Page 7 of Save Me
He groans again, and his orgasm slams into him. His cock jerks uncontrollably inside me as he fires his cum deep into my pussy.
He closes his eyes, bringing his hand up to his head, holding it as if he has a migraine coming. “Don’t ever try that again,” he growls. “When we fuck, you will be clear-headed. There is a fine line between consent and drunken want.”
“I’m not drunk—” I start, but he cuts me off, opening his eyes and giving me a vicious glare.
“If you can’t agree to the rules, then we don’t do this again.”
“No!” I say, putting my hands on his chest. “Don’t threaten me, Thayer.”
“It’s not a threat, Vogue. It’s a promise.”
“I swear, I won’t,” I say, shaking my head, my voice trembling.
He sits up and wraps his arms around me, holding me close. “Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing my cheek before he rolls us over and holds me close. “Good girl. That’s all I want from you, Vogue.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“Shush,” he whispers against my lips before kissing me softly and holding me close, tightly as if he never wants to let me go. Isettle into his arms, happy, sated and with a growing obsession for this man who has managed to sweep away any lingering fear from the incident in my dad’s office. He has touched a part of me that revels in the darkness, and he has pushed me far past any limit I thought I had. My body aches, my pussy stings from the whips and relentless fucking, but I’ve never felt more at peace in my entire existence. Closing my eyes, I feel exhaustion drag me under as I listen to his heartbeat, lulling me into oblivion.
3
VOGUE
The sheets are twistedaround me like they’re trying to remind me of last night as I wake up. Thayer has gone, his side of the bed cold, and I’m alone with the dawn light creeping through the blinds. Part of me is glad he left; I need time to adjust to what happened last night—the shift in the dynamic between us, my need for possession of him, and the craving he elicits in me.
My phone buzzes on the bedside cabinet. Lifting it hesitantly, I see it’s a message from Aaron. Dad. Aaron. Fuck. Who is he to me now?
Be there soon.
That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. I toss the phone aside and sit up, dragging a hand through my tangled hair before I stand and stretch the sleep out of my bones.
The shower does little to calm the storm in my head. I doubt the reason for this visit will be good. As I dress in simple jeans and a shirt, I pause when I see Thayer’s initials carved into my skin between my breasts. What will Quen and Cal think about this?
I glance at the clock—7:45 AM. Moving through the penthouse, I find nothing but silence. Where are the guys?Did they even come home last night? What about Thayer? Has he changed his mind about wanting to be with me? Did my neediness push him away? It makes my heart lurch at the thought of never being with him again. I grab a glass of water from the kitchen and take a seat on the couch to wait.
I’m not left waiting for very long. A knock at the door makes me jump, and I rise slowly to open it. The door swings open to present Aaron McGowan, my father. Even after all this time, it’s still weird to think of him that way. He fills the doorway, tall and broad, with a presence that seems to suck the air out of the room.
He’s dressed in a tailored suit, the kind that probably costs more than what most people make in a month. His hair, dark like mine, is cut sharp, and his eyes, they’re hard, calculating. No smile, no warm greeting. Just the silent assessment of everything I am and everything I’m not.
“Vogue,” he says, his voice deep, commanding. It’s a sound that expects to be listened to, obeyed without question. “You didn’t check before you opened the door.”
“What am I meant to say? Who’s there? And even if I did, would it make a difference if whoever it was wanted to get in?”
He narrows his eyes and sighs. “How are you?”
“Peachy,” I state and step aside to let him in.
“Yesterday—”
“Was a shitshow, but you know what? I’m here, so what is the point in lamenting what could’ve happened?”
“You’re strong, Vogue. Not many people would bounce back from that so quickly.”
I shrug. “You don’t know me nor what I’ve had to deal with. I’m a master at disassociating.”
Closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounds like a verdict, it’s just the two of us and whatever comes next.
“There’s disassociating and then there’s not dealing,” he presses, striding further into the penthouse to take a seat on the couch.
