Deep End(51)

The bed is not close to the door, but it doesn’t matter. Lukas is twice as big as me, a million times stronger, and—it does a lot for me, I guess, the way he picks me up with no difficulty, like I’m a doll, a pet. When he lands me on his mattress, I feel like I do after failing a dive with several twists.

Disoriented. Out of breath. Lost.

He gives me no time to get my bearings. His fingers hook into the elastic of my shorts and pull them down my legs, together with my underwear. I must offer no resistance at all, because a moment later he’s there, on his knees next to his low bed staring down at what he uncovered.

My bare cunt.

He’s not much for preambles. And maybe he doesn’t want to make me suffer more than I already have, because he touches me without hesitation. His thumb is a gentle, firm pressure against my sticky slit, teasing me apart. Starting just below my clit and swiping down, once, twice, until on the third pass it hooks inside of my opening.

I gasp.

He doesn’t.

He stares at the place where a small part of him is barely inside me, and I think he’s unaffected, as in control as I could never be, but when he speaks . . .

“Do you want to know a secret?” His voice is like nothing I’ve heard. A low hum. Hard-edged. Foreign.

I nod.

“I dreamt about fucking you.”

I swallow. His thumb moves up again, and this time—this time he lets it graze my clit.

I arch up, biting a moan into my lower lip .

“Several times. Too many, probably.”

I feel myself clench around nothing.

“The first was about two years ago.”

My heart pounds. I’m right on the verge of—of something, but his thumb is gone. I could come so hard. If he only touched me. Anywhere, with anything. But he doesn’t, and it’s not outside the realm of possibilities that I might burst into tears.

“Scarlett.”

“Yes?” I didn’t think I’d be capable of speaking, but his voice is that authoritative.

“If you want me to stop, what do you do?”

“I say stop.” I can say it. I know I can, and he will. I’ve just never wanted anything less.

“You are even wetter than in the lab. Is it because I didn’t let you come? Because I’m in charge?”

It seems to be a genuine question, something he needs to know for sure. I nod, desperate. Flutter greedily around air.

“You want to be ordered around by someone you trust, is that it? You want rules, to be told what’s good for you.”

It’s so patronizing, and I—I nod like my life depends on it, half ashamed of the loud moan that slips out of my throat.

“Hey. Hey, baby.” One of his hands comes up, fingers brushing against my lips, circling my jaw. “Kyle’s room is just down the hallway. You’re going to have to be quiet. Can you be quiet?”

I’m lost for a second. Unable to fully grasp the magnitude of—this. The way he talks to me. His grip. The mix of violence and control and tenderness. So close to what I’ve always wanted and never managed to ask for, it’s hard to believe it’s not a fantasy.

“Scarlett. Can you be good?”

I nod against his hand while the other pins my wrists to my belly. His pleased smile works me up that much higher. “If you can’t, just bite,” he says, his palm right by my lips, his long fingers caging my cheeks, and I want to tell him that it’s okay, that I can be good for him, that he doesn’t need to worry, but it turns out to be a lie.

The first time, it takes him less than ten seconds to make me come. It’s just his tongue on my clit, flat, relentless, and when my orgasm rushes over, Lukas grunts like it’s happening to him.

I thought I could be quiet. Instead, I keen into the fleshy part of his hand.

“You are so fucking good,” he tells me. I’m not sure how, but a handful of moments later, I come again. “Already? You are perfect, huh?” He continues to suck and lick and hum against my clit, eating at me like I’m made of air and water. Quickly, the pleasure shifts from something to chase, to an avalanche that I want to run from. Tears slide hotly down the corners of my eyes. “Lukas, Lukas—I—” My voice breaks into a sob. I arch again, head tilted back, convulsing. It’s too much, too intense, too new to be defined by something as uncomplicated as good. It is, however, thought-annihilating. My bouncy mind and my racing anxieties sit still, as though Lukas knows exactly how to bend them to his will.

I squirm away from his mouth, but he knows it’s not what I need. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re doing great.” My heels push against the muscles in his upper back. He presses my wrists more firmly against my stomach, avoids the hypersensitive, over-touched parts of my cunt, and still manages to make me come again.

“More?” he asks after I float down, like the past ten minutes have not just been a glorious assortment of mores, like I don’t twitch every time his breath puffs against my flesh. I’m hot. Heavy. Made of sparks. I watch him watch my clenching hole, on display for him.

“I . . .” My throat is raw, scraped from the inside. His palm, marked with my teeth. “It’s not up to me.” I say it because we’re both thinking it, anyway.

“You sweet thing. You were made for this, weren’t you?” His hand leaves my face and comes down to spread my legs. Pin my right knee to the bed. When his teeth bite into my inner thigh, my whole body jerks. It hurts a little, more than that, but I’m cross-wired, neurally confused, and the pain and pleasure are impossible to tease apart. “You’re so right.”