Suit (The Twin Duo #1)(39)

Sticky, strawberry jelly took precedence over me. Rowan started it, and Phi followed suit, forgetting I existed. I continued on my way to my bathroom, afraid yet excited. From the feel of the commotion going on between my legs, I was certain my body knew what was coming. Even if my mind didn’t.





Chapter Eight


I don’t know what went through my mind while I waited, butt resting on the countertop. I knew from the rising pain in the back of my knee and my ankle that I needed the crutches. Being stubborn only prolonged my recovery. Instead of thinking about Paxton opening that door, I thought about crutches. My mind tried hard to block it out, but without really knowing, I had a gut feeling what was about to happen.

The worst case of paranoid-freaking-out hit me when the doorknob turned. My heart pounded like crazy, and blood rushed rapidly through my veins. For a second, I thought I might be having a heart attack.

“Did you miss this? Can’t wait any longer? Is that what this is about?” Paxton asked in a quiet tone, eyes narrowed while he strolled toward me. Toward me and my pounding heart, my dry mouth, and my overactive sex drive. Jesus. I truly was a glorified whore.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

He quieted me with a warning look, one that I could easily detect in his green eyes. “I think you know exactly what I am talking about. I think you’re being defiant because you know. You know because this is all an act. Most of it.”

Of course I didn’t speak. Not that I could have, had I tried. Paxton did things to me. Things I couldn’t explain. My body reacted to him like—like danger. A thrill seeker. That’s how I felt around him. Like jumping out of a plane. The ecstasy of it overpowering the danger.

Breathe…

Breathe…

Breathe.

I literally had to remind myself of that mundane task, truly worrying I might die if I didn’t. My eyes moved to his hands. He tugged the tail of my red shirt from my shorts. I reminded myself to breathe again. It was the look. The expression on his face. The instant bulge in his jeans. It was the lust. That’s the thrill I chased. Lust. Pure lust.

The jingle of the buckle on my belt came next. Paxton took his time, sliding the strap out. He took just as much time sliding the zipper down. The scrape and grind of the metal echoed in the room. He dropped to his knees and tugged on my shorts. He slid them over my hips with a slight struggle, wearing the same lustful expression. My knees trembled and my hands gripped harder, white knuckling the countertop for support.

“Turn around,” Paxton ordered in the most sexy, sultry tone I’d ever heard, or could remember.

I almost couldn’t handle it. He was right—I was a slut. Hands down. I was a slut, and I could think of no other way to put it. I wanted this. I wanted him to spank me. Why? What the hell was wrong with me? I wanted this?

My breath became trapped in my lungs when his hand moved to my bare ass. A faint whimper slipped between my lips as he fisted my powder-blue, lacy thong and lifted. I wasn’t expecting his next maneuver at all—his hand slapped hard on my right ass cheek. Another whimper escaped my tight lips, this one sounding more erotic. The thin strap in the crevice of my buttocks was plucked again like a violin string, followed by another sharp slap. I didn’t know what it was—the amplified sound, the way our eyes kept meeting in the mirror, the mystified yet lustful way he stared back, or what, but it had moved up a notch to phenomenal. Here I was at the hands of monster and I liked it. I loved it, in fact, and I wanted more. Even the stinging on my ass stung with electrical jolts. He had turned me into a thrill-seeking slut. A Paxton addict.

“Does that make you wet, Gabriella? Hmm?” Crack! Another blow in the exact same place. “You like it when I bend you over like this, don’t you, Gabriella?”

I didn’t answer with words. Not because I wasn’t able, but because I didn’t know if I was allowed. Just because Paxton asked a question didn’t mean I could answer. Especially when he had me in this positon. Under his control.

He peeled the lacy strap from between the crease of my rump, intensifying my arousal. Another slap stung on top of stinging. Seven was the lucky number. My ass burned, and I loved it. After the last sting to my ass, he placed his hand over it, calming the burn with soothing, caressing pleasure.

My world spun out of control; my body longed for more.

Paxton pulled me to his chest, pumping his hardness into my tingling ass. He looked at me in the mirror, but not really at me. Not my eyes, anyway. He seemed to be avoiding them intentionally. It didn’t much matter, though, because I didn’t look at him, either. I couldn’t. His hand reached around and slid through my pulsating slit. My head dropped back to his chest, my eyes closed, and I moaned. One lustful, erotic whimper.

“Jesus Christ, Gabriella,” Paxton exclaimed.

I didn’t respond to that, either. Not even an opened eye. I kept both of them closed, praying to God almighty not to let him stop. I couldn’t take much more and he knew it. God and Paxton.

“You want to come, baby?”

“Please,” I begged through a moan. It wouldn’t have taken much more. Two minutes of attention to my throbbing nub. That’s it. Was that asking too much? Not in my book. Paxton’s, yes.

He stopped. The bastard stopped. “Get ready, we need to go. Don’t fuck up. The ball field isn’t far from here. I can have you back here in five minutes.”