Page 62 of Freckles

I nod, conceding the battle, my internal voices falling silent the longer he caresses me, clenching around his fingers to maximise the effects of his touch.

His fingers brush against my pussy more with every stroke until his finger glides along my seam, increasing pressure until he slips inside, stroking along my folds and discovering for himself how wet I am.

The mortification hits so deep it’s like I’m turning inside-out as he continues to caress me, lightly dipping inside my entrance.

When he lifts and repositions me so I’m straddling his lap, facing him, I don’t even bother to struggle. His hand pulls my head down to his shoulder and when his finger returns to duty, a moan escapes from my throat and he chuckles, the low sound puffing across my ear.

“And I want you to promise me something…” he says, licking his finger clean before reaching inside his jacket pocket. “The next time you need money, you ask me, okay?”

He sets the phone on my bedside cabinet and fastens the ladybug bracelet around my wrist. I blink, staring at the gifts I pawned earlier today. I’m puzzled he isn’t angrier, but most of all, I’m cold. The only way he could know is by tracking me. Another barrier to freedom.

I shift my weight, and he taps his forefinger on my brow. “I’d love to know what’s going on in there, Freckles.”

My jaw aches, tears prickling.

“If you were planning a great escape, please save yourself the bother.” His fingers splay across my skull while the rough pad of his thumb strokes along my cheek. “No matter where you go, I will hunt you and bring you home to be by my side where you belong. You could travel halfway around the world, and I will find you.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “You belong to me, remember?”

His thumb glides over my bottom lip before he reaches forward to suck it into his mouth, releasing it with a soft pop.

“From now on, you’ll use the phone I gave you and keep it turned on throughout the day, is that clear?”

I nod but he taps my head. “Use your words.”

I’m biting my lips but manage to stop long enough to say, “Yes.”

“And what do you do when I text you an order?”

The urge to fight is still inside me but with his rhythmic stroking continuing to flood my body with heat, it becomes less important.

They’re just words.

They don’t have to mean anything.

They’re not tangible like the freezer in the garage or the knife under my pillow.

So, I whisper, “Obey,” and pretend not to feel his cock twitching against my abdomen or the soft sigh of his breath as I give him what he needs… and he does the same. Continuing with his gentle, arousing touch until my breath quickens, my core clenches tight, and my hips tilt, chasing my release.

He undoes his fly, freeing his cock, and rubbing my drenched pussy along his thickening length.

His fingers plunge into my hair, holding my head flush against his chest while his other hand grabs my arse, forcing my spread pussy up and down his cock, riding him while his eyes narrow and his breath grows ever louder in my ear.

I hate the noise. The wet slap of my arousal is humiliating in my ears and yet… I love it too. It massages some sick part of my brain, making me wetter and hotter and closer to the edge with every sound.

His hand clutches me harder, holding me still against his cock while he increases the pressure and it’s what I need, catapulting me into my release, convulsing while the sweet fog of orgasm clouds my brain, dialling down every other emotion.

“You don’t deserve that,” he mutters, pulling me back into motion, making me ride him as he seeks his own climax. “Next time you’re punished, I won’t let you off so lightly.”

The sensation is too much for my sensitive clit, still twitching with the aftermath of orgasm. I push against him with arms like noodles, getting the expected result as he continues to use me, stroking me along his length, his fingertips tightening.

Pinpricks of clarity puncture my hazy afterglow, and instead of fighting, I pull him closer. My fingers close around his straining cock, taking control. “Lie on your back.”

He obeys and I willingly straddle him, slowly lowering myself onto his length, wincing at the tenderness, pushing his hands above his head the same way he did to me.

There’s pleasure again but it barely registers. I’m too intent. Too focused.

Tightening my walls around him, offering the only distraction I can think of at short notice, I reach under the pillow and grip the fruit knife in my clenched fist.

Then I sit upright, raise my hands, and bring the blade down, stabbing with all my might.

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