Chapter 5; Bad girl

EMMA

“Fuck it.”

The words left my mouth in a shaky whisper, and then I was moving. I dropped to my knees beside the bed and dragged out the small bag I had shoved underneath the first night I arrived. My hands were already trembling when I found the vibrator. I didn’t bother with lights. I climbed back onto the mattress, shoved my shorts and panties down just far enough, and pressed the cool silicone between my legs.

I was soaked. Embarrassingly, ridiculously soaked. The second the vibration hit my clit, a broken sound escaped before I could stop it. I clapped my free hand over my mouth and bit down on the side of my finger, trying to stay quiet. Rhys’s voice from earlier still echoed in my head but I shoved it away. He didn’t own me. He didn’t own a single thing about me.

I closed my eyes and let the toy work. In my head, it was his hand. Then it was his mouth. Then, without my permission, the fantasy shifted, and suddenly there were more hands: Tristans careful fingers. The image was so filthy and so vivid that my back arched off the bed. I was close. So close. My thighs started to shake. The pressure built until I was right on the edge, breath held, toes curling.

A strong hand wrapped around my wrist and tore the vibrator away.

My eyes flew open.

Rhys stood over me, fully dressed, eyes black with hunger and something darker. He looked at the toy in his hand, then at my exposed cunt, then back at my face. The muscle in his jaw flexed hard.

He gritted his teeth.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low and lethal, “can any man make you come this easily? A few words from Tristan in the kitchen and you’re up here losing all control with a toy between your legs?

“What, how did you even”

He didn’t let me finish. He tossed the vibrator onto the sheets, grabbed me by the hips, and hauled me up and over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. The air left my lungs in a startled rush. I started hitting his back with both fists.

“Put me down, Rhys, what the fuck”

His large hand came down hard on my ass, the sharp smack echoing in the quiet room. The sting shot straight between my legs.

“Quiet,” he ordered. “Or I’ll give you something to really cry about.”

I twisted enough to look behind us as he carried me out into the hallway. For a split second, I could have sworn I saw a broad shadow near the end of the corridor, but then we turned a corner, and it was gone. Rhys took a set of stairs I had never used, down one level, and kicked open a door.

His room was dark. He dumped me onto the mattress hard enough that I bounced. Before I could scramble away, he was over me, one hand wrapping around my throat, the other pinning my wrist above my head.

“How badly do you want to come?” he asked, voice pure gravel

I swallowed against his palm. “I need it. Please”

“Then beg.”

The word hung between us. Pride and desperation warred for half a second before desperation won.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please let me come. I’ll do whatever you want, just please, Rhys.”

A dark, satisfied sound left his chest. He released my throat, shoved my shirt up, and lowered his mouth between my legs without another word. The first long, filthy stroke of his tongue made me cry out. He licked me open like he was starving, sucking my clit between his lips, then pushing two thick fingers inside and curling them against the spot that made my vision spark. I was already so close. My thighs started shaking within seconds.

The second I clenched around his fingers, he stopped.

I let out a broken, furious sob. “No, don’t”

He ignored me, picked up the vibrator I had brought, switched it on, and pressed it straight against my clit. The intense vibration dragged another raw sound out of me. He watched my face the entire time, eyes locked on mine, while he worked the toy in tight circles. When my back arched and my mouth fell open on a silent scream, he pulled it away again.

“Rhys”

“Not yet.”

He did it again. Mouth. Fingers. Toy. Every time I got close, he stopped, waiting until the orgasm receded before starting over. By the fifth time, I was crying in earnest, tears sliding into my hair, legs trembling so hard the mattress shook. My voice had gone hoarse from begging.

“Please, please, I’ll be good, I won’t touch myself again, just let me come, please, I can’t”

He switched the vibrator off and set it aside. Then he gently cleaned me with a tissue from the nightstand, wiping away the mess between my thighs while I kept sobbing in frustrated, oversensitive little hitches. When he finished, he stretched out beside me and pulled me against his chest, one hand stroking slowly up and down my back.

“Bad girls who don’t listen don’t get to come,” he murmured against my hair. “You needed the reminder.”

I hated him. I hated how desperately I was still clinging to his shirt. I hated the way my body had quieted the second he started petting me, like it recognised him as safety even while it ached for release. After a long minute, he slipped two fingers under my chin and lifted my face. For the first time since the club, he kissed me on the mouth slowly, deep, and devastatingly gentle. I made a helpless sound against his lips. The kiss said everything the edging had been trying to teach me: he could wreck me and still make me feel claimed.

When he finally pulled back, I was shaking for an entirely different reason.

“Please, Rhys,” I whispered, voice wrecked. “I’m begging. Please. I need you.”

Something raw flashed through his eyes. He sat up, reached behind his head, and dragged his shirt off in one motion. I watched the muscles in his stomach flex as he reached for his belt..

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

Three hard, deliberate raps.

Rhys froze. The entire room seemed to stop breathing with him.

We both stared at the locked door.

Who could it be?