Page 95 of Sadistic

"You know I did." Her breath catches. "Especially during..."

"During?"

"You know what during."

"I want to hear you say it."

She bites her lip, cheeks flushing. "During the bathroom. When you made me... when I..."

"When you fucked yourself with your fingers while I talked you through it," I finish. "Yes, I particularly enjoyed that part."

"Doran—"

"Did you know," I continue, sliding my hand up her thigh, "that I could hear everything? Every little gasp, every whimper you tried to muffle. I had to lock my office door and stroke my cock while listening to you fall apart."

Her thighs part automatically, invitation clear. "You did?"

"Came all over my hand thinking about you fingering yourself in that bathroom." My fingers find her center, already wet. "Fuck, you're soaked."

"I've been thinking about seeing you since I woke up."

"Just thinking?"

"And remembering. Your voice. The things you said." She arches as I slide two fingers inside. "Doran, we're in public."

"Tinted windows." I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her gasp. "No one can see. But they might hear if you're too loud."

A car passes by, reminding us we're not alone.

It only makes her wetter.

"Someone could walk by," she protests weakly, already riding my hand.

"Let them." I add a third finger, stretching her. "Let them see who you belong to."

"Fuck," she gasps, grinding against my palm. "This is crazy."

"This is us." I lean over, bite her neck just hard enough to mark. "You love it. Love being my dirty girl in public."

"Not your—oh Gods?—"

"Yes, you are. My dirty girl who fingers herself in bathrooms when I tell her to. Who's dripping wet in a parking garage." I speed up my movements. "Who's about to come all over my hand where anyone could see."

She comes embarrassingly fast, biting her hand to stay quiet, clenching around my fingers.

I work her through it, then bring my wet fingers to my mouth, tasting her.

"That's just the beginning," I promise. "When I get you home, I'm going to fuck you properly."

"Home," she repeats softly, still catching her breath. "Your place isn't home."

"It will be."

The drive to my penthouse feels longer than normal.

She's turned toward me in her seat, dress hiked up, legs slightly parted.

An invitation I'm fighting not to accept while driving.

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