Page 32 of Dangerous Refuge

“Where were you?” he asks sternly, and I know he knows I ditched Tucker.

“Well,” I snap, spinning around. I’m the master of putting on an act when I need to. I’ve played this part a million times with Paul. It’s more difficult with Sven, but it’s what I have to do. Just a few more paychecks and I can start over. “If your ignorant, useless meat sack wouldn’t walk off when I’m shopping, I’d have been home hours ago.” I deflect, not answering his question in a direct lie—yet.

Sven takes a calm breath, studying my moves as I pull my earrings off and drop them on the dresser. “He said you went into the dressing room and never came out.”

I scoff, turning my back as I unbutton my blouse so he can’t read my expression as I lie to him. “If he wouldn’t walk away when I’m changing, he wouldn’t lose me. I looked around the store for twenty minutes, then I called Sarah. We went for coffee. Now can I shower in peace?”

My shirt slides down my arms and falls to the ground and I unzip the skirt, this time without getting the hanger caught. My eyes nervously flick toward the handbag where the work uniform is probably emitting an odor that will rat me out. He can’t find that or I’m dead meat. I push the skirt over my hips, realizing I’m stripping in front of him. It gives me an idea—a way to make him forget about where I may or may not have been.

“Want to join me?” I ask, letting the skirt fall to the ground. Then I pull the pins out of my auburn hair and let it drape across my shoulders, falling from its messy French twist. He growls, and I know he’s considering it. So when I unsnap my bra and remove it I know I’ve hooked him. The lacy material falls to the ground and my nipples harden against the chill of the air conditioning after having been drenched in sweat all evening. I don’t turn to face him. Instead, I walk with authority to the bathroom and turn on the water, letting it get hot and steam the glass walls of the shower.

I sense him enter the room as I bend to remove my panties, and glance over my shoulder. There is a bulge in his pants and his hands are working to shed his clothing. With a half smirk, knowing I’ve gotten away with my scheme yet another day, I step into the shower and moments later he’s there, crashing into me.

Sven’s hands grope my body, fondling my tits and pinching my nipples before sliding between my legs and rubbing my clit. His lips cover mine in earnest, drinking in my kisses as the water rushes over our bodies. I’m not particularly in the mood for this after my stressful shift, but if it keeps him from suspecting me, I’ll do what has to be done. Besides, his cock feels amazing and I don’t mind an orgasm to take the edge off when I can’t have a cigarette.

“You’ve been smoking,” he growls, pinning me against the shower wall.

“You’ve been drinking,” I counter. The hint of whiskey on his lips is sweet. Tempting.

I work my hand between our bodies, grabbing his cock and stroking it back and forth. He's so hard already, as if he were waiting for me to get home just to do this to me. It's flattering that he wants me like this.

“Tell me you’ve been thinking about me,” he demands, gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” I say breathlessly, trying to match his growl.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing my wet hair to the side and kissing my neck. I moan, even though it makes me feel dirty for enjoying it. I’m not a slut. I’m not. But I can pretend to be for him.

“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” I tell him, arching my back against the cold tile wall.

“I’d like to hear about it,” he says slowly.

“Well, I was thinking about how I wanted your cock in my mouth,” I say in a low, sultry tone. “I wanted to suck you off until you came all over my face.” I never thought that once, but he doesn’t know that.

He groans, his cock twitching in my hand. “You’ve been a bad girl all night, haven’t you?” Each time he contracts his muscles his dick dances. I squeeze it and stroke, drawing a bead of precum to his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll try to be better.”

“I’ll make you sorry,” he says. He pulls his cock out of my hand and presses it against my wet slit, sliding it up and down until I’m begging for him to fuck me. Each time the head of his cock rubs against my clit I jolt with arousal. The water slicks our skin, making him glide between my thighs. It’s torture; I want him in me.

“Please fuck me,” I say. It’s so much easier to say when I’m not looking him in the eyes. I’m not sure which is more demeaning, to beg him to fuck me or to look him in the eyes while I do it. Or maybe it's that I actually want him—when I initiated this just to get him off my back. Either way, his cock slides into me, filling me up and making me moan.

“Tell me what you were thinking when you were missing,” he says, sliding in and out of me. His girth at this angle stretches my pussy and it's a glorious sensation. I moan in delight. His hands grip my hips masterfully, tilting my pelvis just slightly enough that his body rubs my clit as he thrusts.

“I was thinking about you,” I say. “I was thinking about how I wanted to suck your cock off.”

“That’s right,” he says, “you were thinking about sucking my cock off because you’re mine."

I moan, pressing my back against the wall to steady myself. His words are getting me worked up, or maybe it's just his voice. Maybe I'm addicted to the way he talks to me.

“I’m yours,” I moan. “I’m all yours.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. “Tell me what you’re mine for.”

“I’m yours to fuck,” I say.

“That’s right. You’re mine to fuck.”

“I’m yours to fuck,” I say again, “and you can do whatever you want with me.” I claw at his skin, desperate to feel the waves of climax hit my body.

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