Page 52 of Executing Malice

I can’t even cry anymore, just a hoarse whine as I shudder beneath him. My body continues to convulse as currents bolt through every raw nerve.

When I can only lie here and twitch like a broken doll does he silence the toy.

Not that it matters. Even off, I’m shuddering. My entire vagina is numb and soaked. My heart won’t stop thundering in my throat. I can’t close my legs. Can barely move. My body is limp with micro spasms of aftershocks that elicit tiny whimpers.

His boots squeak faintly as he releases me and stands. The visor stares down at me, black and unreadable, except the reflection of my sprawled and abused body mirrored back at me. Even in their tinted darkness, I’m not blind to the state of my soaked thighs where the muscles continue to twitch involuntarily.

“Look at you,” his taunt is followed by the crouch of his body next to mine. “Barely five orgasms and you’re done.”

I want to tell him off, but can only stare up at him, watch him as he reaches down in the direction of my sex.

“No...” I whine, willing my body to roll away.

His hand clamps down on my thigh, over the wetness I created. He rubs his palm in it.

“You said there was nous.”The same hand, now glossy with my release, closes down over my mouth, smears across my cheek. The taste coats my tongue. “But your cunt just made you a fucking liar.” The same fingers lock around my throat with steely warning. “You’re mine, Leila. If you ever think otherwise, you will wake up tied to your bed and I will remind you who you belong to.”

I can only whimper.

Something about the sound seems to amuse him. The broad width of his shoulders trembles with his quiet chuckle.

“You still have three hours before your shift ends, don’t you, my sweet, little whore? I’m going to enjoy watching you sit here in your soaked panties, pretending like you didn’t just squirt all over the carpet.”

Embarrassment warms cheeks stained with tears, snot and my own release.

“Asshole,” I croak.

His hand fists in my hair and he drags my head back. “I don’t think we have time for that, but if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll fuck you there first.”

I’m released and he stands once more. I think he’s going to help me up, but he smooths down his T-shirt and adjusts the collar of his jacket.

“Toy stays in,” he says down to me. “I’m not done being pissed at you.”

Without another word, I watch helplessly as he strolls out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LEILA

––––––––

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t look so good.” Daisy eyes me from across the counter, soft lips pulled into a grimace.

I know I don’t.

I don’t need a mirror to tell me I’m sweaty and flushed. That I haven’t taken a normal breath in hours. My skirt is drenched through at the back and that moisture has soaked into the cushion of my chair.

I don’t even want to start on the smell; I had to prop the bank door open.

“Just a little under the weather,” I croak.

Like every other time a new client walked in, the humming starts. It’s low, teasing. Never enough to get me over ... unless it’s a man. The asshole outside has made it his mission to torture me a little more when the opposite sex is nearby, like he’s proving a point.

But I wish he would give me a break.

Multiple orgasms are a girl’s dream, but consistently forhoursis more than a novice can handle, especially one who onlyever had one or two at her own hands in the past. Plus, I’m pretty sure my heart can’t take much more.

I considered ripping the fucking thing out, marching outside — crawl more like — and chucking it at his head, but the cons of that decision have me suffering through.