Quentin’s finger slips inside me, teasing me with agonizing slowness. Instinctively I try to grind on him, and it changes the angle of his thrusts, sending new ripples of pleasure through my body as his cock fills my ass.
“Look in the mirror. Look how beautiful you are.”
I’m sweating like I’ve been running a marathon. My hair is soaked, my skin flushed red and shining wet, my eyes dull and unfocused. I lick my lips and Quentin kisses my cheek as he drives into me deeper, always deeper.
Please give it to me, I want it.
A second finger enters me. His palm works my clit. My legs are shaking. Being spread open like this changes the feeling, flavors it. My body tightens around him in brief spasms that make him moan in my ear. Fear and excitement blend as he starts to lose himself in the moment, fingering me and fucking me in steady rhythm but faster, harder, using my body, my pleasure enhancing his own.
I close my eyes and bite the sheets as my peak rises, pushing through me, slipping under my skin to steal me away on a tide of pleasure that bursts through my body. I thrash under him as my body grips him, and Quentin jerks and moans wordlessly in my ear. His moans are strained, almost like he’s in pain.
I can feel every inch of his throbbing cock, and I can feel it as he explodes inside me. Oh God.
“You’re mine,” he growls in my ear. “You’re mine and nobody can ever have you but me.”
I want to scream yes but the cry comes out as a wordless moan as I squirm under him, twisting the bedsheets.
I catch my breath. He’s still inside me, still on top of me. I try to move but he grabs my wrists.
“It can hurt a little when I pull out. I’ll go slow, you relax. Relax, understand?”
“Yes.”
I groan as I feel him drawing out of me. He takes his fucking time and I think he likes the feeling, the sound, and the look on my face. He watches me in the mirror, his eyes hungry, a smirk and sneer on his face.
Finally he draws all the way out. I feel my body close and it’s the first time I’ve felt pain from it, but it’s over quickly.
I… I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so cold. I can’t move. Quentin gathers me up in his arms. I watch in the mirror as his muscular body flexes, my tiny form draped in his arms like a newlywed carrying his bride. He lifts me farther up the bed and wraps a blanket around me.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t go,” I plead. “Don’t leave me, I’m cold.”
“I know, baby. Just a second. Trust me.”
Trust me.
I close my eyes and wait for him. True to his word, he isn’t gone long. He comes back wrapped in a towel and sits on the bed with me, pulls me into an embrace, and tips a glass of water to my lips. I forgot how thirsty I was. I drink greedily, draining the glass, not caring that frigid drops spill down my chin.
He doesn’t say anything. He holds me against him, all curled up, and rocks me until I stop shaking.
“How do you feel?”
“Relaxed,” I sigh.
“Good.”
“My butt hurts.”
“I know.”
“You spanked me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I’ve never done…the other part before,” I confess.
“What a waste. You liked it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
He strokes my cheek.
I sob.
“Shhh.”
“Who are you?” I demand. “Why are you here? What is all that stuff in the basement? What’s going on? I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared.”
He shushes me again, gently. “I know. Me too.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I’m not sure now is a good time. You’re a little naked.”
I slip my arms around him. “There’s never going to be a good time.”
“You’re right,” he sighs.
“So tell me.”
“There’s no easy way to put this.”
He leans back, and if he’s trying to pull away from me it doesn’t work. I lock my arms around him tighter and fall on his chest as he sinks into the pillows.
“You’re not going to let go of me, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
I squeeze him even harder for emphasis.
“Just for the record, I’m not a piece of meat. I’m not your property.”
“You were all about being my property when I had my dick in your butt.”
I flinch. “Can’t you be a little more romantic about it?”
“My throbbing love rod in your flesh pillows?”
“Shut up.”
I rest my head on his chest.
“Tell me, Quentin.”
“You’re not going to like the answer.”
I sigh. “I know. Just tell me.”
He looks at the ceiling and touches my hair, and my shoulder, like he might not get another chance. Quentin toys with a lock of my hair, curling it around his fingers.
“I love red hair. Yours is just perfect. Whoever named you Rose…”
“Tell. Me.”
He lets his arms slide from my back.
“I kill people,” he says flatly.
I sit up and stare at him. “What?”
“I…kill people. I’m a hitman, I guess you’d call it. I never do though.”
My mouth falls open. It takes me a moment to shake my head and clear my thoughts. Dread swirls in my stomach, pushes up into my lungs. I hug myself and start to shake.
Quentin touches my shoulders then pulls me to him. He puts his arms around me again and, God help me, I let him.