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“That’s my MO,” I remind him. I cup my breast, massaging it lightly. “You sure you don’t mind? You know, if you really don’t like me masturbating, you could always join me.”
He grunts. That does it.
Gus is about to stand and pounce on me when I taunt, “All you have to do is ask.”
He snickers. “I’d rather die.”
“Then drop dead, old man, because you’re not laying a hand on me unless you ask.”
“Fine. You think I don’t like to watch? I know this might come as a shock to you, but men don’t mind watching a beautiful woman working a pretty little pussy.”
Smug, he settles back into his spot at the end of the bed and begins rubbing the heel of his palm against his hardness.
“You really do have such a pretty pussy,” he continues, transfixed on my motions. “And fuck you’re wet. Who knew something so tiny could get so damn wet.”
His words shake me to my very core, tempting out an orgasm that I don’t want to emerge. No matter how good this feels, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of witnessing it—not when he played games with me all night, not when he left me here needy and alone.
“I loathe you,” I manage to say.
“I bet if we asked your cunt, she’d disagree with you wholeheartedly.” He grins. “Go on. Tell me how much I make your cunt ache,”
“I hate you,” I spit back without conviction. My spine arches involuntarily. I should slow down. I have to slow down if I want to keep my climax at bay. But he’s so good looking, and as he sits there, fully clothed while I’m spread out naked in front of him, the entire room feels hotter somehow.
He stands and paces towards me, eyes drifting to my naked body and back to my face. “Fine,” he grits. “Hate me. Doesn’t mean you can’t come for me.”
His words tickle my twisted side—the one that can’t resist making people squirm. We’re kindred spirits, I suppose, in that twisted way. And to my chagrin—to my very dismay—my body turns on me.
I come for Gus Winter.
Chapter 14: Gus
Nothing in this world is as gorgeous as Julia Ridgeway when she comes apart at the seams. Nothing.
The intensity of her orgasm makes her cry out, her eyes shut tight as she lifts her hips. Her left-hand grips one of her luscious, round breasts while the other holds the vibrator against her clit. She’s an unbelievable sight—and mine to enjoy.
I fucking love my life.
Julia is steadily coming down with heaving, breathy moans, but I’m just getting started. Reaching out, I place a hand on each of her ankles and—before she can comprehend what I have in mind—I spread her legs wide.
“August!” she blurts out, halfheartedly attempting to press her thighs together.
“Enough,” I warn, pinning her with a serious expression. “You’re a guest in my house, and I expect you to follow my rules. Now put those fingers in,” I guide. “Right inside, and I want to hear you moan every time you’re up to your palm in pussy.”
“You’re disgustingly controlling,” she grits out, but she follows directions perfectly. Her middle and ring fingers disappear into her wet little hole and she works herself like she can’t go a minute without chasing an orgasm.
She’s so beautiful. I grip the bedpost, knowing I’ll keep this image with me for the rest of my life.
Julia closes her eyes once more, briefly retreating into her own world before she blinks them open and locks her gaze on me. “Why,” she murmurs against an exhale, watching me through hooded eyelids.
I barely register that she’s speaking because her moan nearly drowns out the word.
When I don’t respond, Julia pulls her fingers out and holds them up, showing them to me. They’re so slick, they glint in the low lights. “Why did you want me so bad?” she asks.
She’s referring to the deal. The question prompts a thousand responses in my head, responses riddled with words like revenge, ownership, regret, and obsession. But her staring at me with curious, brown eyes urges me to bite back vitriolic truths.
“Because you fuck like a professional,” I tell her, avoiding the honest answer. I slide my pants down my legs. “Because I hadn’t come in a pussy like yours in years. It takes a cock so, so well. Did you know that? Did you know how tight it gets?”
“No, not now. Before,” she corrects needlessly. I can see the frustration building on her face. Clearly, she regrets starting a conversation right when I’m winding her up for another climax.
