Debauched (Undone Book 3) (12 page)

He’s been here five minutes and I already feel like I’m going to burn up. I nod. “Yes.”

He pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to enjoy licking your nipples. Rolling them against my tongue, sucking them until they turn as red and swollen as your mouth.”

I whimper, my legs quivering. I clutch at him as though I’m scared if I let him go, he’ll be gone.

“I’m going to make you beg for my fingers between your legs, stroking over your wet clit, but I’m going to deny you.” His teeth scrape the flesh along my earlobe. “I’m not going to stop playing with you until you’re rubbing your hot little cunt against me and pleading. And I’m not going to deliver. That’s as far as I’m going to go. All you’re going to be able to think about is how long you’re going to have to wait until I touch your needy pussy like I did in that hallway the other night.”

He raises his head and meets my gaze, which has to be glassy, matching the lust streaming like heroin through my blood. “Sound good?”

I nod.

“Good. Time to go.”

Chad

Ruby doesn’t say much of anything as we drive to the movie theater in the slow stop-and-go traffic that clogs Chicago streets this time of night. She’s lost in her thoughts and I let her be, dragging her along by the hand as we walk to the theater and I pay for our tickets to the indie art film we both wanted to see.

It’s a Monday night, and I expect the theater will be near deserted. Which is perfect for my plans. I’ve already figured out Ruby needs to have things spelled out for her. That knowing what to expect, and what she doesn’t have to worry about, relaxes her. That the freedom not to worry helps clear her mind and allows her to focus on the desires of her body.

I don’t understand this by magic like she probably believes. I know these things because I have years of experience with submissive girls, and this is a very common trait. Not that I can explain that to her, because she’s not ready to hear it. Despite the needy readiness of her body, she’s not ready to come for me. If I tried now, it would be a disaster, and she’d end up feeling like a failure, and I can’t have that.

She doesn’t understand what I’m doing, or how I’m making her want to fuck so desperately, and she doesn’t need to for it to be effective. All I care about is every time I tell her what to do, and she does it successfully, I’m building her confidence.

When she called me in the dead of night to confess, that’s a success. She doesn’t see it that way, because she only defines success by being able to come on my hand or my cock, but every time she comes thinking about me, because I tell her to, even though I’m not there, I’m building up the connection in her mind.

It’s why I didn’t need to ask her about last night, because I already know she did exactly what I told her to do, because that’s how she’s designed. And even though she doesn’t understand or want to acknowledge it, the end result will be the same. Her confidence will grow, her limits will stretch and her boundaries will expand. She thinks it won’t work, but I know better. She’s at a disadvantage, because I know how she’s wired a thousand times better than she does.

I’ll use the power only for good. To empower her, and allow her to become the woman she’s meant to be, and not the woman she’s pretending she is.

I buy popcorn and pop, somehow pleased when she wants regular Coke instead of diet. She casts furtive glances at me as we walk to the theater.

When we walk into the darkened room she goes to walk down the steps, but I stop her and nod. “Back row.”

Her eyes widen and flash with a mixture of fear and excitement.

The exact type of expression I get off on, which would probably terrify her. I jut my chin toward the row and when we sit down in the middle, I say, “In case I get the urge to lick your nipples during the movie.”

She sucks in a breath and her cheeks heat.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that Ruby’s arousal increases in direct proportion to how dirty I talk to her. Nor am I above using it to my advantage.

By the time I fuck Ruby she’s going to be able to think of nothing but my cock sliding into her willing cunt twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The only real question is how long that will take. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m nothing if not patient.

My attention falls to her lips. Right now we’re the only people in the small theater. “Have you ever let anyone play with you in the movies?”

She shakes her head.

“We’ll have to change that, now won’t we?”

Her gaze darts around the theater.

I push the bag of popcorn into her hand. “Have some popcorn.”

She takes it but makes no move to eat. The theater darkens and the pre-trailer commercials come on. I put my hand on her thigh and she jumps.

I lean over and whisper, “Remember I’m only going to kiss your lips, and your breasts, nothing else. No matter what.”

She nods.

Another couple comes into the theater and she tenses.

I chuckle and squeeze her leg. “They won’t save you.”

She licks her lips and darts her gaze to mine. “I don’t think I want to be saved.”

My chest squeezes. She kills me when she says things like that. I work my hand up her leg, high on her thigh and kiss her. Her mouth clings to mine. I want to take her, defile her. I want to ruin her. But I can’t do any of that.

I pull back, work my hand between us, swiping my thumb over her hard nipple.

She makes that needy little gasp in the back of her throat.

A loud action movie trailer comes on the screen and I whisper, “That sound makes me so fucking hard.”

She makes it again and clutches my shirt.

I stroke the distended bud. “Later tonight, I’m going to have you stretched out over my bed, naked from the waist up and I’m going to make a feast out of you.”

She makes a needy sound.

“What, Ruby? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She looks at me, and even in the darkness I can see the desire in her eyes. “I want it now.”

“I know.” That’s the whole point, to give her a chance to want. To need.

Even if it’s torture.

Ruby

I’m exactly where Chad told me I’d end up.

Stretched across his fantastic bed, naked from the waist up, my body on fire. His tongue plays over my nipple, before he sucks deep and my hips rise from the bed with a needy jerk. I cry out, desperate for him to provide some sort of friction, but he doesn’t deliver.

Like he said he wouldn’t. Like he promised.

I have never felt anything like this.

I’m not sure if I love it or hate it.

He’s just so…relentless.

I don’t remember one thing about the movie tonight. All I remember is the feel of his palm hot on my thigh, the stroke of his tongue over my lips. The pull, straight to my core, as he slid over my breasts.

His teeth scrape over my flesh and I gasp out, “Chad.”

He raises his head. “Have you had enough?”

Have I? “I…” I trail off and lick my lips. “I don’t know.”

“You let me know when you figure it out.” His mouth returns to my breasts.

How is he doing this? His fingers roll the distended bud and it makes my clit pulse like it has its own heartbeat. I want him to touch me so bad, but I’m so scared. Terrified as soon as he does I’ll freeze, and lose all this heat and desire. It’s like being on a roller coaster. Elation and fear all rolling together, combusting through my system, confusing me.

“Please…” I don’t even know what I’m asking for. What I want?

He raises his head again, stares intently at my face. He must not like what he sees there because he moves to the side and props his head on his open palm. His free hand plays over my ribs, before lazily circling my nipple. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I shake my head. I don’t even know. Nothing is wrong.

“Are you overwhelmed?” His mouth is full from all the time we spent kissing, his hair bed rumpled.

Why is he doing this? Taking this much time with me? Why is he doing this when there are so many better options out there? I suddenly need to know. “Are you frustrated yet?”

He frowns. “No.”

“How can you not be?”

“It’s been two dates.”

It’s true, but I know these aren’t typical dates for him. The desire to ask him about the dominance he must be repressing for my benefit tangles in my throat. I don’t want to ask. Because I don’t want to hear the answer. I’m not ready to deal with the part of him that will be our undoing. Layla once told me that for people like them, it’s as much a part of their makeup as hair color. It’s only a matter of time before keeping it locked away starts to weigh on him.

I can’t start to need him. There are too many differences between us.

But I can’t say any of those things because I want to ignore it. For at least a little while. Is that so wrong? I settle on part of my worry, the easier part. “You can’t say this isn’t the tamest date you’ve been on.”

He shrugs. “It’s also the hottest.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

Like lightning, his hand leaves my breast and grips my jaw, forcing my face to his. “I always mean what I say. Always.”

I gulp.

There’s an edge to his tone as he continues. “You’ve fucked guys, maybe even after the first or second date, but tell me, Ruby, did you feel like this? Even when their cocks were inside you?”

I shake my head. “But that’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m dead below the waist.”

He laughs.

I push my head back against the fluffy pillow to glare at him. “You’re laughing?”

He grins, and with his rumpled hair and the color high on his cheeks, he looks devilishly boyish and disarming. It’s what I believed about him since I first met him, but I know it’s a lie now. The only thing true about him is that he’s the devil. He puts his hand on the curve of my hip. “Is that why you tried to get me to rub your pussy for the last hour? Because you’re dead below the waist?”

A flush of heat rolls across my chest. I bite my lip. “That’s not normal.”

He gives me a little squeeze. “There’s a difference between being dead between the waist and your brain getting in the way of relaxing enough to have an orgasm with someone else in the room.”

Is there? My brow furrows. “And you think you’ll be able to get me to relax?”

He strokes over my stomach, making slow circles over my belly, ribs, and the curve of my waist. I get lost in the movement, the hypnotic dance of his golden skin against my paleness.

Finally he says, “I’m not sure relax is the word I’d use. But, yes, I’m going to make you come.”

The knowledge that I’ve always been a failure at sex, wars with hope. I want to believe him, but I can’t. “I have years of experience that say otherwise.”

He meets my gaze. “Has anyone really tried? You’ve been faking your reactions for so long you’ve never given any guy a chance to test you.”

He’s right, and that he sees this so clearly makes me feel small and vulnerable. “Can I have my shirt?”

“No.” The word is simple and straightforward.

We stare at each other for endless moments, and his gaze is so direct and unwavering, I end up dropping my gaze.