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“Clock’s ticking down, Red.”
“I—I can’t.”
“If you can’t, you don’t get to come from me. I’ll get off, but I’ll stop before you can come. And if you even think of getting yourself off, I’ll beat your ass so fucking hard you’ll scream for mercy.”
I keep stroking into her, keep circling her clit, and every time I can feel the tensing, I change the pace which drops it down from the danger zone.
“P-please!”
“Please what?”
“Please let me come, Sir.”
The words are soaked in desperation, and the Sir’s so real, I say, “Two seconds. Go.”
And I start to fuck her hard, letting go of her hair and her legs, and she comes so fucking hard her cunt clamps down on my fingers like she wants to stop my circulation.
I pull free from her, offer her my fingers, and she sucks them. It’s so erotic that I know I’m torturing myself, edging myself. But it’s worth it.
She didn’t come within my time limit, but I’m willing to let it slide, because with each orgasm she falls under my control a little more, and it’s so hot that I can forgive a little delay.
When she can stand on her own, she pulls free, spots of color burning in her cheeks. She smooths her skirt down and looks around.
“No one saw,” I say, not really giving a fuck if it’s true. They didn’t see her naked, and my hand was under her skirt.
Then I reach into my pocket and pull out a large wad of cash. “Here.”
“I don’t want your money, Malone.”
“Take it.”
“No—”
“It’s not,” I say. “A request.”
“Fine.” She snatches it. The dark, accusatory look she gives bites into me.
“Don’t look at me like that, Scarlett.”
“Like you just paid me like I’m a hooker?”
I smile nastily. “I’d never pay a woman that much to finger her.”
“But you’d pay a man?” Her brow lifts, and I fucking love her claws.
“I’ll ignore that because I know you’re trying to push my buttons, and your attempt registers a zero. Nothing wrong with liking who you like,” I say with a shrug. “And I’ve yet to meet a man who turns me on.”
“Me either.”
Fuck, she’s funny. That’s dangerous.
I like smart. I like funny. I like the contrasting mix that makes up her. There’ll be someone else out there like her, though. I like what she has, not who she is by birth. But all of that is moot. I’m not looking for someone. At all.
“Another zero,” I say. “And that’s a fucking lie. You just came all over my fingers.”
“You’re good at sex; do you want a prize or a parade?”
“The money,” I say, ignoring her and adjusting myself, “is for a dress. The engagement party. Elegant slutty, I think.”
