Empire of Desire(Empire #1)(42)

“And why did you get on that not-some-normal bike?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “None of your business.”

“Watch your fucking tone. Don’t go on the defensive in front of me or I promise it’ll end ugly—for you, not me. So drop the attitude and your fucking arms.”

I don’t want to, I really don’t, but my arms seem to have a mind of their own as they fall limply to my sides.

“I don’t see why you should care who gives me a ride or who I spend my time with.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

The question catches me off guard, or the tone does. It’s calm but with a deep, nefarious undertone that makes me curl my toes in my white sneakers.

“What if he is?” I feign nonchalance.

“Answer the question. Is he?”

“I’m not allowed to have one? I’m twenty, you know, and that means I have crushes, boyfriends, and urges. It means I go out and ride motorcycles and do whatever the hell I wish.”

“What type of urges?”

“Huh?”

“You said you have crushes, boyfriends, and urges. What are the urges?”

Shit. Of course he’d focus on that part of my word vomit. I should backpedal, pretend it means nothing, but I’m feeling extra ballsy. I feel like being extra bad.

Maybe it’ll hurt worse afterward, but I don’t care. The pain is worth it sometimes.

“Sexual urges,” I whisper in a breathy voice that surprises me.

Apparently, it surprises Nate, too, or maybe my words do, because he goes so tight, I think he’s going to auto-combust or something.

Even his voice is as stiff as the rest of him. “Sexual urges like what?”

“You know.”

“I don’t know. Tell me, Gwyneth, what are the sexual urges you need the not-some-normal bike kid for?”

“K-kissing, for starters.”

“Kissing.”

“Yeah, with tongue and groping.”

“And?”

I can feel the fire spreading all over my neck and ears, but I don’t stop. I can’t. “Then he’d finger me.”

“How?”

“Huh?”

“How would he do it? Would his fingers be deep inside you, making you all full?”

Holy shit. I am now. All full, I mean, and it only took his words. They’re not really words anymore. They’ve gained a dimension and are now living inside me, touching me, making me all stuffed with him.

“Yeah…and they feel so good, too.”

“They do, huh?”

Everything in me clenches—my chest, my stomach, and my pussy. It’s clenching so hard, as if I’m trying to keep his fingers there.

“How good?” The rigidness in his voice and posture doesn’t go away. He sounds like he’s on the verge of something. What, I have no clue.

“Very.”

“Describe it.”

“I…can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can only feel it. And that only happens in the moment.” This moment, apparently, because I’m so hot and bothered, I’d only need to touch myself for a few seconds to get my much-needed relief.

“Show me then.”

My head whips up so fast, it hits the wall. But I don’t feel the pain, because his words are still swirling around my head.

“What did you just say?”

I don’t get to see his face or focus on his reaction, because my feet give out and the world turns upside down. No, it’s not my feet or the world. It’s him as he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

“You’ll show me all those sexual urges. Now.”





16





Gwyneth





Gravity seems to have left the building.

Or maybe it’s my sanity.

Maybe it’s both.

Because I don’t feel either of them—neither gravity nor my sanity. I’m floating on air and unable to land.

Or more accurately, I’m floating on Nate’s shoulder. His broad shoulder that I’ve always looked at and might have dreamt about touching it, but not with my stomach. I wasn’t that crazy.

Apparently, I am now, though, because that’s all I can think about—my stomach on his shoulder. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m thinking about a lot of things, like how his strong arm is looped around my calves and the way my head is hitting his powerful back with each step up the stairs.

He’s carrying me like I’m a weightless feather. The effortlessness of the act does things to me. His strength. His brutishness. His domination.

All of it.

And I soak it in, allow it to tear me open and seep inside me. Isn’t that what masochists do? Not only do we seek the pain, but we also wallow in it and allow it to grow roots so deep, it’s impossible to dissociate from it.

I don’t even stop to think about the blood that’s rushing to my head or how my eyes feel like they’ll pop out of my skull. I should probably close them, but if I do, I’ll miss what’s happening. No, thanks.

Before long, however, I’m forced out of the brief phase of hanging between the loss of gravity and sanity.

And he’s the one who yanks me out.