat.” He pours something cold over my backside—probably lube—and slides the plug against my back hole.
I tense up no matter how much I convince myself not to.
“Don’t.” He spanks my ass and I yelp. “The more you fight this, the harder it’ll be.”
His fingers stroke my clit in that expert way only he is capable of. I tried to mimic it when I was on my own, but there’s no way I’d be able to touch myself the way Creighton touches me.
My muscles relax as moans slip past my lips. My pussy apparently hasn’t caught on to the fact that I’m sore.
Creighton uses the chance to push the plug in little by little. My heart hammers as I’m filled to the brim.
But I focus on the bursts of pleasure exploding in my core. By the time he shoves the plug all the way in, I’m coming.
My lips part and I let the wave wash over me.
“You’re so sensitive, little purple.” He spanks my ass for good measure. “I love how you’re so attuned to my touch.”
I love it, too. But damn. That was fast.
Please don’t tell me I also need the pain to have strong releases.
Is he corrupting me?
Probably.
Definitely.
Creighton jostles the plug in my ass, making me whimper, then straps something from the plug against my clit.
“You’ll wear this two hours a day.”
“W-what? You expect me to wear this every day?”
“Yes, and I will check.”
“How will you be able to do that?”
“You’ll figure it out.” He pulls me to a standing position and gives me a box, probably for housing his latest torture device. “If you don’t wear it, you’ll be punished.”
I shift and release an erotic sound despite myself. “It feels weird.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Is this another birthday present?”
A beautiful smile stretches his lips. “One of many.”
“Any others I should know about?”
“The cake that Remi butchered.”
I laugh. “Is that what you guys were doing? Baking?”
“Attempting to.”
“Pretty sure I can salvage it.”
“Doubt it.”
“I’ll show you.”
We go downstairs after Creighton demands I put on a pair of his sweatpants that I have to roll several times before tying them against my waist.
I don’t have to salvage the cake since Eli threw it away and Remi ordered one. The five of us sit for breakfast in the midst of Remi’s antics and the others’ sarcasm.
Creighton doesn’t speak much, but he’s attuned to each and every one of them.
He likes them, I realize. That’s why he’s willing to spend time with them. He even comes to Remi’s defense whenever Eli goes too far.
He’s loyal like that.
And he’s mine.
This gorgeous, beautiful man is all mine.
Even if only temporarily.
21
CREIGHTON
“Should we leave?”
Annika lifts her head from my shoulder and whispers so the people surrounding us don’t hear her.
Her voice is sheepish, reluctant. Two traits that I would’ve sworn she lacked.
But then again, Annika has always proved that she’s the exception to every conclusion I’ve drawn about her.
In the beginning, I thought she was nothing more than a hyper, spoiled mafia princess who was too sheltered to understand how the world works.
And while some of that is true, I know for a fact that she’s been trying her hardest to forge past the image her parents and upbringing have tailored for her.
The process is slow, but she’s determined to gain back control of her life.
If her persistence in getting my attention at the beginning is any indication, then that determination will pay off.
I slide my fingers through her hair and lay her head back on my shoulder.
It’s been a week since I fully claimed her as mine, and I’ve been having this urge to constantly touch her, her hair, beneath her jaw, over her shoulder.
Anywhere I can reach.
However, that proves to be a problem, considering we have different classes, don’t share the same living space, and she still has to hide from her brother’s watchful eye.
“Does that mean we can stay?” she murmurs, her voice hopeful and trusting.
“I didn’t say we have to leave.” Despite an annoying group at the back who’s focusing on eating and being a loud nuisance instead of watching the film.
“I just thought all the noise would bother you.” She stares up at me. “I want to go out with you all the time, but not if you’re uncomfortable.”
Would you look at that?
My Annika has been learning my patterns with a speed even I can’t fathom.
She’s considerate of my character, has developed a liking for dates in quiet places, and doesn’t push when I refuse to comment further about my past.
Instead of antagonizing me, she understands.
Instead of pressuring me, she steps back.
And I know that must take effort, considering her persistence traits.
I stroke her hair and can’t resist inhaling the scent of violets. It flows through my blood, slowly but surely becoming a part of me.
“I’m not uncomfortable when I’m with you, little purple.”
I don’t see her reaction to my words, but I feel it in the way she presses tighter into my side, wraps her arm around my middle, and even leans into my touch.
She’s a myriad of colors and a splash of energy. A very expressive person, whether through her fluid body movements or her words.
If I was told I would be into someone like Annika a few months ago, I would’ve considered the possibility insane.
But while that was a blasphemous idea at the time, the thought of reverting to the life I had before her fills me with inexplicable rage.
And emptiness.
I’ve never minded that emotion before. The bursts of hollowness have been a constant since I crawled out of death's clutches.
However, it’s not a welcome emotion now.
After the film ends, I wrap an arm around Annika’s waist as she chatters on and on about the plot, the characters, the actors, and the special effects.
Everything.
I’m more interested in how her tulle skirt swishes up her pale thighs with every move. Or how her top molds against her tits and stops right at the waist of her skirt.
I stroke the visible skin at her stomach, up and down in a torturous rhythm that’s affecting the state of my cock.