Page 53 of Unorthodox
I feel a little bad, too, for leaving her in that room for so long.
It’s only fair she gets a little pleasure for her troubles.
“Shift your hips,” I tell her, pulling my thumb from her mouth with a pop. I pat my thigh. “Here.”
I sink downonto his thigh, needing to get closer to him even though I hate myself for it. I want to bury my face against his shoulder for what he asked me. For what I told him.
But I don’t. And I held back the worst truths. I kept those in my box.
For the past week, Max Bennett has carefully fucked my mind, and even though I know this, it doesn’t stop the fact that in some ways, he’s the best man that’s ever laid his hands on me.
Like with Ben.
My father used to hit me, too, before he fucked me, if I fought. But no one ever saved me then.
Max killed Ben, for me.
If I block out the sight of Ben’s head bursting into pieces like a watermelon cracked against a sidewalk, forget about Max leaving me chained to a wall, the fact that he killed someone for me...it’s almost…romantic.
And I know it’s my desperation to be wanted that makes me think this, but I can’t stop.
The sensation of Max’s thigh beneath me brings me back to the present. I have the wild urge to rock against him, but he plants his hands on my hips, keeping me still. My own hands are still by my side. I want to touch him, but I don’t. I know what he wants.
He likes control far too much.
He inhales deeply and my cheeks turn pink as he says, “Fuck, you smell so good.”
I swallow down my humiliation, wanting to press my fingertips to his skin.
“Don’t look so embarrassed, Addison. Your scent is fucking amazing,” he says, his eyes searching mine.
Of course, his words only cause me to grow hotter. And wetter.
He lifts his knee, ever-so-slightly, causing his thigh to press tighter against me. My fingers curl into fists by my sides, and he slides his hands down to my ass.
I shift my hips, wanting more friction between my thighs.
He glances down, looking his fill at the crease of my inner thighs, the cut of the cotton fabric of my underwear giving him a glimpse of what’s beneath, waxed and smooth.
I see him swallow, and then one hand comes around to my low belly. Without saying a word, he grips the tight fabric of my panties, just below my belly button, and yanks itup,so it wedges between my lips.
I whimper, self-loathing mingling with the pleasure I feel. He meets my gaze. “Don’t fight me,” he warns me. “Do as I say, let me make you feel good, and this will all end well.” He angles his head, his eyes searching mine. “Give in to me, Addison.”
I nod, my lower lip trembling.
He yanks the material up higher and I groan at the pleasure and pain of it, press my head against his shoulder as I see my pussy lips spread to either side of the material.
“Pick your head up, baby girl. You’re blocking my view. And don’t move your hands.”
I do as he asks, and despite my humiliation, I’m dying to touch him. I’m desperate to hide my face as he pulls up again and the friction against my clit feelsso disgustingly goodthat I rock my hips against his thigh and the material of my own underwear.
“Can you touch me?” I whisper, my eyes closed as he keeps pulling up on the fabric and I continue to rock against his thigh. I want him to hold me, to take away the mortification I feel at enjoying this. “Please, touch me. I want you to—”
“Shut up. I don’t care whatyouwant.” My eyes fly open with his words and he’s staring right at me as I freeze on top of him. “You’re here for me to do whatIwant.” He leans closer to me, pressing his forehead against mine. “And I want you to keep rubbing your little pussy against my leg.Now.”
Despite the command in them, despite how fucked it is, his words drive me wild. After a week of tormenting me, of fucking me over, he’s finally doing it. Giving me a release. A connection.
I bite my lip, keep my forehead pressed to his and do as he said, rubbing myself against him. I can feel his breath on my mouth, and I want to kiss him, but I don’t. Instead, I watch his eyes as he looks down between us, and I know I’m getting his pants wet. When I get up, I’ll still be on him, and the thought drives me just a little crazier.
