It was perhaps the realest thing I had ever said to anyone but Ben in a while. Too real for this moment. This was supposed to be raw, ugly, filthy, fuck-it-out-of-my-system sex. This was not supposed to be an interview with Oprah.
Part of me wanted to demand that he fuck me already, but I wouldn’t. I refused to play into his hand.
He wanted to draw this out.
Tease me.
Make me beg.
Prove to me I wanted him and not the other way around.
And at the end of the day, after we finished worshipping each other’s bodies, both equally panting, both sweaty, both spent—he would somehow come out the victor. I knew this, but I wanted him anyway.
“Tell that to the millions of dollars in revenue Prescott Hotels brings in annually from birthday events alone.” Nash’s fingers drew mine back to my pussy when I tried to remove them. Together, we trailed a path down the slit. “Open them. Hold your fingers still. Beg me to run my tongue from your pussy down to your ass.”
“Birthdays are a lie,” I said, ignoring half of his orders. I held myself open for him, feeling too naked in front of his perusal, but I refused to beg. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The room had no door. Anyone could walk in and see Nash fully clothed as I spread my lips for him. “Society gives you this day to celebrate, and you’re supposed to feel special and unique on it, but the truth is, statistically, you share your birthday with twenty-one million other people, and that is what’s special. The threads that tie people together are what should be celebrated.”
He agreed with me. I saw it in his ticked jaw and the way his fingers paused at my hipbones, skimming just beneath my shirt. They dug into my skin for a second before releasing. Tiny indents marked the flesh.
“Selcouth…” He tore my shirt down the middle until the two halves hung loosely on my frame. “Your shirt is a lie, and I hate lies.”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond.
He whipped me around, pressed my front against the window, and bound my wrists behind my back with his belt. My breasts were on display for everyone at the beach.
I prayed no one would see.
I prayed everyone would see.
Desire played tricks on my mind. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I would go crazy if he didn’t make me come now.
His palm landed on my ass. Twice. Not giving me a second to collect myself. “I told you to beg me to run my tongue from your pussy down to your ass, Emery.”
He was a storm, chaotic and volatile.
But I never ran from storms.
I chased them.
“Stop pretending I’m the only one who wants this,” I ground out, hating myself for arching my back, giving more of my ass to him. “I won’t beg.”
“Fine. Then, you won’t come.”
My wetness trickled a path down my thigh. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he saw it. The awareness pricked at my cheeks, coloring them. He dipped a finger between my legs from behind, ran my wetness up and down my slit, and dragged it to the hole no one had ever touched before.
I instinctively clenched at the contact. “What are you doing?”
Nash stepped back, not answering. I turned my head, tracking his path to the unfinished cabinets in the corner. He picked up the cabinet knob, the one Ida Marie and I had insisted resembled a butt plug.
Anticipation filled my stomach, but I felt compelled to refuse for my dignity’s sake. “No. Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that, no.”
Would he really slide a cabinet knob up my ass? The prospect drew deep breaths from me until they fogged the glass.
“Are you telling me you don’t want this?” He approached me from behind, tilted my chin until I stared out at the crowd on the beach, and traced the knob’s cold metal down my slit. It slid across my skin easily, so wet and smooth and cold.
Goosebumps peppered my arms. My heavy pants pressed my nipples harder against the glass. I needed to slip my fingers between my legs and relieve the ache, but my bound hands refused to budge.
“This isn’t a boardroom, Emery. You’re in no position to negotiate. You either want me as I am or you don’t. Make your choice, because I won’t offer you a second chance.”
I swayed a little, running my nipples along the glass as I considered this. He stepped closer to me, his breath fanning my neck.
“Now or never, Jailbait.” Nash pressed the pad of his thumb on one of my asscheeks and pushed, inviting air against my hole.
I knew the moment the game ended.
He won.
I lost.
Tale as old as time.
Nash didn’t play fair.
Never had.
Never would.
“Now,” I whispered, but it felt like a death sentence.
My body didn’t get the memo.
I tingled in anticipation, every nerve ending alert. Like most things involving Nash, I expected to hate it as much as I loved it. I expected to toss and turn over it at night. To recall every touch, every moment, every breath.
I expected to obsess.
“Good girl.” He palmed my ass. “Arch your back and give me your ass.”
I pushed it out, pressing my breasts so hard against the glass that my nipples stung. The heat of the sun warmed my skin, yet my nipples formed pebbles against the window. I startled as he trailed the knob up and down my slit again.
Nash bent behind me, not giving me a second to recover before he ran his tongue from one entrance to the other.
“I wonder how all your lies will taste,” he whispered against my slit before burying his tongue inside me.
I fought against the belt and screamed out his name. “Nash!” I was moaning. Shaking. Coming apart for a villain who had buried his soul in my past. “Oh, God. I’m so close.”
We had barely begun, yet I was near completion.
So needy.
So innocent.
So inexperienced.
His jailbait.
Nash tsked. “You don’t get to come on my tongue.”
I almost whimpered when he pulled back, but he replaced his tongue with the knob, using my wetness to coat it before he slid it slowly into my backside. My breath sucked in at the intrusion.
It felt cold.
Full.
Tight.
He eased it out a little before sliding it back in, a little further this time. Again, and again, and again, until he filled me up, a devil fixated on ruining me.
“Straighten up,” he ordered.
I released a breath and obeyed, gasping at how full my ass felt. His palm landed on my ass with a smack.
“Nash,” I managed, clenching around the knob, panting for him.
“Turn around.” He stepped back from me, waiting as I obeyed.
My movements dragged. I took my time turning. Nash’s fingers dipped between my folds again, brushing against my nub before he slid three fingers inside me at once. My head sloped down to rest on his chest, finding refuge against an immovable mountain.
He surrounded me.
His body.
His scent.
His lust.
Just pure him.
And I was close as he slid in and out of me, curling his fingers at a spot I could never find myself. “Please, Nash.”
He halted at the sound of my pleas, ignoring my desperate whimper. “Tell me what you say when you mutter under your breath.”
Lust fogged my thoughts, or I would have marveled over him noticing my quirks. Noticing me.