Thorne Princess(51)

He laughed roughly, pinned her arms above her head against the glass, and thrust harder.

“You’ll never get away with it.” But as she spoke, she met him thrust for thrust.

He pinned her harder, thrusting faster. “You just watch me.”

The woman’s eyes climbed from his face, and she noticed me. “We’ve got company.”

Oh, shit.

“She can watch. That’s all the action this little brat is allowed.”

Burn in hell.

“Unless you’re not into that?” He stopped thrusting, rubbing blood back into her wrists, searching her face now. He was being considerate and nice. Both qualities I didn’t recognize in him.

She shook her head slowly. “I’m having too much fun to stop.”

“Good.” He shoved her hands back above her head and continued thrusting, ignoring me completely, this time not even trying to apologize to me.

I’d been caught. The Peeping Tom in the room. No. Worse. Horny Hallie. Watching shamelessly as my bodyguard got his rocks off with another woman.

“You like to watch me fuck a stranger, don’t you, Brat?” he purred.

His gaze was on me as he drove into her. She spun her head the opposite way, so I couldn’t see her face. She was participating in being his prop! A part of his twisted, elaborate game between two, very unwell people.

“That’s right. See this shit through. Own your kink.”

I was mortified. Mainly because, as he was studying me, I was fixated on the sliver of space between his body and hers. Where I could see his cock through the glistering condom, engorged, thick and dark, draw back then disappear inside of her.

My belly dipped with shame. I felt my pulse thumping between my legs each time he drove into her, my thighs slickening. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be fucked. Disrespectfully. To be used by this heartless man. To be submissive, and docile. To stop fighting. Once.

What was wrong with me?

Everything, I thought. You don’t need a bodyguard; you need a therapist.

But I didn’t believe in therapists anymore. I’d had sixteen of them throughout the years, and not one could fix me.

“Do you like when I do this?” His white teeth twinkled in the dark. He snaked his arm behind the woman, fisting her hair in a death grip, angling her face down to watch how he was fucking her, deeper, more furiously now. Whimpers of happiness escaped her.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself right now. Not my words. Not my actions.

“Or maybe you’re into this?” He pulled out of her suddenly, snapped the condom off, and brought her down to her knees, shoving his cock into her mouth. She gasped before taking him in eagerly, sucking and gagging as she wrapped a fist around the base, zero doubt she was as willing a participant in this depravity as I wanted to be.

As that other woman the other night had been. He was sexy and safe and within reach.

There was so much saliva in my mouth. I wanted to touch myself. The unbearable craving blurred my vision. I didn’t have to touch myself, as it turned out. Because my body came alive on its own, my creative limbs stretching, using invisible brushes to paint myself where the blonde woman was, on her knees on the carpet. I imagined I was her. And that was enough to make my knees weak and my nipples pucker. To feel an earthquake shivering through my spine, like a long crack in the ground as it split open.

I climaxed on nothing, the orgasm making my entire body arch and tense at the same time.

He came in her mouth. She came, too. Came from sucking him off.

She gulped. He tucked himself back in, finally sliding his gaze off of me.

He removed his watch from his wrist. “Thank you, Marla. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Same. You have my number.” She winked at him, wiping at her mouth.

He put his Rolex in its case, leaning over to kiss her cheek like a perfect gentleman. “I called you a cab. Take as long as you need to get ready. He’ll wait.”

It was a part of Ransom I didn’t know. A part of him I wanted for myself. I realized I didn’t only want the shameful, unrestricted, violent sex. I also wanted the way he snapped out of his role and became someone else. Someone soft.

Pulled back from my unexpected orgasm, I finally managed to see beyond the thick tendrils of desire. What he’d done was horrible toward both her and me. It was… I didn’t even know what to call it.

Degrading. Sick. Punishing.

She got dressed and slipped away from the room, avoiding eye contact with me. Her shoulder brushed mine on her way out, and I caught a whiff of Ransom’s scent on her, which made my blood boil again.

Not good. Not good at all. I couldn’t be possessive of this man. He hated me, he was here for only a few months, and beyond all that—he was simply unbearable.

Ransom and I stood in front of one another, like two cowboys, waiting to see who was going to draw first.

Me, I decided. I was feeling trigger-happy today.

I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, just as the sound of the front door slamming echoed between us.

“Your after-hours activities should remain outside my safe space, Mr. Lockwood.”

“If safety meant jack-shit to you, you wouldn’t be running around in an Uber taken directly from your parents’ house like a moron.”

He tugged the back of his shirt, removing it and discarding it on the floor. His shoes, socks, and pants followed suit. He walked out of them on his way to the en suite bathroom. I followed him. I’d seen his secret now. Literally. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by a little nudity.