Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Ruining it.
Her eyes stay locked on mine.
She's holding her breath.
I can see her ribs expand and freeze. Can see the way her lips part slightly like she's about to speak but can't quite form words.
"Make me stop," I say softly.
She doesn't move.
"Say the word, Scarletta. Tell me no. Push me away. Scream for help." I press my thigh between her legs. "Do any single fucking thing that indicates you don't want this."
A whimper escapes her throat.
Small sound. Desperate.
I move my thigh. Slow, firm pressure against her pussy through the dress. Rubbing her the way I know she needs. The way those boring yoga instructors and pottery boys never could.
"That's what I thought," I murmur. "Still just a filthy little slut who gets wet when dangerous men corner her in alleys."
"No—" She gasps when I increase the pressure. "I'm not—"
"You are." I keep grinding my thigh against her pussy. Feel the heat of her through two layers of fabric. "You're a desperate, cock-hungry whore who's been pretending to be normal for six months and hating every second of it."
Another whimper.
Her hands are still pressed flat against the brick wall, but her hips have started moving. Small, unconscious rocks forward into the friction I'm providing.
"That's right, pretty slut," I breathe. "Take what you need. Hump my leg like the bitch in heat you are."
"Stop—" But she doesn't mean it. Her body is betraying every protest her mouth makes.
"You want to come, don't you?" I watch her face. The flush spreading down her neck. The way her eyes keep losing focus. "You want to soak through this nice wholesome dress while I watch. Want to prove you're still the same broken girl who checked all those boxes on a consent form because she needed someone to own her."
She's close.
I can read every sign. The way her breathing hitches. The tension building in her shoulders. The desperate little sounds catching in her throat.
So I stop moving.
Step back.
Remove all contact.
Her eyes fly open. Wild. Devastated.
"No—" It comes out broken. "Please—"
She catches herself. Claps both hands over her mouth like she can shove the word back inside.
But I heard it.
Please.
She's trembling. Tears streaming down her face now, mixing with the smeared mascara. She turns away from me, pressing her face into her hands.
Trying to hide.
I reach out. Gentle this time. Thread my fingers through her hair the way I know she likes—firm enough to feel controlled, soft enough to feel safe.
"All you have to do is ask," I whisper directly into her ear. "Say the word and I'll put my big cock up inside that needy pussy of yours. Fuck you right here against this dirty wall until you scream. Give you everything you've been dreaming about for six months."
She lifts her head.
Looks at me with those tear-bright eyes.
Parts her lips.
"Please, Master."
Victory surges through me—
Then she shoves past me. Hard enough that I actually stumble.
"Please, Master," she repeats, voice dripping venom. "Go fuck yourself."
She tries to walk away.
I grab her arm.
Not hard. Just enough to stop her momentum. Just enough to turn her back toward me.
I knew it would end like this the first time. Knew she'd bolt the moment she felt herself surrendering.
So I prepared.
I pull the business card from my pocket. Heavy card stock, embossed lettering. My real contact information—not some burner number, not a proxy.
Direct access.
I hold it up so she can see it. Read the name printed there in elegant serif font. Then I slip it into her purse. "You know where to find me," I say calmly, "when you're ready for this cock again."
I tuck myself back into my slacks. Take my time with the zipper. The button. The belt.
Let her watch me compose myself while she stands there, flushed, and desperate, and furious.
Then I turn and walk away.
"I won't be back, Scarletta," I call over my shoulder. Let my voice carry through the alley. Let her hear the absolute certainty in it.
"You will come to me."
Chapter 5
Scarletta
I'm staring at my ceiling. Again.
The words won't stop this time. They're flying through my head like they used to—back when writing felt like breathing instead of drowning. Ivy and Logan. The sex club. The bench. The crowd.
I dreamt about them last night.
Actual dreams. Not the blank nothing I've been swimming through for six months. Not the dissociative fog where I wake up and can't remember if I slept or just stopped existing for eight hours.
Real, vivid, filthy dreams.
I close my eyes. Slip my fingers between my legs.
I'm already wet.
Jesus Christ.
I haven't been wet like this since—
No. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about him.
Just Ivy and Logan. Just the story.
Inside Logan's sex club, Ivy is bent over a bench facing a crowd of people. Most of them are naked—like completely naked. Hard cocks everywhere. Tits everywhere. Glistening pussies. Bodies pressed together, watching, waiting.
They're eagerly awaiting Ivy's scene debut.