Page 9 of Vows in Sin

S eraphina

The door is slightly ajar, with the gentle glow of the storeroom light shining through. It’s propped open by a lone brick, inviting me inside. Did he leave it that way on purpose? Not for a trap. But for me?

The night has a fragmented feel to it, like I’m glimpsing myself in snippets of a film. I take quick, shallow steps that match my quickening breaths as I head toward the door.

Like he owes me this, like it’s his fault he’s made me need him this way. Tonight I no longer hide in the shadows.

I walk right over the threshold.

The storeroom is to my left. The office to my right. I move straight ahead. Heels clicking over concrete. The sound is short, crisp, like his palm cracking against my ass.

I make it five steps before the door slams shut behind me. I stand, frozen. The dim light from the alleyway is gone. It’s dark.

“You really don’t learn,” comes that voice.

It’s lower tonight. Rougher. Like my boots over the gravel.

I don’t turn around.

I say nothing. My throat is tight. That’s not why I don’t speak.

I want him to lead me in every way.

That’s what I’m here for. His control.

He closes the distance in two steps. I feel him at my back. I try not to tremble.

His heat, his presence—massive, controlled, dangerous.

My skirt’s short. I wore it for him. No panties this time. I want to make it easy for him.

I want to see if he’ll do as he said.

“Pretty little lonely doll,” he says. “What happened, sweetheart?” he breathes against my ear, his beard tickling the skin at the nape of my neck. “You think my belt is the only thing that will make you feel the way you want to feel?”

My knees are already weak. His reading my mind makes them turn to absolute jelly. I’m shaken, and so is my trembling voice as I whisper, “How did you know?”

“Palms flat on the wall.”

I obey him with no hesitation. Palms on the wall. Cheek against cool paint like I’ve done this a thousand times before.

I want this.

“Let’s get this sexy little skirt out of my way.” Fingers brush my lower back as he unzips the leather skirt. His mouth is against my ear. His breath is warm on my skin. Same as last time.

“I wore it for you,” I confess.

“I thought as much,” he says, his lips brushing against my ear, his gratitude genuine, making me fool myself into thinking he needs this as much as I do, tonight. “But you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t even be here.”

The skirt falls to the floor, a black ring on the concrete floor, circling my boots. I’m naked from the waist down, my naked ass out for him. I imagine how it must look, me facing the wall at his demand, my high black boots coming up to the backs of my knees.

He drags a long inhale of air between his teeth, then hisses, “No panties.”

I can’t see his reaction. But he sounds angered by how much my choice turns him on.

Why not add fuel to the fire?

I need him to give me what I came for.

Shifting my weight to my right foot, I cock a hip, jutting my bare ass out, making him give a deep growl of approval.

The clank of the metal buckle of his belt as it unlatches makes me shiver. The hiss of leather—his belt sliding free from the loops at his waist makes me tremble. I moan, low and shameful, before he can even raise it in the air.

“Why have you come?” he asks.

I blink, surprised by his question.

“You already know,” I respond. “After all, you’re the one who left the door open for me.”

That brings the fury I crave. Another growl.

The belt whistles as it cuts the air. There’s no time to clench or wince as the first strike lands along the fullest part of my ass, hip to hip. I cry out, hips jerking, the pain bright and biting as it blooms across my skin. The belt comes again, lower this time.

“You come crawling back,” he growls, “you get what you’re begging for.”

CRACK. He knows how to punish me in a way that makes the pain echo in my pussy. The third one makes me whimper. The fourth fiery strike has a strange effect. “I made a huge mistake at work!”

He drops the belt. The buckle hits the concrete floor with a clang—a beat of silence.

“What did you do?” His hands—rough and impatient—grab me, pulling me away from the wall, making me face him. “Tell me.”

“I—never mind.”

We gaze at each other for a moment. Heat and silence fill the air with tension. I wonder what it would feel like to be embraced by those strong arms again. Kissed by him once more.

His green eyes are filled with a furious desire. I don’t know his thoughts. I want him to want me as much as I want him. He leans down. I tilt my face up, desperately wanting him to take me in his arms and kiss me.

“Don’t want to talk? Fine.” Instead, he grabs my hips, turns me back toward the wall and bends me at the waist, folding me in half. “Legs spread. Ass up. Grab the crate.”

The toe of his black boot slides a wooden crate along the wall till it’s centered in front of me. I grab the edges of the crate, holding tight and thanking the gods I kept up with those poses I learned when I took yoga with Cleo in Italy.

I’m flexible.

In all kinds of ways. Like now. I was craving a sweet kiss, but now I want nothing more than for him to wreck me.

I can feel his gaze on me. Taking me in. Admiring my work with this outfit. His artistry in positioning my body. He loves what he sees; I hear it in the hot coals of his voice. “Stay like that. Just like that.”

My legs parted like this, exposing my heat and wetness to the cool air. I have no idea what he has in mind. Punishment? Pain? Pleasure? My heart thumps in my chest, and I can barely breathe.

Big hot hands are back on my hips, fingertips digging in. I hope to have circular-shaped bruises on my skin in the morning.

What is he going to do to me?

His tongue answers my curiosity.

His hot, wicked, relentless tongue.

He doesn’t tease; instead, he devours like he’s punishing me with his mouth.

Every flick of his tongue reminds me that I came here for one thing. Him. My moans get louder. My body bucks, writhes—but he holds my hips so I’ve nowhere to go, no choice but to stand there and take everything he wants to give me.

Absorbing every ounce of pleasure.

His right hand slips down from my hip, grabbing the front of my thigh tightly, then dragging his fingers up. My cries choke off in the back of my throat. My acrylic nails dig into the crate so hard I might break one.

And I don’t care.

My knees tremble—sharp, helpless shivers crawling up the backs of my thighs. His mouth works me over like he already knows me. My body. What I need. Like he knew I’d be here tonight.

He knew I needed what only he could give me.

The tip of his hot tongue does all kinds of filthy things, tracing circles, dragging heat up and down, flicking harder when I whimper.

My hips push back towards his face without my permission, in my need. I’m greedy and soaked, my inner thighs wet. He grips me tighter, spreading me more. My hair hangs around my face in damp strands. I taste sweat on my lip, biting down to keep from crying out.

The first quakes of the orgasm threaten to destroy me. I try to hold back. But then he does that thing—tongue fucking deep, slow, curling up—and my eyes roll back. I choke on a moan, legs buckling. My belly clenches like a fist, low and tight as I snap—a jagged, electrified wave tears through me.

I want to scream his name.

I don’t even know his real name.

I pulse against him in waves, but he doesn’t stop.

His tongue is buried deep inside me. I can’t see anything but bright white stars as I come, fingers clinging to the crate, hoping he doesn’t release me anytime soon ‘cause I’ll collapse.

When he’s finished, I’m exhausted. My hand presses against the wall to steady my shuddering self. Suddenly, he surrounds me. The heat, cloves, man. His chest presses against my back.

Flattening one hand against the wall on each side of me, he moves his mouth to my ear in that way I’ve quickly come to want. “I don’t want you wandering around at night. It’s not safe.”

His words echo, creating a fluttering feeling that surprises me. I yearn to face him. His arms are so close right now, one on either side of me. I want him to wrap those arms around me and hold me. I long to lay my cheek against his chest and inhale him.

I’m shocked to find tears pricking at my eyes. The longing is so deep within, and I feel so empty right now. I know he could make this ache go away with just one kiss. But he’s pulling away from me, heat and muscle, gone. He’s ready to send me away.

He’s gone.

And I’m alone. Naked from the waist down, my skirt on the floor, liquid dripping down the inside of my thighs, my blood pressure hovering somewhere around stroke.

He’s just left.

He didn’t even say goodbye. Or tell me he’s sent for a car. Which, instinctively, I know he will.

A silly hope wells up in me as I sense him returning.

He’s kneeling behind me. What is he doing?

I glance over my shoulder, watching as he holds a warm damp cloth up to my skin.

With the gentleness you’d bathe a newborn, he cleanses my skin.

When he’s satisfied, he pulls my skirt from its puddle on the floor.

He brings it up my legs, stretching the waistband to settle it in place.

The dangerous man has a soft side. His attention touches me. I manage to whisper a shaky, “Thank you.”

Then he fills me up to overflowing with his tender, gruff words, “Come here. I want to hold you.”

I turn around and he does everything I’d hoped for. He wraps those arms around me, holding me against him. I rest my cheek on his chest, a secret smile curling at my lips. I close my eyes and inhale that scent that is so specifically him.

I’m only missing the kiss.

Reaching down into his pocket, he slips a piece of paper into my hand. “Next time you need me, you ask.”

I glance down at the crumpled paper I hold in my hand. He knew I was coming here tonight.

I stare down at the slip, holding it between my thumb and index finger. His number with his name at the top. Reign. I scoff back a laugh.

How quickly he’s become the ruler of my world.

Beautiful penmanship. I didn’t expect that.

He had this ready in advance. I stare up at him. “How did you know I was coming tonight?”

He shrugs, uneasily swiping his beard. “Just knew.”

He says it like two words can explain this complicated, heated, passionate mess we’ve created.

“I have to go. There’s a restroom down the hall. Take your time.”

He leans down. Strokes my hair. And kisses the top of my head.

Then, he’s gone.

I rush to the bathroom where I can study the paper in privacy. Call him if I need him? Is that an open invitation to a relationship? Does he want me in the same way I’m finding I need him?

The thought scares me. I’m playing a perilous game. I don’t belong here, and I don’t belong with him.

Returning was a one-time thing. A moment of weakness to get my head together. There won’t be a next time. Fixing my face as best I can in the small, dimly lit restroom, I crumple up the paper, ready to toss it into the trash.

We haven’t ever seen one another outside this back room. We haven’t even shared something as simple as a cup of coffee. I’m not calling this man.

I need to be clear.

This isn’t happening again.

I leave his number on the crate where I know he’ll see it. I see myself out the back door, where I know there will be a ride waiting for me. Sure enough, a sleek black sedan is already pulled up to the curb.

How can two strangers predict one another so well?

He didn’t even tell me he’d called a car for me.

I just knew he had.