The realization clicks with horrible certainty. He thinks he’s my rebellion. That I need a break from the prep school and the rich boys. That I only want him because he’s messed up.
Then the climax crashes down on me. It rushes along my skin, lighting up every nerve ending, taking over every thought until I’m a mindless being of pleasure. My whole body shakes, wringing out the last hint of orgasm from my clit against his boot.
Dimly I’m aware of his roar loud enough to shake the cabin windows. Of the thick, salty proof of his climax flooding my mouth.
My throat moves to swallow him, taking what he gives me. Only this.
Gently he pulls himself from my mouth. He groans. He’s putting his pants back together, snapping them up.
Large paws roam over my face, then up, up, up to grab hold of my hair. I’m panting. The room feels off-balance, or maybe it’s me.
He gets down on his knees to face me. To kiss me. He lets go of my hair, smoothing it down. He pulls away and wipes the tears from my cheeks with the heel of his hand, rough movements, clumsy from his orgasm, maybe.
I feel happy, with him taking care of me like this. I feel…loved.
“God, little bird, look at you, so fucking hot.” He kisses my cheek. “You are so fucking hot with my cock crammed in your face.”
He kisses the other cheekbone.
“I liked it,” I say. “I dreamed of it.”
He gives me a strange look. Like I shouldn’t have said that. But I have more to say than that—much more.
“Stone, I have something,” I breathe.
“What is that, little bird?” He wipes another tear.
“In my clutch. I brought a…you know…” It feels wrong to say the word. Like I’m propositioning him.
He stills. Studies my face. Tilts his head. “What did you bring to the dance tonight?”
My face flashes with heat. “You know.”
“Can’t even say it.” He slides a knuckle along my cheek. “But that’s okay, because your skin is the perfect shade of pink right now, just like your pretty little cunt.” He traces my swollen mouth. “And your tears are the sweetest, dirtiest things I ever tasted. I love that my cock put them there.” His rough, giant knuckle pauses at the edge of my mouth. “I love this little bit of my cum still here on your lips.”
My pulse races. His possessive words wash over me, heat my veins.
“So fucking hot when you’re slumming it.”
I frown. “I’m not slumming it.”
“Shhh.” He pins me with his wicked gaze. “No more talking. I’ll give you what you want.”
He’s touching me with his whole hand now, sliding his open palm along the side of my neck. He drags it, warm and heavy, down the front of me. Calluses scratch tender skin. Hot breath fans over my forehead. Whatever I’d been worrying about before, it turns to smoke. Any thought in my head, blown away by the soft gust of his breath.
“Stone,” I whisper, enjoying the sound of his name. Amazed we’re here together.
Fists close over the fragile black piping that lines the top of the bodice, over the fragile lace-covered fabric. He yanks, ripping it.
I gasp.
“Shhh,” he says. “I got you. You want your junkyard dog to fuck you with the condom, don’t you?”
I don’t understand why he’s calling himself that. My protest dies in a cry and a flurry of sensation as he pinches my nipple between rough knuckles.
“I should make you wear my cum on your face all the time,” he says, voice thick. “Show the world how much you like playing at the dirty little girl.”
“I’m not playing,” I protest. “This isn’t playing, and you’re not—”
He claps his big hand over my mouth, stopping me midsentence.
…you’re not a junkyard dog.
I mumble into his hand, but he just tightens it. He won’t hear it.
“So polite.” He kisses my forehead. He squeezes my nipple between his knuckles, rough and warm, squeezing, pinching, twisting lightning clear through my body, electrifying the place between my legs.
“No talking, I said. Got it?”
Again I shake my head, but he won’t let up. I can’t concentrate with his big fingers rolling my nipple, sending more zings of feeling through my body. He makes me want everything. The folds between my legs feel swollen. Achy. But tickly, too.
I mumble into his hand. I need to tell him that he’s not a junkyard dog. I need to tell him he’s the best man I know, loyal and good and brave.
But his fingers are between my legs now, making the feelings roll through my body. Everything he does feels like sparkles. I’m panting through my nose, mumbling frantically.
“You want me to fuck you with the condom? You want me to make you a bad girl with that condom you brought for that good boy? Because you know I can. He might have fancy shit and a fancy family for you, but he can’t get you dirty like I can, can he? And that’s what you want.”
My hips move with his strokes, like he’s fucking me already. I should be ashamed, but it feels so good.
He slides his finger harder, invading me. I cry out from behind his hand. He moves it back and forth. It reminds me of camp, rubbing sticks together to make a fire—harder and harder until the sparks come. “That what you want?”
I nod behind his hand. I’m whimpering, crying. I need him to do it.
He takes away his hand. “Yes!” I gust out. “Please!”
He watches me, and something hard comes over his face.
He stands, hoisting me up, the world a whirl. He holds me tight to his chest, breathing hard as he carries me to the bed and throws me down. “You better be out of that thing when I get back.”
He stalks out of the room.
I wriggle out of my dress, pulling off all my clothes. He comes to stand over me, watching me darkly.
I lie there, naked beneath him. I want him to touch my naked skin, but not because he’s dirty or he’ll ruin me. Because I love everything about him. I trust him. Of all the people I’ve ever known, only Stone has never lied to me.
He tosses down the clutch. “Get the condom out, then. I don’t have all night.”
I fumble with the clutch. Something’s wrong. Something’s different.
He pulls off his jacket, throws it aside, then pulls his T-shirt over his head. His chest is thick with muscle, and here and there are strange white lines, like scars. Some seem to be injuries, wounds. Others make designs. I’m riveted by him, by his beauty and his pain.
“Sorry, the tattoo store was all out of yin yangs and thorny roses or whatever the fuck high school boys get. Wanna fuck the bad boy, you gotta get used to a little ugly.”
“I think it’s be—”
“Shut it and let’s do this.” He holds out his hand. “Gimme.”
Beautiful, I was going to say, but he’s in such a strange mood, suddenly. There’s a tremor inside my chest. It’s not fear, exactly, but it’s uncertainty. It’s being out of my depth. I put the foil wrapper on his palm. The small contact sizzles over my skin.
“Move.” He pushes me back.
I curl my legs under me, waiting awkwardly on the bed below him. I feel like covering myself, but he’s not even looking at me. He opens the little packet with a crinkle. “Girl like you should learn not to slum it,” he grumbles, rolling it over his hardened penis with rough efficiency. Maybe he has to concentrate, maybe that’s why he doesn’t look me in the eyes or seem romantic anymore. “But if this is really what you want…”