Page 31 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

Three months later

My forehead bashes into the drywall in Rory’s entryway.

He didn’t even take me into the living room this time.

He had me strip right here just inside his doorway and then spun me around, dropped to his knees, and spread my cheeks to whisper filthy things to my hole before he got down to business. When is this going to stop?

I should be embarrassed that I’m over here again, but as his cockhead nudges through my ring, I feel no shame.

I even like the way he’s still fully dressed this time.

It makes me imagine we just left a meeting, and he’s got me pinned up against a wall at headquarters.

I have nothing to be embarrassed about if he doesn’t seem to mind that I showed up again.

At least, I’ve never used the key. Not the one for the cage, but the other one I found beneath the cage when I got home from his house the first time I came over.

It’s a key to his house. I know it is without needing confirmation.

A thousand bucks said he put it in there just to tempt me.

It was a silent invitation that was louder than any bullhorn.

Two weeks later, I fucking took that invitation like a damn Rory sex addict.

And I’ve been taking it at least every other weekend since that first night. It’s getting worse, though.

This is the second time this week. I was just here Wednesday night—the first time I folded during the work week.

Now, it’s Saturday night. Another weekend night where guys my age are out doing normal things like finding a boyfriend, seeing a concert, or watching a game.

But no, not me. What am I doing? Scratching an itch that only gets itchier each time I come to Rory to scratch it.

Fuck. I think I truly am starting to hate him. I’m worried I’ve lost any hope of another man arousing me at this point. And my hand? Dildos? Well, my body knows they’re not Rory. Why does it have to be him I crave?

He rocks slowly back and forth over my gland at least a dozen times. I want him deep. I want to be completely filled. I want him seated all the way until I can feel that soft patch of hair at his groin brushing up against my taint. I’m about to give in to begging again, when suddenly I’m empty.

“Mm,” he hums, kneading one of my cheeks. “That was wonderful.”

Um…yeah, so why did he stop? Did he come? I’m pretty sure he didn’t.

He gives my ass a little swat. Not too hard, not too soft—just the way I like it.

Panting, I watch him peel his sweatshirt over his head and drop it on the floor. Turning, he starts down the hallway but doesn’t make his way into the living room. Where the fuck is he going?

I hear the zip of his fly, and his blue jeans slide down his legs. Licking my lips, I admire the sight of him going commando. Just as he rounds the corner, he calls out, “Are you coming?”

Heaving a breath, I push off the wall and follow him. I love how he says shit, like I’m supposed to know where the hell I’m going. We’ve only ever fucked in his living room or that one time in the kitchen when he bent me over one of the stools.

When I round the corner, I freeze in the open doorway. I’ve never seen the door open. If I had, I would have known it was a bedroom. A very sizable bedroom with a slightly raised, carpeted platform in the middle of it.

In the center of that platform is a king-size bed, and currently crawling onto that exquisite-looking bed is one naked Rory McDonnell. When his ass touches down on the mattress and he settles back against the pillows, I stare at his glistening cock, pointed toward the ceiling.

I tell myself that it doesn’t matter that it’s a bedroom or that he’s on a bed.

We fucked on a bed once before on his yacht.

If I make some protest, he’ll just tease me, and I’m too turned out to ruin it right now.

I spot a switch on the wall by the doorway and dim the lights, then make my way over to him.

He has what I need right now. Who cares if he changed the venue?

Except, just as I take a knee on the mattress and make to assume my usual position, he grabs my arm and tugs. With his other hand, he pats the top of his thigh.

“Right here, handsome,” he informs me.

How the fuck is that going to work? Does he want my ass in his face again?

He already put lube all over me. He had a packet in his pocket like he was expecting me, the smug bastard.

I swear he made me attend that luncheon the other day with the contracting department because he knew I’d cave sooner if I had to see him in person.

And I did. I told myself I’d skip what’s becoming our regular Saturday night ritual, but…

Well, here I am. I’ll think about how weak my willpower is later.

Moving to turn and face the end of the bed, so I can sling my leg over the top of his, I wobble when he tugs on my arm again with more force. Why is he laughing?

Twisting around, I’m sure my face shows my confusion, especially when he plants his other hand on my hips and drags me closer to him. I have no choice but to move my knee so I don’t faceplant on his chest.

“You’re so cute. You know that?” he purrs, and I find myself straddling him. Straddling him as I face him . What the actual fuck?

Gripping the headboard for balance, I hold my breath while I assess the situation.

There’s enough light in here that nothing will be left to the imagination.

I’ve never looked at him while we mess around.

I’ve hardly looked at him at all, to be honest. At least, not while he’s looking back at me.

This is so weird. He can’t possibly want to fuck like this.

What’s wrong with what we’ve been doing? Am I getting too boring for him?

Fuck. Each time I come here, I swear it’s the last, but each time I leave, I know that’s a lie. It was never supposed to go on this long.

When he reaches between my legs, grabs his cock, and rubs his tip back and forth through my crease, a sliver of worry needles at me.

I’m worried about my sanity because I’m instantly curious to see how it would feel to slide down on his cock while it’s at that angle.

I bet I’d get him deeper than when he’s behind me. Damn it. He really has broken me.