Page 44 of Off-Limits
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear the door open until Damon speaks.
“I thought I told you to be quiet tonight.”
I say nothing, allowing his threat and promise to linger in the air.
“My sweet, sweet, Dottie, what am I going to do with you?”
I remain quiet, waiting to see what he does, knowing that in the dark we can hide.
We can pretend.
“Do you like getting off, knowing I can hear you?”
His voice gets lower,closer.Still, I say nothing.
“Does it turn you on knowing that I can hear your sweet moans and whimpers, knowing I’m hard, lying in my bed alone?”
My breath catches and my pussy clenches and throbs with need. Still, I remain silent. When the bed dips, I let out a small gasp.
“Does it still hurt, baby? Would you like me to show you how it feels to soothe that ache? To take it away?”
A sharp intake of breath is the only answer I give him, all while my body feels like it’s about to burst into flames from his words. I should tell him no, tell him he needs to go back to his room, that we can’t do this, but I don’t.
It’s stupid.
Reckless.
“Answer me, Dottie,” he demands, his fingers trailing up and down my calf, causing me to jolt.
“We-we can’t, Damon.”
“I know,” he answers, his voice dripping with melancholy. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
His fingers move higher and higher. My body breaks out in goosebumps, and I’m frozen in place. I should move or do something, but I don’t. I wait. For what, I don’t know.
His fingers stop on my upper thigh, gripping it and tearing a moan from my throat and a growl from his. Our breathing is the only thing to be heard in the small room, and I try my hardest not to move, not to do something to break the spell we are under.
“Maybe in another time, another life I could have given you what you need and want, Sweet Dottie, but I can’t. I fucking can’t,” he says in frustration. “I want nothing more than to dip my fat fingers into that pretty little thing, whisper sweet nothings across your flesh as I taste you.”
“Damon…”
“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Please…”
“Dorothy.”
“Please.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“I’m so - sorry… it just…”
“Just what,” he growls, the bed dipping with his weight again.
“Hurts.”
A guttural groan leaves his throat, and it sounds like crunching gravel.
