Page 47 of Love Her

I rode my face into the sheets in front of me. “I want to come, Rhaim?—”

“I know. Keep going.”

It felt like the tiny bud I usually rubbed was opening up with each successive smack, until somehow the sensations of being hit unfurled across the front of my pussy and beside it, electrically, like every nerve I had between my legs had purchased a ticket to my orgasm and was gathering aboard.

“Oh fuck—Rhaim—Daddy—please—” I begged, my stomach curling tight, my pussy clamped so hard on the toy I could hardly use it.

“Yes, little girl—come for me—” he snarled, and I howled, at the same time as I heard him coming. “Fuck—fuck—” he growled, as I cried out, thrusting my ass back and forth, riding all of the fingers on my hand. I heard him grunt, groan and hiss, while I kept wordlessly moaning, rhythmically swaying my hips—until I reached back to take my toy out. “Leave it in,” he commanded, before I could. “Stay there. Just like that. So pretty.”

And then the fucker hung up on me.

I…wasn’tentirely sure what to do.

Or rather—I was afraid I did.

I kept my lower half hoisted high, like a flag, but I did run an arm out to check the time on my phone—his meeting started in five.

How long would it take?

Did he really expect me to wait like this for him?

A million different thoughts were careening through my head—but the most honest among them was: I wanted him to.

If everything he’d told me was true: that he loved me, that the thought of me made him jerk off four times a day, that he was willing to kill to keep me—then what was a little forced humiliation?

Especially if it wasn’t all that forced?

Or even all that humiliating?

Because this was what I’d wanted for almost my entire life—someone—him!—to appreciate me.

To recognize the great lengths I was capable of—in every single facet of my life.

And so I gave myself over, ass high, pussy cooling, imagining getting to do this someday for him inourbed, maybe beside him, as he stroked my hair and drank his morning coffee, both of us content because I was made to be used by him just as much as he longed to use me.

I shifted a little to make myself more comfortable and let my mind drift, thinking happy thoughts about our imaginary future—until my phone rang again, and brought me back to the present.

I answered it without thinking—without seeing who it was—and realized that half-a-second before I was deeply relieved to hear Rhaim’s voice and not my father’s or Arnold’s.

“You spectacularly perfect girl,” he said with a pleased sigh.

“I know,” I said, and he laughed warmly. “Did your meeting get canceled?”

“There was a protest downtown, so he’s slightly delayed. And I couldn’t resist coming back to take a peek.”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, looking back. “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” he said, and I thrilled at his attention. “Want to come again?”

I bit my lip. “Always?”

“I don’t have an infinite number of suits in my office—so this one’s just you. But you’d better finish before this meeting does—and know I’ll be watching,” he said, and then his voice shifted tones, as he walked away from his phone—and began talking to someone else entirely. “Hey Russell, thanks for making the drive,” Rhaim said, and I froze.

“Sorry for running late—I should’ve checked my protest calendar before scheduling this meeting on a weekend,” said a strange man’s nasal voice. “It’s bullshit. I don’t understand why people are so angry all the time.”

“Probably because we’re making them poor?” Rhaim pretended to guess, sarcastically. “You ever study any revolutionary theories?”

The other man snorted. “What are you, some kind of secret socialist, Selvaggio?”

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