Page 37 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

“Because you don’t do this just for anyone, do you?” he goes on, his words both sweet and rough, degrading and endearing.

“No.”

“You don’t dance for anyone else.”

“No. No, I-I don’t.”

“You don’t put on a show for anyone else either.”

“N-no. Only you.”

“Yeah, only me,” he says with a bite, a violence in his tone, a possessiveness that burns me even more.

“You don’t spread your thighs like you are right now, like you want something between them just for anybody.

You don’t offer up your tits, like you’re doing right now, all red and jiggling, like you want someone to suck on them.

Not just suck but suckle and drink from them. ”

“Never.”

He breaths out again, sharply, choppily. “That a promise?”

“Yes. No one but you.”

“Good,” he says with a low growl. “Because even when I’m gone, you will still do this only for me. You will still hump the air, touch your tits, play with them. Only for me .”

For a few seconds, I don’t understand what he’s saying.

And then I feel a tug in my nipples and look down.

I see my own hands playing with my breasts, my nipples, kneading them, tugging at them.

I’m gathering my tits in my hands, bringing them together, making a valley, before pulling them apart.

I’m also humping the air as he said. My hips are twisting and writhing, the place between my thighs pulsing in anticipation.

“You see it now, yeah?” he rasps.

And I look up. I want to look at him, look at his face but I keep my eyes at the camera. Because I’m giving him a show, something to remember for later. I put aside my needs for now because he needs this from me. Because I know he’ll take care of me later. I know that.

He’s my safe space.

“Yes,” I whisper, still playing with my tits, rolling my hips in a figure eight.

“Say it,” he commands, his words getting even more agitated. “Keep looking into the camera and say, ‘I’m Shepard’s whore.’”

I don’t even take a breath or pause to think.

“I’m Shepard’s whore.” And then because I can’t stop myself, I add, “I’ll always be Shepard’s whore.

His and no one else’s. Because only he makes me feel this way.

Only he can do this to me. Because he makes me so wet.

He makes me feel so horny, so restless. So safe. God, so safe that I?—"

My words are swallowed because I feel something again.

But this time, it’s in my pussy. On my pussy.

A touch that makes me jump and look down.

And holy God, what I see pretty much makes me pass out.

My thighs are still spread and still flushed pink.

They’re still glistening with my juices.

But what steals my breath and stops my heart is the fact that his boot is right there.

The edged toe of his black boot is touching me.

Right there.

In my swollen and wet pussy.

And then my heart jumpstarts back up because he moves it.

He moves the toe of his boot and rubs it right between the lips of my pussy.

But he doesn’t stop there. He somehow finds the exact spot, my clit, and when he grazes the boot on there, my hips jump.

They dance. They twist on the edge of his boot and a moan erupts out of me.

“And no one can do this either, can they?” he asks.

I snap my eyes up and he does it again. Uses his boot to rub my clit and all I can do is moan. All I can do is grab hold of my tits even harder and move my hips to the rhythm of his actions as I answer, “No, o-only you.”

“Yeah, only me. Only I can make my Little Strawberry dance on my boot.”

I blush and whimper in response.

But he isn’t happy with it so he goes, “But then again, you’ll dance anywhere I’ll tell you to because you’re mine.”

“Yours,” I confirm.

“You’ll always be mine.”

I nod. “Always.”

“Even when I leave you, I won’t let anyone else have you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Camera,” he reminds. “Tell it to the camera.”

And my eyes skid away from his boot, playing with my pussy, and up to the phone he’s still holding and as I move and move my hips. “Shepard won’t let anyone else have me b-because I’m his.”

“Yeah, you are.”

I clench my eyes shut as I keep writhing. “Shepard, I n-need…”

“I know what you need.”

And then he pulls me closer. He uses his hand on my throat to tug at me while at the same time, moving his boot in a way that I find myself almost sitting on it. While my mind is still trying to comprehend what’s happening, my body already knows what to do and the words slip out, “Thank you.”

Before I let go of my tits and grab his calf and start humping his boot.

I start rubbing my pussy on it. I look down and it has to be the most obscene thing I’ve ever seen.

The most arousing thing I’ve ever seen. My pussy spreads open on the leather, leaving trails of my juice, making it glisten. Polishing his boot almost.

God, why does it feel so shameful and yet so arousing at the same time?

I want to stop but I also never ever want to stop.

I want to tell him that I hate this but I also love it.

I love it so, so much that my hips keep moving and jerking and chasing something bigger than a climax.

Or at least that’s what it feels like as I writhe and writhe and keep writhing, digging my nails in his calf, moaning and whimpering like some kind of an animal in heat. A bitch in heat for him.

And it only gets worse, when he comes closer. I hear the clatter of his phone falling to the ground before I feel his hand in my hair, fisting the strands. He tugs my head back, rests his forehead with mine and commands, “Say it. Say, thank you for letting me ride your boot, Shepard.”

“Thank you…” I pant, my eyes closed, my hands on his wrists now as I keep going, “for letting me ride your boot, Shepard.”

“’Thank you for making me feel so good.’”

“Thank you for making me feel so good,” I say, moaning, so close, so very close to coming.

But something is missing. I want something from him.

Something more. Something like a kiss. And I go to say that.

I go to ask him for it, for him to finish what we started all those months ago.

In that parking lot before his life turned upside down.

I mean, it makes sense, right? His life went awry back then.

He lost his championship. He lost the girl he loves.

The whole world started to turn against him.

But tonight, we claim everything back. Or at least, start to.

Tonight is the beginning of fixing everything.

The beginning of us. So we should kiss, shouldn’t we?

But before I can say anything, he commands, “Come, now. Come on my boot. Come like the whore you are. My good little whore.”

And then I have no choice but to do that.

I have no choice but to come. I always thought it was made up.

That someone can command your body to do things at their will.

But it’s not. It’s real. As real as someone commanding your heart.

If someone can make your heart to beat faster, your blood to pump faster, why can’t they command your body too?

Why can’t he when he commands everything else in my life? When he’s the man I love.

The thought flashes through my head in an instant, while I’m still coming on his boot, while I’m still holding on to his wrists, our foreheads stuck together, breathing each other’s air. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt so at peace.

“Thank you,” I whisper, without him prompting me. “Thank you for making me come.”

His grip on me tightens as I’m coming down from my climax, and he whispers, “Maybe you should add a little something to that, to your thank you. Maybe you should say: You didn’t have to do that, Shepard, because I’m a sneaky fucking bitch who’s been lying to you for over a year.

But that’s not all I am. I’m also so fucking stupid for leaving my phone where anyone could get their hands on it and find out this secret that I’ve been trying to hide for so long.

” Then, pressing his fingers into my face even harder, he continues, “And you know what I’d say to that, Jupiter , I’d say, you don’t need to thank me for anything.

Because what kind of a brother would I be if I didn’t help out my whore of a stepsister? ”

It takes me a moment to understand what he means. And it would probably be longer than a moment, if he hadn’t leaned back and looked into my eyes with such anger and hatred and undiluted fury that it almost chokes me to death.

Or maybe it’s his hand that’s gone back to my throat and he presses and presses it into my windpipe as he says, a vein pulsing in his temple, “If you come anywhere near me, near my family, my sister and her family, I’ll fucking ruin your life, do you understand?”

With that he pushes me away, and he does it so hard that I fall on my side and watch him leave the room as he leaves me there, all bruised and battered. Wrecked.