Torment | 18+ ?

33

And the cold, hard evidence of my theft is currently in the back pocket of my jeans. Inches away from where his hand is.

I need to get away. Now. I need to separate myself from his body and get as far away from him as I can.

Shrugging out of his hold, I slip off the barstool, deliberately ignoring the heavy weight of his gaze as I move away from him.

I only make it three steps before his hand comes around my wrist, and I’m wrenched right back to him.

Panic and arousal erupts inside me, hissing and swirling around each other like a snake-infested branch.

I can feel the harsh ridges of his chest at my back — feel every inch of his laboured breathing, and the heat pouring through the material of his dress shirt.

He leans his mouth into the crook of my neck, his voice a rough whisper. “I’ll play by your rules.”

My mouth parts as a surprised breath leaves me. A part of me made those demands because I thought they were too ludicrous for him to accept.

My voice is soft, stilted from his close proximity when I ask, “All of them?”

I can practically feel the thick, unguarded displeasure roll off him in waves. His voice rigid when he says, “All of them.”

I’m given no warning before he pushes his left hand under my tight tube top, giving my breast a punishing squeeze, before flicking the rough pad of his finger over my nipple.

I gasp, throwing my left hand to his bicep in a weak attempt to stop him. And just as I get used to the feel of his rough palm on my flesh, he pushes his right hand into my jeans, cupping me between my legs.

Another choked breath leaves me. There’s little to no space in my jeans for his hand, but he greedily pushes against the denim to make space for his fingers, skimming his fingers over my slit through the thin material of my panties.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “You’re soaking wet.”

He pushes the lace to the side, then spreads the slick of my arousal around as he presses down on the nub of my clit. “Like a dirty little slut.”

Shit. My vision is dotting, and I can’t see straight. All I know is if we’re doing this right now, I need to at least get my jeans off, so he can’t feel what’s in my back pocket.

I need to move. I need to get my jeans off right now—

And then he shoves two fingers inside me.

“Ah,” I whimper.

I’m so wet that his fingers slip inside me painlessly. He presses the heel of his palm into my clit, pumping his fingers in and out of me. Obscene squelching sounds fills the air.

“Christ,” he groans. “Listen to the fuckin’ sounds you’re making.”

Shit, shit, shit. I can’t do this. His pressed up against me, thick erection pulsing against my ass through his slacks, and any second now, he’s going to realize that there’s a small piece of metal in my back pocket. And knowing him, he’ll slip his hand in and pull it out. No warnings, no reservations.

I need to stop.

My pussy cries out in protest as I pull away from him, forcing his fingers out of me, and out of my top as I turn to face him.

He works his jaw, clearly unimpressed. I watch as he brings his inked fingers to his mouth, sucking me off them without taking his eyes off me for even a second.