Page 24 of Groom Gamble

I lie on my side, eyes open in the dark, not knowing what to do. But Mr Streatham does. He shifts and slowly runs his hands down my body, lingering at my waist. Then he sighs.

“You’re tired.”

I am, but I’m also electrified by his touch. I’m lit up inside, as though he’s a power source and I’m a lamp.

This is an addiction. Already, I’m dangerously needy, kidding myself that he wants me too.

“I said I wanted to practise,” I whisper. I crave him, even if it’s a lie.

He scoops me up before I can roll over to face him, pressing me to his front, and my god. Within seconds he’s pushed off my pyjamas and has me naked and gently grasps my hair, pulls my head back, and drags his bristly-but-soft beard over my shoulder.

“So sweet, and good. Fuck, I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, and my brain shorts out. He thinks that?

Then he’s reached between my legs, and I can’t get any words out because he’s groaning that I’m being such a good girl for him and sliding his thick fingers into where I’m slick and hot.

I’m bracketed by him, held almost, and he strokes my clit, making me glow brighter and brighter.

He breaths in, as though relishing the scent of my hair, then pulls me closer still, his hard length pressing against my bottom.

“Let me in, little one.”

Darling in public, little one in private, I vaguely note as I allow him to lift my leg. The invasion of his cock isn’t so unfamiliar this time. There’s a sharp pain that fades almost immediately, and then the stretch that my body already understands is the precursor to pleasure.

And then he’s easing in and out of me with agonising slowness and my clit throbs as he plays with it. I’m helpless, languid and tired from an overwhelming day, and against all logic, I trust this man.

I lose all sense of time. All I can do is focus on where he’s touching me, stuffing me full of him with a relentless slow rhythm. I don’t know whether I’m glad of the respite when he withdraws almost to the tip, or disappointed. But eventually, I’m shaking and sobbing in his arms, and he’s reassuring me with a rumble that I feel more than hear.

Then I’m falling, clutching at his solid, muscled forearms, the hair both coarse and smooth under my fingers and the pleasure sweeps from where we’re joined right down to my toes in waves that surely change me at some basic level.

It’s world ending.

But only for me.

Because the first thing I realise when my body is relaxed again—though sparkling with internal magic he gave me—is that he’s an immovable rock in my storm.

He’s still hard.

I wait, but he doesn’t move. His breath is deep and even. This hasn’t affected him at all?

“Do you want to…” I begin.

“What, little one?” Dex replies, subtle laughter in his tone.

I screw up my courage. “Come?”

“That’s not our deal.”

“No, but…” I struggle to find the way to put this thought. Surely he’d enjoy this more if he finished? That would be worthwhile, although it would reduce the chance of me getting pregnant. “Isn’t it important for men?”

“Men who aren’t in control of themselves, maybe.”

He thrusts just enough to make me bite my lip to hold back a moan.

“Men who think they’ll die from a bit of discomfort or frustration.” Dex’s rough voice sends a fresh shudder down my spine.

It’s so weird being wrapped up in him, his arms around me, his cock lodged deep in my pussy, and not being able to see him. I’m taking all my cues from his words and his touch when usually when we talk it’s face-to-face in his office. And while he’s moved away from touching my clit, he’s smoothing his fingers over my legs and up to my waist.

“I want to come right up here.” He palms my belly. “I’ll plant my seed deep inside you, and knock you up. I want to fill you until it seeps out, then force you to hold it in. I’ll breed you in the morning before work and it’ll slide down your inner thighs until lunchtime when I’ll take you again, giving you more and more, until you’re overflowing. I promise I’ll give you everything you need and more to get pregnant.”