Clara reads over the menu like she doesn’t even have a vibrating sex toy lodged in her pussy, bringing her closer and closer to an edge I won’t let her fall over. At least not until I’m inside her.
I’ve always been able to exercise complete control in all things. It’s how I’ve been able to move past the scars that litter my body and mind and become a somewhat functioning member of society.
But my fawn changes everything. She makes me want to throw every carefully laid plan out the window, makes me want to stay buried inside her all day, every day, until neither of us can breathe without the other, and worst of all, she makes me want to be the man she deserves.
I’ve never felt the need to change who I am. I’m a crazy fuck. A psycho. An unapologetic killer. But I also want to be hers. I want to be her man, her savior, the person she goes to when she needs to feel safe. I want to be her everything.
Maybe I should talk to Elijah. He’s managed the shift from emotionless sociopath to doting husband. Maybe he can offer some words of advice.
As soon as the words come to mind, I’m chuckling to myself. Elijah and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, and the only reason I tolerate his existence is that Snow loves him so fiercely. Even if he is a fucking asshole.
“What’s so funny?” Clara asks, her eyes dragging away from the menu with a face so calm you’d think she’s sitting in a boardroom meeting.
“I was just thinking about what an asshole Elijah is,” I tell her truthfully.
Her brows pull together, but she nods. She reaches for her water and the only sign that something is affecting her comes into view. She’s trembling, and the clear liquid sloshes around the glass as she brings it to her pretty pink lips. God, the things I’ve imagined doing to her mouth, the way I’ll fuck it at any opportunity.
She looks as if she’s about to say something when the waitress steps into the room, her eyes quickly moving to us. She’s young, probably only twenty-one, and her dark curls are bundled into a messy ponytail on the top of her head. Her ice-blue eyes would be enough to have most men dropping to their knees, and I’m sure she uses that to her advantage every chance she gets.
I turn my attention back to Clara, whose cheeks have returned to a deep-pink color, and her blush extends down her neck and across her chest. So pretty when she’s embarrassed.
She keeps her head bowed, not looking up at the woman who just entered the room.
“Good evening. Can I start you with some wine?” she asks in a soft voice she likely saves just for people who dine in this room, but she can’t meet my eye. I make her nervous, and she’s certainly not the first woman who’s intimidated by me, but at least she’s polite enough not to run in the opposite direction.
“Please.” I give her a small smile, but my eyes find their way back to my fawn a second later. “Red. Fruity if you have it.”
Clara’s eyes connect with mine, surprise dancing in the deep-brown pools. She forgets I’ve been stalking her for the better part of a year, so I know that on a cold day like today, she’ll always reach for red wine. In the summer months, she prefers something lighter, sparkling wine or similar, and after a particularly bad day, she reaches for whiskey. I’ve picked up every single one of her quirks, and each one has only made me fall deeper into my obsession.
“Of course, sir. I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.” The waitress flees from the room before I can reply, and that works for me. I just want to have my fawn alone and at my mercy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
“I’d ask how you knew that’s what I was going to order—”
“But you already know how I know?” I ask.
She gives me a small nod, her eyes moving back to the menu as if she hasn’t already decided she’s going to order the lasagna. It’s her comfort food on a night like this. We may be on our way out of winter, but Chicago still has a long way to go before the rain starts to turn to sunshine, and today’s near-constant drizzle is just a reminder of that.
Her eyes drift closed, the vibrations in her pussy making it hard to focus on anything but allowing her body the release it craves. Too bad she’s not going to get it. Not anytime soon, at least.
“Are you okay, Clara?” I ask, rubbing my hand gently up her thigh until my fingers meet the toy, pressing it deeper and making her cry out. “Is my pretty pussy weeping for me?”
“Yes,” she chokes, her breathing getting heavier by the second. “Please, Tommy. Don’t do this. Don’t make me wait.”
I chuckle and lean forward until my lips brush across hers ever so slightly, giving me the faintest taste of her sweetness. “Do I seem like a man who would let you get off that easy? Without punishing you for something as important as not taking care of yourself?”
“Tommy,” she cries. “It’s the first time I’ve broken a rule. Please.”
“And if you don’t want your orgasms taken away from you for more than just a night, then I suggest you keep it that way.”
Clara’s eyes fly open, the panic in them enough to make me groan. Her fear beat through the room with each thump of her heart, and my cock stiffens in my jeans.
“Please, no.”
“Then I suggest you don’t break the rules I’ve set out for you.” I shrug. “I think a spanking is too enjoyable for you, but orgasm denial, now that’s something you’re going to struggle with because your pretty little pussy is greedy, isn’t she, Clara?”
If I thought her cheeks were pink before, they’re nothing compared to the deep color they’ve turned at my filthy words.
She nods once, as if afraid of her own words, and I pull my phone out of my pocket, setting it on the table with the app that controls the toy open.
I turn it to high, relishing in the little yelp she lets out as the toy flares even higher. She reaches out to grip the edge of the table, squeezing it between her fingers until her knuckles turn white. Her breathing comes in heavy pants and not for the first time, I wish she was bent over this table taking my cock.
But tonight is about patience for both of us.
I won’t be able to take her whenever I please, and that’s something I sadly need to make peace with, just the same way she needs to make peace with the fact I’m a sick motherfucker who loves to watch her squirm.
“Tommy, oh my god,” she moans and then slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes darting to the doorway the waitress could come through at any second.
“Are you close, fawn?”
“Yes, god, so fucking close.”
She shifts in her chair, trying and failing to get any more friction because her knees are still trapped between mine, not allowing her more than a few inches of movement.
I drag her hand away from her mouth and gather it, along with the other, in one of my own hands. The contrast of her creamy skin against my scarred flesh is always startling, but I’ve become obsessed with it, just as I am with her.
“Hold it, Clara,” I rumble.
“I can’t. Fuck. Tommy, please.” Her eyes are frantic with need.
“I love when you’re desperate for me, fawn. Because I’m always fucking desperate for you.”
I see the moment she’s about to tip over the edge as her pretty pink lips part and her eyes glaze over with bliss, and as she reaches that peak, I quickly tap the screen of my phone, stopping all vibration.
“What the fuck?” she snaps, her eyes flaring with anger.
“I told you to hold it.” I shrug and sit back in my seat, relishing the anger burning behind her eyes.
Oh, tonight is going to be fun.
