The dark obsession boxed.., p.23
The Dark Obsession Boxed Set, page 23
This time I continued to push harder, feeling her inner muscles tremble and stretch as the entrance of her pussy resisted, putting pressure against my knuckles. I began to thrust and shove in earnest. Watching as her poor pussy began to gape from the beating it was taking.
“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of it.”
Elizabeth moaned in response.
Releasing the fabric of her dress, my hand fisted in the mass of curls down her back. As I violently pulled on her hair, her body arched. Her head tilted back as her mouth opened. I gave one more ruthless thrust of my hand, coming daringly close to full-on fisting her.
The moment she began to scream her orgasm, my mouth crashed down on hers. Thrusting my tongue in deep, I licked and laved every scream of pleasurable pain that racked her small body. Grinding my cock against the sharp edge of the stone pillar as I imagined one day forcing a large dildo up inside her the moment I pushed my cock deep down her throat.
Releasing her mouth, I let her head drop back down as she laid limp and spent. Slowly removing my hand, I took several steps back, admiring her prone form. The gleam of her pale skin against her black boots. Her beautiful mass of hair covering her face in a messy tangle of chestnut curls and waves. The blush on her ass cheeks from my own hand.
She looked like a pagan sacrifice on an altar.
The image was fitting considering my future plans for her.
Lizzie
There was no thinking. Only feeling.
The brush of Richard’s knuckles across my still sensitive skin as he gently pulled my dress back into place. The feel of him gathering my hair into his hand and off my face. Him cradling my body on his lap as he wrapped his jacket around me. Then the feeling of floating as he carried me in his arms.
Somehow, we got into a car. Through my sensual fog, I realized it wasn’t a cab but rather a large private Town Car. Richard was speaking to the driver as if he knew him.
Finally, he settled back into the plush seats with me on his lap, my head on his shoulder.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I would think about what had just happened.
Tomorrow I would replay, probably over and over again in my mind, how I shamelessly begged a complete stranger to spank me. I wasn’t naïve, I knew some people thought spanking was kinky, I just never thought I was one of them.
Tomorrow, the guilt, shame, and recriminations would come.
Tomorrow I would wonder if I ruined a good thing with my outlandish wanton behavior.
Tomorrow I would wonder if there was even a tomorrow with this man who so enthralled me, I lost all sense of self and decorum.
Tomorrow… just not tonight.
Tonight, I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I remembered was Richard gently shaking me awake telling me I was home.
Opening the car door first, he got out then reached out a hand to help me. Thankfully, because my legs were still shaking as I tentatively emerged from the car.
As I approached my apartment building door, I tried to give him his jacket.
“Keep it. Give it back to me tomorrow when I pick you up for dinner.”
Tomorrow.
So, there would be a tomorrow.
I hugged the jacket closer, hiding my smile in his turned-up lapel. It smelled even stronger of his cologne than his overcoat.
As he turned to go, I held onto his sleeve. “Wait!” My cheeks flamed with the question I was about to ask but I had no choice. “What is your last name?”
“Payne. Richard Payne.”
He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before jumping into the back of the sleek black car. Moments later it sped away.
Digging in my purse for the keys, I turned and stared at the now empty street as an odd thought pierced the haze in my mind.
How did he know where I lived?
CHAPTER 8
LIZZIE
“Someone channeled their inner slut last night!”
“What?” I grabbed the pillow Jane threw at my head and put it aside. “Why would you say something like that?”
Watching as she crossed to my open closet and started shifting through the clothes hanging there, I waited anxiously for her response.
The idea of my exploits being plastered all over Facebook or a trending topic on Twitter made my stomach twist. Had someone taken photos of us in the garden? Fuck! Were there now revenge porn photos of my bare ass all over the internet? Or worse, a video! Grabbing the pillow she had thrown at me, I cradled it to my chest and buried my head. Please, God, let there not be a viral video of me getting my ass spanked in public while I moaned and begged for more like a wanton whore.
What the hell was I thinking last night?
None of that was me.
Like at all.
I was vanilla sex girl.
My idea of risqué was maybe doing it in the back seat of a car. It sure as hell wasn’t getting my ass spanked while a stranger practically fisted my pussy.
Casting a quick glance to make sure my flat mate was engrossed in stealing clothes from my closet, I shifted my hand under the covers to between my legs. Pressing my fingertips gingerly against my pussy, I winced. It still felt swollen and sore. Never in my life had I been sore the next day after sex.
Wait… we didn’t even have sex, not really. Oh, my God! What would actual sex be like with a man like Richard? He’d probably put me in traction.
“Can I borrow that Betsey Johnson dress of yours? The one with the beaded fringe?”
Reaching to the end of my bed, I grabbed my pink Hello Kitty hoodie and pulled it over my head, somehow needing its comforting worn-out feel and warmth.
“Yeah. Sure. It’s in the back next to the Donna Karan A-line dress. What did you mean by the slut comment?”
Pushing my hair away from my face, I resisted the urge to rub my dry eyes. I didn’t think I’d gotten an hour’s worth of sleep last night. I just kept going over yesterday’s events in my mind. Over and over again. Every word I said. Everything I did.
Did Richard think I was an idiot for almost getting hit by a cab?
Did he think I was immature for not talking more about world events at dinner?
Did he think I was too young for him?
Did he think I was a slut for baring my ass and begging him to spank it?
You know… the usual first date worries.
“I’m borrowing your Juicy Couture platforms to go with it,” came Jane’s muffled voice from inside my closet.
Sometimes I thought the only reason why Jane chose me as a flat mate was the fact we were the same size, both in clothes and shoes. That and the fact that I was willing to pay the lion’s share of the rent to get the bedroom while she crashed on the pull-out sofa in the living room.
As Jane backed out of the closet and turned to hold up my dress in front of her to survey the look in my standing full-length mirror, I caught sight of Richard’s black morning jacket hung on the post at the end of my white wrought iron bed. Tossing my covers over it, I stood and went to uncover my birdcage.
Turning away so she couldn’t see my face, I tried to keep my voice calm and casual. “What did you say about my inner slut?”
“Jeez. Relax. I’m just kidding. You came in super late last night.”
My two finches started singing and hopping from branch to branch in their large gold-painted cage. Their warbling calls giving me an oddly soothing sense of normalcy. Sliding open the cage door, I reached my hand in for their water dish.
Coco dashed past me.
“Look out, Jane! Coco is on the loose!”
“She better not shit on my dress!” cried Jane as she hunched her shoulders, protecting the clothes in her arms.
Coco flew several laps around the small bedroom before returning to the cage. Dior sat demurely on her branch and just cocked her head from side to side, staring at me with shining dark eyes.
“She just wanted a little bit of excitement,” I cooed as I filled their dish with birdseed. Just then, the church bells started to chime. Looking out through my bedroom window, I could just make out the spire to the Romanian Saint George Church. The view got me every time. It was so gothic and romantic.
“I’m jumping in the shower first,” announced Jane as she snatched up my shoes and headed out the door with my dress over her arm. On her way, she picked up a small brass-handled mirror I had on my vanity and held it up to me. “There is also this… Angelina Jolie!”
Taking the mirror from her hand, I looked at my reflection. As Jane’s laughter drifted down the hallway from the bathroom, I slowly sat down on my bed and stared. My lips were dark pink and swollen. With my tousled hair and huge pouty lips, I looked like I had just spent the better part of a week screwing in bed. With a huff, I fell back amongst the covers.
Dragging the blankets aside, I reached for Richard’s coat and hugged it to me. Inhaling deeply, I felt a stirring between my legs at the spicy masculine scent that still clung to the fabric. Pulling my knees up, I rolled on my side and closed my eyes. Memories of him pushing me up against that rock wall and kissing me senseless danced across my mind. The taste of him as his tongue sparred with my own. I had never been kissed so passionately… so forcefully before. It was something straight out of a romance novel. And the feel of his thick fingers as he kept pushing one, then another, then another inside me. My body felt stretched to the limit and yet wanted more.
Still, there was this sense of unease in the back of my mind. At first, I just thought it was me practically giving it up on the first date but now I knew there was more to it.
As much as he excited me… he frightened me a little bit too.
His grip on my wrist at dinner when I didn’t immediately obey him. The dark way he insisted I touch myself under the table. The way he refused to stop the assault of his fingers even when I told him it hurt.
In some sick, twisted way, I found his domineering forcefulness sexy. It took a pretty powerful and confident man to boldly toss a woman up against a wall and take whatever he wanted. Let’s face it, that kind of arrogant confidence was hot as hell in a man. But still, there was a reason you only saw stuff like that in the movies or read about it in books. In real life, it should be a red flag.
Richard might just be too intense for me.
He talked about playing games, but I wasn’t so sure I was playing at his level.
Is there anything in this world that feels as good as a long, hot shower?
Richard’s cock?
Stop that!
I would never be able to concentrate on classes today if all I could think about was Richard.
Wrapping my hair in a towel, I padded barefoot into the tiny kitchen to put the kettle on. Jane was leaning over the sofa straightening our picture of Audrey Hepburn. Every time she put the sofa bed away, our canvas pictures of Audrey, Marilyn Monroe, and Brigitte Bardot all blowing bubblegum bubbles went all crooked.
“I keep telling you to pull the sofa bed away from the wall an inch or two and it won’t jar the pictures.” Cutting a scone in half, I buttered both sides and spooned on some lemon curd before handing half to Jane.
“We can’t afford to lose an inch or two in this place,” grumbled Jane as she slumped down on the sofa.
Taking a seat at my drafting table, I spared our tiny flat a rather jaundiced glance. Jaundiced being the right word since the walls were covered in a rather sickly yellow lime color. The rent was not too outrageous and we were very close to school, which was mainly what mattered. Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t dream of living in someplace grander. Perhaps the estate where Downton Abbey was filmed? Imagine being able to swoop down a grand staircase every morning as I made my way into a parlor or drawing room for breakfast. Or telling a butler I would have tea in the library that day. If I lived in a place like that, I would wear gorgeous sweeping gowns with long trains and hand-embroidered shawls every day.
“When do you start?” asked Jane as she picked a crumb off her shirt and popped it into her mouth.
Turning in my swivel chair, I looked down at my printed schedule. “I have Introduction to Costume for Performance at two.”
“Yikes. Professor Hands!”
“It says here Professor Handleson.”
“Yes, but everyone calls him Professor Hands. Let’s just say, don’t wear any low necklines or skirts in his class.”
I scrunched my nose in distaste. As a first-year student going for my BA in Costume for Performance, I listened to every bit of Jane’s advice. She was in her second year and although she was going for her BA in Fashion Buying and Merchandising, there were some cross-over courses.
“So, are you going to tell me about your mystery date last night?”
The electric kettle started to whistle. Jumping up, I made my way to the kitchen. Reaching into a cabinet for the mugs and teabags, I said evasively, “I’m not sure it was even a date.”
I didn’t know why I was being coy about telling Jane about Richard. It was almost as if I wasn’t certain he was real. If I talked about it, I might ruin the dream.
“Come on. Spill.”
Walking back to the living area with two cups of tea, I handed her one and sat down on the sofa next to her. Sighing, I realized it might help calm all the chaotic back and forth thoughts in my head if I hashed them out with someone.
“Promise not to get all judge-y?”
“Girl. I told you about that time in the pub loo, right?”
Laughing, I said, “Point made. Okay, so I met him when I almost got run over by a cab yesterday.”
Jane shook her head. “Forgot to look right again?”
“Judge-y!”
She threw up her hand. “Sorry. Continue.”
I told her the whole story, even the part about the panties although leaving out the part about the spanking. A girl had to keep some secrets. I left it at that insanely hot kiss against the wall and him saying he wanted to take me out to dinner tonight.
Biting my lip, I asked, “So what do you think?”
“Seriously? You have to ask?” Ticking the items off on her fingers, Jane replied, “He’s hot as hell, knows how to dress, took you for a super posh meal, and is a good kisser? If you don’t want him, send him my way.”
Warming up to the topic, I smiled over my mug. “He has a cool name too, Richard Payne.”
Jane dropped her mug. Hot tea splattered over both of our laps and the sofa cushion between us. Leaping to my feet, I put my mug on the coffee table and ran to grab the rag we left over the kitchen faucet. Kneeling before the sofa, I began to blot the cushions.
“Are you okay? Did it burn you?”
“Forget about the tea! Did you seriously just say Richard Payne? Payne? Richard Payne?”
My brow furrowed as I scrubbed at the cushions with more ferocity than was necessary. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I exclaimed, “Stop saying his name like that, yes, I said Richard Payne—why?”
Jane raced over to her laptop and brought up Google. I watched as she typed his name into the search bar. Instantly there were countless photos of Richard.
Richard in a tuxedo attending a large gala event.
Richard on a yacht surrounded by celebrities.
Richard at a polo event sitting next to the queen.
Richard looking incredibly handsome in a suit at Prince Harry and Meghan’s wedding, sitting in one of the front pews with the royal family.
Richard skiing in Aspen.
My stomach somersaulted as I pulled the laptop closer.
“Is this your Richard?”
I hated the way Jane emphasized your; obviously he wasn’t mine. I already knew he was probably out of my league, but I didn’t realize we weren’t even in the same solar system.
“How? Who?” I couldn’t even form the question, as I just helplessly scrolled through the countless photos and articles about Richard.
“Girl, he is one of the richest men in the world and a freakin’ duke!”
Looking at Jane aghast, I could only parrot back her words. “A duke?”
“Yes, as in practically royalty, he probably has the queen’s personal mobile number.”
My eyes rested on the bold print under one image, Richard Frederick Payne III, Duke of Winterbourne. He’s a freakin’ duke.
That certainly explained all the odd looks and hopping about everyone was doing both at the museum and the restaurant as well as the cab driver’s reaction.
There was now absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was never going to see him again.
It just kept playing over and over in my head. A duke! A freakin’ duke!
What could a duke possibly see in a first-year fashion student at uni?
Nothing.
I bit my lip and blinked back the tears that were quickly forming. It was silly, of course. I had only just met the man. It was that he was just so… so… Mr. Darcy!
Not wanting to give away too much to Jane, I shrugged as I grabbed our mugs and headed to the kitchen. “Whatever. It was a fun pseudo one-night stand.”
Jane came up behind me. “This is the first guy you’ve shown the slightest interest in since I’ve known you and he happens to be the catch of the century and all of a sudden you’re acting like you’re not interested? Bullshit.”
Not wanting her to read my reaction, I kept my back turned and poured way too much dish detergent into my mug, watching as a mini volcano of suds erupted over the edge. “I can’t compete with all that,” I said, gesturing to the laptop she still held in her hand. “Let’s just leave it.”
Putting the laptop down, Jane grabbed me by the shoulders and ushered me out of the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
Jane marched me into the bedroom and didn’t stop till we were both standing in front of my long mirror.
Nodding over my shoulder as she gave my reflection the once-over, she reflected, “You’re right. You can’t compete.”
“Ouch! Judge-y!”
“Because there is no competition! Girl, you have no idea how beautiful you are both on the inside and out. That man would be lucky to date someone like you. I don’t care if he is a rich duke who’s super tall and hot as hell.”
