Page 26 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

With that, he widens his thighs, making me open mine, and before I can drag in another breath, his other hand goes down to my pussy.

He cups me between the legs, gives me a squeeze, making me moan and twist my hips.

And then, he goes ahead and slides my panties aside, exposing me.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a shock to my system, him exposing my throbbing and wet core, he proceeds to run his finger up and down between my lips.

As if he’s trying to bathe his fingers in my juices.

Trying to scoop it out. Trying to pet my pussy.

Before he smacks it.

Holy fuck . That was… I practically scream and spasm in his lap, coming instantly. At which point, he smacks my pussy again, making me scream even harder, making my orgasm spread all over my body. Like my blush. Like the sting of his slap.

But if I thought he’d let me go after that, I was wrong.

He doesn’t. He keeps assaulting my core, sometimes smacking it hard, sometimes tapping it soft, like playing an instrument.

Making music out of my drenched pussy and my hurt-y and lusty moans.

And like any instrument, I’m a slave to his fingers, coming and coming and coming .

Just when I think I can’t take any more, he rasps, his hand on my pussy, rubbing my burning flesh, “Are you a whore yet, baby?”

I’m panting and rolling my head side to side on his chest. “Y-yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good, that’s good,” he praises. “Because you can’t stay an innocent little rose forever, can you?

That’s not how the world works. You like playing the sexy little schoolgirl, don’t you?

Here’s a little fairytale lesson for you: one day, a man comes around.

People call him the Thorn, but what he really is is a toxic snake.

He catches a glimpse of you, of your gorgeous red hair and your creamy skin.

He hears your sweet voice and your musical laughter and gets a little obsessed.

Days pass, months pass and his obsession grows.

He doesn’t like it, but he can’t escape it.

Until one day he decides to stop escaping it and do something about it.

He decides to do something about you. And what else can you do with a rose than to make it bloom, yeah?

For him. For me .” His fingers keep skimming my core, going up and down.

“Because what a waste of a fucking rose, baby, don’t you think?

What a waste of a tight fucking pussy if I don’t get to wreck it and make it mine. ”

“You—”

“You know I saw you first,” he whispers.

“What?”

“You didn’t know I was there, watching you that first time a year ago,” he explains and my heart clenches. “And then you turned around and I thought those are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Shepard,” I moan because I don’t know what else to do.

I can’t tell him the truth and I can’t make myself move away. So I say his name like a plea. Like a prayer. To come save me.

“I fucking love the way you say my name,” he murmurs then, rubbing my pussy as if soothing it, praising it, as if showing how much.

“It sounds needy. Desperate. So fucking good. So fucking horny. It sounds like you need me to breathe life into you. It sounds like you’ll die without me. Without my touch.”

I will. I will, I will, I will .

“You n-never say mine,” I accuse, or more like breathe out because I’m panting.

He keeps running his fingers between my pussy lips.

“You agree to be mine and I’ll say your name day and night.

I’ll moan it in your ears when I’m pounding into your hole.

I’ll spell it out with my tongue when I’m licking this cunt.

I’ll fucking tattoo your name on my skin. All you have to do is say yes.”

With that, he taps my core again and again and again, making me lose my mind.

Making me think why the hell am I not saying yes.

Why the hell do I insist on keeping this distance between us?

In moments like this, I don’t even care about the money, our connection that he knows nothing about.

But it exists, doesn’t it? And I can’t. I can’t deceive him any more than I already am.

And these are the easy nights. A couple of nights, he’s tried to make things hard for me.

He likes to scare me, see. So he’ll play with my pussy, make me come, and when my world is spinning from the orgasm he gave me, he’ll circle my virgin hole with his thumb.

I jerk and moan, “No.”

He chuckles and says, “ Fuck yes.”

“You c-can’t.”

“I can.”

I try to sit up straight and untangle my legs from his, but he widens his thighs and grabs my throat, keeping me pinned in place, helpless and drugged. “Why are you… Why are you obsessed with c-choking?”

“I’m obsessed with you,” he says, chuckling again, making my heart skip a beat. “And the fact that every time I cut off your air even a little bit, I can fucking feel your pussy fluttering on my hand and that hole of your tightening up.”

Shame burns every inch of me. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do, baby.”

Shame burns even harder and I try to move his hand away. “Stop.”

He stops moving his thumb, keeping it poised at my hole for a second before dipping in slightly.

And when I say slightly, I mean very, very, very fucking slightly .

So fucking slightly that it might not even be classified as a movement but to me, it’s my whole world.

My whole universe. “Say yes and I’ll stop. ”

“Say yes to w-what?”

“Say yes to letting me fuck your juicy little pussy that loves it when I choke your throat a little too much, with my dick, later ,” he explains. “And I won’t stick my finger in it now .”

God, it sounds so good. It sounds so crazy. It sounds like everything I want to hear for the rest of my life. I clench my eyes shut, moaning. “It’s so… Do you realize how twisted this sounds?”

He yanks my neck up with his fingers, squeezing it to the point where breathing becomes difficult, and growls, “And you don’t think this is twisted?”

I clutch his arm, trying to get him to loosen the pressure. “Shepard, y-you?—”

“You being a cock tease out there,” he cuts me off, still keeping the pressure.

“Making me lose my fucking head like you don’t love doing that to me, and then dancing in my lap like you wouldn’t dance better with my dick in your hole every single night.

” Keeping his thumb in position, he smacks my core and I swear, I feel drops of my cum flying everywhere, landing on my shaking thighs.

“And you know why that is, don’t you? It’s because she knows.

That pretty, little, tight as fucking fuck kitty knows she belongs to me.

She knows she’s mine. Every single strawberry-tasting inch of you is fucking mine .

” If anything, he increases the pressure and a choking sound erupts out of me and God, my pussy juices up even more.

“And the more you deny it, my bad little whore, the more it’s going to piss me off, and when I get my hands on you, I’m going to make you regret every single second you chose to torture me.

Every single second you chose to make me wait instead of giving me what we both want. ”

“There’s s-still… time. S-seven days…”

“Ah, that. My bad,” he murmurs, finally loosening his grip and letting me breathe. He also takes his thumb away from my hole, as if uncocking a loaded gun, before continuing, “But if you’re counting, there’s only three days left.”

Three days.

Where did the time go? How did I not realize how many days are left?

Actually, I know how. It’s because he’s right.

I am having too much fun. I’m having too much fun being watched.

I’m having too much fun being the center of his attention.

I love teasing him, making him lose his mind.

I love that he shows up at the coffee shop first thing in the morning before going to practice.

And I love that he stays until the end of my shift at the club and finishes his day with me.

I love it because I’ve never had that. I love it because I never will. There’s no future here. For more reasons than one.

In any case, that’s how I finish my day. His day lasts longer than that. Because after I leave the club to go home, he goes home with me.

I catch a ride with one of the girls and he follows me in his truck.

And then I climb into my bed and he follows me in there too.

Needless to say, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t close the window like he had asked me to that first day.

Even though, he had an AC delivered to my apartment the very next day.

Two ACs. One for me and one for Snow. Yes, he did.

And not only that they wouldn’t leave without installing them.

After a long argument, I caved in because Snow was home and she was so happy to see we wouldn’t be dying of heat and I couldn’t tell her the truth.

So I pretended that I got a bonus and splurged on the ACs.

I did have words with him but they didn’t make any difference.

Anyway, so maybe that’s another one of my crimes, not locking him out of my room. But I know why I didn’t. Because knowing he’s out there, that he’s watching me, that he could climb in if he wanted to, makes me feel safe.

It’s crazy. It’s insane. He snuck into my room while I was sleeping.

He stole my unopened letters. Granted they were all overdue bills, but still.

He’s blackmailing me. If I don’t quit my job in the next three days, he’s going to make sure I never work in this town again, and I know he’ll do it.

He’s unhinged enough, toxic enough to do that.

But then this whole thing is crazy and insane and toxic. Just like everything about him.