foot, he kicked at one of mine and said, “Wider.” I adjusted my stance.
He kicked my other foot. When I didn't comply fast enough, he canted my hips so that my breasts were pressed into the tiles, and then he stroked home.
His pace. This was not the East I was used to, the one who tried for control, but there was no control in him now. He was completely gone. He slid one hand up to my breasts, pinching, testing, weighing. The other was on my clit as he set a punishing pace. His lips were at my ear. "Do you know how fucking much I love being inside you? Coming inside you is like a revelation. I could do it all day. I never want to fucking leave."
The water sprayed down on us, and just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he stopped, pulled out, and I cried, "Ah no, I was so close."
He shook his head. "No. We're not done. Wrap your arms around me." He turned me around slowly and nuzzled into my throat.
Then he picked me up, braced me up against the wall, and without preamble, he slid home again. "This time, when you come, I want to watch you."
And I knew in that moment that there was no walking away from East Hale. He would break me in a way that I'd never been broken before. Leaving him might actually kill me. I was lost. I was falling. That crash landing was going to hurt like a bitch.
But there was a part of me that just didn't care because this felt much too good.
He held me up by my ass. He drove into me. Muttering dirty things and love things. "God, you feel so good... I love being inside you... I cannot stop fucking you... Never letting you leave... That's it, baby... This cock belongs to you..."
With him murmuring against the hollow of my throat, I came apart. Shattering. Giving every piece of myself to East. Knowing I might never be whole again.
With a roar, he came inside me. Holding me in place, biting down on the skin at my collarbone. Jesus Christ, he was going to leave a mark. And I wanted him to. What did that say about me that I wanted to be claimed by someone? In particular, this someone. Someone that had more secrets than I could ever hold. But I was his. And he was mine.
Nyla
For once I was not late for brunch. Dad hated it when anyone was late.
I figured after the disaster of dinner at Denning’s just the two of us would be a
better idea. Problem was, when I turned up at his house in South Bank, he didn’t answer. Nor did he answer my first three texts.
I tried his office phone, same result. I eventually just let myself in, only to find the place empty and quiet. Sort of a mausoleum atmosphere. Even though I could tell the flat was empty, I still called out. "Dad? Dad?"
The photo on the bookcase caught my attention almost immediately. In it, I was eight. We'd been on holiday in Santorini. Mom was gaily planting a big sloppy wet kiss on the side of my face. I was laughing at the wind. Dad was watching us indulgently. And in the background, just in the corner, there was a man. He was in silhouette. And he was watching us as if observing. I didn’t know why, but I sort of got a melancholy feeling. I’d never thought to look at him before. But now I felt like he'd been watching us, sort of feeling like an outsider.
I was probably giving far too much credit to my thoughts about a random man in a photo, but for some reason, he’d caught my attention.
“Dad?” I called again.
No answer, as I’d suspected. I checked the calendar in his office, and it indicated that he had planned to be in the office for an early meeting. Had he forgotten brunch? Maybe he was still there.
I locked up behind myself and quickly jogged down the stairs back to my car. I couldn't shake the idea that I was being watched, though. Someone had eyes on me. Was that East? Was he watching me right now?
I should be annoyed or concerned or irritated, but I let it go, and fifteen minutes later, after I haphazardly parked my car in the parking lot, I took the stairs two at a time to the glass doors and yanked.