Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2) (18 page)

“Please, no more,” I begged from behind his hand. “Please, just let me come.”

“I don’t think so,” he said with a chuckle. “Not this time. Not after all the time you denied me. Maybe later, if you’re good.” He rubbed my clit a little longer, a little harder, just to drive me those last few inches to insanity. As I strained back against him, he whispered in my ear. “Don’t you wish you could come? Don’t you wish I’d fuck you hard and fast, until your walls clenched around my cock? Don’t you want to feel that release? That bliss?” His fingers traced around the petals of my clit. “I wanted it. But you wouldn’t give it to me. Bad girl.”

His fingers ceased their wandering and clapped over my held-open pussy with a squeeze and a firm slap. A tear escaped the corner of one eye and slipped down my cheek. I wanted to come so badly, but he wasn’t going to let me, and I didn’t dare do it on my own. I was so weak. He was so much stronger. I was in so much trouble, and now I was getting what was coming to me.

He let me go, waiting a moment to be sure I didn’t collapse. I almost did. He straightened me and gave me a look. Now that I could see his face, the gleeful sadism in his eyes, my humiliation was complete.

“Stay right there, naughty slut. No, keep holding yourself open. Don’t dare rub your clit.”

It took all my brazen determination not to scream at him to go fuck himself while I wildly masturbated myself to orgasm. It would have taken about six seconds from the place I was now. But I didn’t scream at him or masturbate, for two reasons. First of all, I was scared of what he’d do to me in reprisal. Second of all, I knew any orgasm I gave myself would be a mere shadow of the orgasm he would give me.
Please, God.
He was going to give me an orgasm, wasn’t he?

He went into the bathroom. I heard running water, the sound of him washing all my messiness off his fingers. I could have masturbated now without him seeing me. I knew it. He knew it.

Still, we both knew I wouldn’t do it. That wasn’t the way we played our game. He came out of the bathroom with his sweater off and his pants undone. His cock jutted from the front of his fly, thick, straight, hard. He worked his palm up and down the length of it, and leaned over his phone.

I salivated, watching.
Put it in me. Please. I’ll never, ever deny you sex again.

“The others want to go to dinner,” he said in amusement. “I
am
kind of hungry.”

Oh God. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes,” he said, reading me his response as he typed it. “I’ll tell Chere.” He turned back to me. “Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

I shook my head in agonized dread. His laughing gaze raked over me. How did I look, close to tears, on sexual display for his amusement and pleasure?

“Can’t...go to dinner...now,” I managed to say.

“You can and you will, my horny little penitent. But first...”

He pushed me down on my knees. When I tried to reach for him under my own power, he made a noise that stopped me.

“Keep your hands behind your back.” He showed me what he wanted, making me grip my forearms with my pussy-slickened fingers. Then he tipped my face up and looked at me as if searching for some answer.

I had no answers, only questions.
Why are you doing this to me? Why do you love hurting me, and why do I love being hurt by you?

I didn’t have to ask the questions. He already knew my conflict, had understood my conflict from the start and knew exactly how to exploit it for his benefit. He shoved his cock in my face and I opened my mouth, feeling naked and vulnerable and so, so submissive. How had Andrew described it? Like being high on drugs, but to me it was much more grounded than that. I felt secure when Price was controlling me. I felt emptied out, carried away. I felt surrendered to a power greater than myself.

He wasn’t gentle. His cock choked me, shoving deep in my throat. His hands twisted in my hair to keep me from doing anything so self-protective as pulling away. I was his mouth, his hole, his wet, shameless thing who was willing to hold her pussy open and be tortured only because he demanded it. I had his cock now, at least, which was what I’d wanted.

The only thing I wasn’t getting was an orgasm. When he finished shooting his cum down my throat, I swallowed and contemplated the consequences I’d receive if I dared hump my aching pussy against his muscled calf. In the end, I wasn’t brave enough to do it.

He released my hair and patted my head, and let out a long, contented sigh. He dressed for dinner while I knelt with my head bowed and my arms still clasped behind my back, then he told me to dress. I pulled my panties on over my wetness, and my tight jeans. It made it feel so much worse. My sore, tender nipples were once again protected by my bra, but they were sensitive now to every movement.

He went with me downstairs to change, to be sure I wouldn’t be “naughty.” I would have been. At this point, I would have masturbated if he’d given me even three seconds of privacy. He made me put on a dress with no panties underneath. It would be cold, but maybe that was a good thing.

To keep up the facade of a professional relationship, he made me walk down to the lobby first to meet the others. They couldn’t know I’d just come from his embrace. They couldn’t see the nakedness he insisted upon beneath my sweater dress and my coat. They’d never understand the nakedness I felt, even if they could see it. It was like he was still grasping me between my legs, even though he wasn’t there. When he stepped off the elevators and walked toward our waiting group, he barely glanced at me, and greeted me like the fifth-wheel intern I was.

But I felt so owned, so completely owned by him in that moment, that I had to press my thighs tighter together, or die from my vulnerability. I was so owned by him, it was a miracle none of the others knew.

Chere squirmed through the ritzy fixed-price menu dinner, looking beautifully distracted. She understood now what happened to naughty interns who drove their bosses out of their minds with denial and teasing. I hoped she was learning her lesson, now that the shoe was on the other foot.

Oh, the glances she sent me. The injured looks. She delighted me so much with her secret, frantic agony that I took pity on her after the second course. I got out my phone while Raneesh and Hannah were jabbering about what to order for dessert, and sent her a text.

Go to a stall in the ladies room. Spread your legs, pull your dress up to your waist, and masturbate to orgasm.
In all caps, I emphasized:
ONLY ONCE.

I didn’t have to add the “or else.” She knew the “or else,” had gotten a good taste of it about an hour ago, when I’d made her a miserable little slut for her crimes against me. I must have been going soft, to let her orgasm now, but when she came back, she at least seemed a bit more composed. She met my eyes, smiled faintly, and put the tip of a finger to her lips. I knew it was the one she’d rubbed herself off with. I would have licked it myself, but the others would have questioned. I contented myself with a glance that said, “Later.”

And there would be a later. She’d need more orgasms, and I’d need more orgasms, and we’d have orgasm after orgasm from this point forward, because I wouldn’t let her retreat from me again. We’d tried that experiment and it had failed.

When Jennifer, Hannah, and Raneesh decided to go bar hopping, I developed a sudden headache and Chere pretended to be exhausted. We said goodbye to the others and got our own cab to return to the hotel. I held Chere’s hand during the ride back, not feeling any particular need to talk. We were still in the giddy stage, the reuniting stage, and I didn’t want words to ruin things. I didn’t want to ask her
Is this okay?
or
Want some more sex?

It was okay. We were going to have more sex.

Once I got her inside my hotel room, I pushed her against the door and gave her all the groping, sloppy kisses I couldn’t give her at dinner. I yanked off her coat while she pulled off mine. We dropped them to the floor. She tasted like wine and her hair still held the currant-floral scent of the restaurant. When we returned to New York, I was going to buy her flowers. I was going to send dozens of them to her apartment to recreate that smell.

By the time I broke the kiss, she was gasping, gazing up at me with eager appeal.

Yes, I know you want to fuck. Yes, I’m going to torture you for a while first, because that’s what I do.

I brushed back a lock of her dark, curly hair. It was so much lovelier than her bleach-dyed, straightened, Miss Kitty hair. She was so much lovelier in every way, now that I wasn’t paying for her, now that she was herself: complicated, conflicted, rueful, charming. Smiling. She was smiling at me with a sex-drunk look on her face. She was opening up to me. I cupped her cheek and brushed a thumb across her lips.

“You little slut,” I said. “Were you grateful I allowed you to orgasm at the restaurant?”

“Yes, Sir. Very grateful.”

“I’m sorry I missed it. I bet you put on quite a show. Did you stand or sit?”

“I stood. Germs, you know, on public toilet seats.”

I found that hilarious, that she worried about germs and not the fact that I’d sent her to masturbate in a restroom stall. I pulled up her dress and slapped her naked ass, and gave her another rough kiss. “I’m going to put my fucking germs all over you tonight. But I like this vision of you standing up. It seems so desperate.”

“Oh, I was desperate. You should have seen me.” Her smile broke into a grin. “It’s really hard for me to orgasm while I’m standing up, but I managed.”

“And you only did it once?” I watched her face closely. I’d know if she lied to me, but she shook her head with a perfect lack of guile.

“I only did it once.”

“Was anyone else in the restroom?”

“Yes.”

She blushed. Naughty slut. I decided she was going to get another orgasm right now, because the image of her standing in a bathroom in a ritzy Oslo eatery, jilling herself to oblivion, was too enticing to resist. I grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head.

“I want you to do it again,” I said.

“What?”

She watched as I folded down her bra, exposing her nipples. I loved her sexy, structured bras, and the way the doubled-over cups made a perfect shelf for her flawless tits.

“I want you to do it again,” I repeated. “I want you to sit on the edge of my bed and spread your legs and make yourself come. I’d like to see it.”

She hesitated. I waited, my expression darkening. “Or perhaps I should make you stand up, if it’s more difficult for you.”

“Please, no. It’s just...” She bit her lip. “The whole time...at dinner... I thought when we came back...”

I waited patiently for her to make her point, because I figured it would be entertaining.

“I mean, it’s been so long since you…”

“Put my cock in you?”

“Yes.”

“And whose fault is that?” I turned her toward the bed. “Go spread ’em, starshine. I want to see a show.”

She gave me a long-suffering look. Silly girl. I was going to fuck her to pieces before tonight was through, but I wanted to play with her a while before she got the cock she hungered for.

“Get to it,” I said in my most threatening voice. “And spread your legs wide enough for me to see everything, or I’ll use my belt on your pussy and make you come that way instead.”

She probably would have loved to get whipped on her pussy, but she wasn’t in charge here. I was, and I wanted to see her jack herself off. She went to the edge of the bed as I’d instructed, sat down and spread her thighs. Oh God, her legs, her tits, her shining, swollen pussy. I sat in a chair by the desk and leaned back, and unzipped myself.

“Spread them a little more,” I said. “Arch your hips. I want to see every fucking thing you’re doing.”

“I don’t know if I can come with my hips arched.”

Her and her sassy mouth. I glared at her. “You’d better try.”

With one more sigh of protest, she started to stroke her clit. She was a little slow to warm up—it was hard to get off when you were angry—but soon she was going at herself with rough, jerky movements. Well, I knew she liked it rough. Why wouldn’t she masturbate rough?

I stroked my cock as I watched her abuse herself. She was gorgeous, thrusting her breasts out and rocking her hips. Why had I never made her masturbate like this before, for my enjoyment? I never saw her masturbate when I was watching from across the street. She must have done it shamefully, under the covers. I thought of the ass plug and lube in her bedside table and smothered a smile.

When it looked like she was getting close, I went to stand in front of her. She’d been in her own little world, but when she felt my presence, she opened her eyes and sat up a little straighter.

“Keep going,” I said, flicking one of her taut nipples. “Never stop until I tell you to stop.” I played with her breasts, pinching, teasing, caressing. Mostly pinching, because I loved to hear her gasps.

She whimpered and bucked her hips forward. I could have put on a condom and stuck my dick inside her. She would have come in an instant, but this was about making her perform for my amusement. It was about watching her writhe and whimper, and wish I was inside her.

“It’s so hard to come when you’re hurting me,” she said. “It’s hard to come sitting up like this. It’s so hard.”

“I don’t care if it’s hard. You do what I want, and I want you to come.”

“Will you fuck me? Please?”

I let go of her nipples and popped her on the cheek. “What did I tell you?”

“Please!”

“Maybe later.”

She groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wouldn’t sleep with you for so long. But I’ve changed my mind now. Please, I want you to fuck me! Please forgive me. Please fuck me!”

Her babbling beg-session was gorgeous. Her frantic masturbation was gorgeous.

“You need to come in the next sixty seconds,” I said, starting to strip, “or you’re getting it in the ass.”

I threw my clothes over a chair and grabbed some condoms from my luggage. Of course I’d brought condoms. Never, ever went anywhere near Chere without condoms. I dug out the travel-sized bottle of lube, too, just to scare her, but I wasn’t in the mood for anal. I didn’t want to force myself into her asshole tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, when I wasn’t so wrought up from our re-connection.