Bang (A Club Deep Story)(23)

I smirk and kiss her neck again, slower this time. My tongue traces the  edge of her neck, the sharp line of her carotid artery, the muscles that  remain tense beneath my mouth. I kiss and tongue my way to the crook of  her neck, then graze my teeth across her skin. She groans this time, a  long, drawn-out gasp through clenched teeth. Against her will, I know,  she's starting to enjoy this.

I kiss her collarbone, her clavicle, the little hollow at the base of  her neck. I flick my tongue into that hollow, taste the salty sweet  flavor of her sweat, the scent and taste that's all her. At the same  time, I flatten my palm across her stomach, cupping her navel under my  palm, memorizing her body slowly, methodically.

Her belly trembles beneath my hand, clenching and unclenching, heaving  with deep breaths as she struggles to control herself. But she can't.  Because her body belongs to me now. Her pleasure is mine, her desire is  mine, and she is not going to escape my needs this easily.

I will make this innocent little virgin my personal slut in no time.

I am hard as a rock, feeling her growing desire with her bare body  pressed against mine. I lie down across her, flat, so she can feel every  inch of me. She inhales sharply when my hard cock presses against her  upper thigh, the layers of fabric between us suddenly frustrating.

I lick and suck my way lower, along her chest, and when I reach her  breasts, I feel her lift her hands and bury them in my hair. At first I  think she's going to try and pull me away, but instead, she tugs me  against her, closer, and I part my lips to suck her nipple into my  mouth, the blade of my tongue curling along her hard nipple. She moans,  and her body arches, her hips thrusting up into me. I steal a glance at  her face, enjoying the expression, torn between pleasure and  frustration, anger at herself for feeling this way, hatred of me for  putting her in this position.

But she thrusts against me anyway, grinds her pussy against my leg, her  hip rubbing against my swollen, aching cock, and she fists her hands in  my hair, glaring at me even as she gives in to the want.

I can feel her wet pussy against me, smell her hot desire, and I swear,  my cock is so rock hard it might break through my jeans. I inhale  sharply, pin her to the couch suddenly, red-hot lust flaring behind my  eyes.         

     



 

I need her. Now.

But before I can reach down and undo my jeans, I force myself to shove off the couch, back to my feet.

Pamona is gasping, legs spread, eyes glistening with unfulfilled lust.  Her face is bright red, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her  breath. Her hands fly to cover her face. Between her legs, I catch a  glimpse of the couch, soaked beneath her, and I have to turn around,  hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms to drag myself back  to my senses.

Christ.

I almost fucked her right here and now.

This is not the way it's supposed to work. I am supposed to be the one driving her wild, not the other way around.

I can hear her behind me, sitting up, still panting with want, and I  can't even turn around to enjoy the naked desire on her face, or savor  the way she must feel right now, conflicted and furious with lust and  anger. I can't enjoy it because I have to tame my own fucking lust.

This is insane.

You are Farrow Lochlan, I tell myself. She is Calvin Badiary's daughter. You are in control here.

I planned this for so long. Worked through every detail. I am in control.

So why does she make me so wild with want? Why do I want to turn around  right now and pin her to that couch again, finish what we started?

"Farrow," she says, her voice trembling, though whether it's with anger or something else, I can't tell.

My chest clenches. It's the first time she's said my name. It sounds too  good in her mouth, in that pampered, posh accent of hers.

I cross the room without replying and wrench open the door. Slam it behind me, snapping this connection shut.





3





What the hell just happened? I huddle on the couch, curled over myself,  arms wrapped around my naked torso. My clothes are in a puddle across  the room, but I can't bring myself to stand up, cross over there and put  them back on. I'm not sure my legs would support my weight at this  point. And besides, my heart is still racing too fast to let me think  about anything except what Farrow just did to me.

My whole body feels electric. On fire with desire. I want nothing more  than him to finish what he started, right here on this couch. I am naked  and alone, and the couch is damp beneath my ass, wet from my own  shameful desire.

How could I want him? How could I give in to this man who has taken  everything from me? And why am I tempted, even now, to run my hand down  my stomach and touch my pussy. Finger myself until I finally crash into  the orgasm that I can't help wanting.

I clench my hands into fists, trying to distract myself. You don't want  him. You're just scared and alone and naked in a strange place, and he  feels warm and somewhat familiar.

I'm remembering the alley all those years ago. The summer afterward,  which I spent fantasizing about him, dreaming about a moment exactly  like this. A moment when my savior-my dark, dangerous savior-returned to  finish what he started. To take me and make me his.

That's what he's threatening to do, after all these years. Take what he could have taken in that alley. Fuck me senseless.

But he insists he won't, not until I beg him to. It sounded absurd when  he first said it. I thought that would be impossible …  Until now. Until I  realized what he could do to me. How he can make me feel.

The door opens again and I gasp, flinging myself down along the couch.

But it's only Farrow. Only? I ask myself, wondering when I got so  accustomed to him seeing me naked. He tosses something at me. A robe.

I stay huddled against the couch, glaring at him, but he just watches me  brazenly, his gaze roaming across my body until I realize I have no  other choice.

Fuck him.

I unfold myself and stand up, drawing myself to my full height, naked in  front of him. I feel hot all over, in every place where I can feel his  gaze on me. I ignore it as best I can and stoop to scoop up the robe. I  wrap it around myself, cinch it tight, and then join him by the door,  jaw clenched.

"Follow me," he says and leaves without a backwards glance.

I trail after him through the second story of the house. It's as well  decorated as the first floor, with the cozy air of a family home. It's  not where I'd expect a single bachelor to live, much less someone like  Farrow. He opens a room at the end of the hall for me, and I tense,  almost expecting to find something terrifying-some dungeon or horrible  dank room he wants to lock me in to punish me.         

     



 

Instead, the door opens to reveal a beautiful suite, one that reminds me  of my bedroom at home. A huge bed and a side door leading into a  private bathroom lined in marble. I linger in the doorway, studying it. I  notice the broad window beside the bed, open to the night air. Not  locked.

I'm still staring when Farrow brushes my shoulder lightly, almost  hesitantly. "You have free range here," he says, following my gaze. "I  know you won't try to escape. Your little sister makes a much better  ball and chain than any locks would."

I close my eyes. By the time I open them again, he's gone, and I feel like I can finally breathe freely.

There are some clothes in the closet. He guessed my size in everything,  from the silky nightgowns to the sexy lingerie. I find a drawer full of  thongs and lace panties and skimpy bras. I close that and head for the  shower. I need a cold shower-maybe that will help me regain control.

Because I can't stop thinking about his hands all over me. His tongue on  my skin. The red-hot fire between my legs that refuses to be quenched.

The shower is enormous, situated above a clawfoot bathtub. I turn the  water on and stick my face under it, hoping this will help. But even  with the cold water rushing over me, all I can picture is him. His face.  His breath against my neck. The way he took possession of me so easily.

I hate him. I want to leave.

And yet …  I slide one hand between my legs and find myself still wet from his caresses.

I scrub my skin with the soap I find beside the tub. I wash myself  roughly, as if I can exorcise the yearning from my body. I rinse off and  dry, padding back into the bedroom. The only clothing available is what  he picked out for me. I pick through the nightgowns, and choose the one  with the most coverage-which isn't much. I slide on a thong and add the  silk nightie overtop. It barely covers my breasts and ass at once,  low-cut and short as hell.

I'm about to climb into bed when I find something else, underneath the  covers. I pause, feel around for the hard object. When I slide it out,  my face flushes.

It's small, egg-shaped. I've never used one, but I recognize it anyway. A vibrator.

There's a switch on the side. I press it, and my blush deepens as the  egg begins to vibrate in my palm. Quickly, I switch it off and stuff it  in the nightstand before I climb into bed and settle under the covers.