He raised his brows, and I realized he wanted me to act this out how I would if he wasn’t there. Taking a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I pinched and pulled as hard as I could.
“Harder,” he taunted.
I tugged harder and tears formed at the corners of my eyes. “Until it makes me cry.”
He adjusted slightly in his seat, as though his erection was growing uncomfortable, but he didn’t even touch himself. It made me antsy that he didn’t. I wanted to touch him. Wanted to rub my palm across his crown. Wanted to wrap my fingers around him and feel him throb in my hand.
If I couldn’t have that, then at the very least, I wanted to watch him do it.
Then I remembered—I had myself to touch. Spreading my legs wider, I pressed two fingers between my folds and began massaging the bundle of nerves in quick, aggressive circles. “You’re rubbing my clit now. You’re rough and you’re relentless, working me to orgasm.” I could already feel it building. This fantasy always brought me to climax fast. “I’m close.”
“Close to coming?” His voice was threadbare and ragged, a reflection of how I felt.
“Yes,” I panted. “You’re glad because you’re impatient and you want me to come. Not because you want me to feel pleasure, but because you hate going in dry.”
He grinned like he was admitting something. “Nice detail.”
I had my own confession to admit. “But what you don’t know is that I’m already wet.”
He threw his head back and groaned in the back of his throat. “Show me.”
Though I was teetering on the edge, I pulled my hand away from my clit and moved it lower where I dipped two fingers inside me. When I withdrew them, I held them up so that Donovan could see them glistening with my wetness.
“Jesus, Sabrina.” His expression tightened, and he bucked his pelvis in the air. I could feel his control abandoning him. Especially when I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked them clean. “Are those my fingers?” he asked.
“Yes. You shove them so far down my throat I think I’ll gag.” I stick my fingers in my mouth again, shoving them in as far as I can.
“Fuck, the things I want to do to your mouth right now.” He shifted once more, and I could see his thighs tightening through his pants. “Then what?”
“Then you fuck me.” Watching him get aroused made me even more turned on. I writhed on the bed, trying to rub my pussy against the mattress. We were both miserable—surely we’d played enough of this game. I needed him inside of me. Now.
But he didn’t move.
“Fuck me, Donovan,” I begged. “Please!”
“No. You have to do it.” He was cold and in charge. “Show me how I fuck you.”
I whimpered, but I didn’t protest. There was no use arguing with him, and I knew it. Reaching down, I rammed several fingers inside my pussy, thrusting in as far as I could go.
He sat abruptly forward in the chair. “Three fingers—is that what you always use?”
“No,” I gasped, drawing my fingers back out. “Sometimes I use a toy.”
“What else?” He was on edge. I could feel it in the air between us.
“Nothing else.”
“If I couldn’t fuck you with my cock, I wouldn’t use a dildo.” His eyes began to frantically search the room. “Next time, use that bottle over there.”
I followed the line of his gaze to my moisturizer sitting on the nightstand. The bottle was thicker than my toy. It would be an uncomfortable fit, but because the order to use it had come from Donovan, I was more than eager to comply. “Okay. I will.”
Seemingly satisfied with my response, he returned his focus to me, to my hands and what they were doing, what I was pretending he was doing to me.
He stood up, as though to get a better view. “Now,” he said, finally, finally drawing his cock out. “Tell me how I fuck you.”
“Hard. Brutally. It hurts.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock, hard and thick in his palm. It made my mouth water, made my cunt wetter.
“Show me,” he said, stroking himself lazily. “Show me how much it hurts.”
I thrust my fingers inside of me again and again, rapidly, the way I always liked to imagine him fucking me. The way I always remembered him fucking me. The pressure of my hand helped relieve my discomfort, but it wasn’t perfect. I wanted more. I wanted him. I stared at him, stared at his cock as he ran his hand up and down his shaft, wishing again that I could touch it. Wishing it was closer.
Without realizing what I was doing, I scooted closer to the edge of the bed. He still wasn’t close enough. “Show me!” I cried. “I want to see you too. Please!”
For once, he didn’t argue. He walked to the end of the bed and scooped some of my wetness from my pussy. Then, standing over me, he matched my tempo, jerking himself off inches above where I finger-fucked myself. It was so hot, so dirty, watching his hand moving briskly over his thick cock while I imagined he was holding me down, plowing into me instead of his palm.
I couldn’t take more than a minute of it before my orgasm ripped through me. My back arched and my toes curled and my vision went black and then spotted with lights. It was the kind of orgasm that I felt everywhere in my body. The kind I’d never had with another person other than Donovan.
Donovan watched intently throughout my climax—I felt his eyes on me the entire time—and when I was finished, he was ready with his own. As soon as I could see again, I threw my focus back to him. His hand quickened and he moved to tug on just his tip. Suddenly, his tempo slowed and he came, spilling everywhere on my belly and my pussy.
It was one of the most erotic things I’d ever experienced in my life. Even as sticky with sweat and cum as I was. I probably looked like a worn-out porn star, but I felt fabulous.
Donovan was already tucking himself away and zipping up his pants when I gathered myself enough to prop up on my elbows and stare dazedly at him.
“Was this you marking your territory?” I asked, sure that I had the dopiest grin on my face.
“Is that the reason you came up with for your fantasy?” He kept his attention on his belt as he fastened the buckle.
“Is that not the right interpretation?”
“No, Sabrina,” he said sharply. He met my eyes. “I came on you because it’s dirty, and it gets me off. Don’t attach anything more to it than that, fantasy or not.”
My grin slid off my face. More like he’d knocked it off my face by what he’d said. There were a thousand responses that came to mind, too many to sort through in the moment. There was nothing I could do except to sit there, dumbfounded, naked and covered in his cum.
And what an asshole that he could say something so cold while looking me straight in the eye. To my credit, I wasn’t the one who looked away first.
He finished putting himself together quickly. “I’m going,” he said, dodging my gaze. He’d taken several steps before—as an afterthought—he asked, “Would you like me to grab you a towel before I leave?”
“No, thank you,” I said bitterly. “I need a shower.” I suddenly wanted to wash the whole night off of me, wanted to clean myself of Donovan Kincaid.
He nodded, as if his approval was necessary. At the door to my bedroom he stopped. “Make sure you lock up behind me.”