Page 29 of Ruined
“Against the wall.” He pointed to one of the few areas in the room not lined with a couch.
“Dance against the wall?”
He nodded. At the wall, I angled against it, arching my back, poking my ass out to him, then turned around, leaning back against the wall, holding my hips forward. Hoping he would touch me again. Maybe his touch would distract me from the thoughts warring inside of me: Be mad at him. It’s not his fault. Worship him. Be good. Don’t let anyone in. Make sure Nora is safe. Forget about yourself. Be good. Do better than Mama. Do it for her.
Because I didn’t want to be the one to ask him to touch me. It was embarrassing to ask for it. I wasn’t supposed to have him. I couldn’t have him. I shouldn’t have been thinking about him like that. My mind couldn’t decide: Was it better that he respected my boundaries, my rules, unlike Aldrich? Or did I want him to take me already, so that it wasn’t my fault?
He took my wrists in his hands, moved me so that my fingertips grazed my body, chills erupting all over. I looked up into his eyes, and they were dark and greedy, like he needed to be satiated, and the only object that would fulfill his hunger, was me. I swung my hips forward and pressed against his hard cock. He shot an icy glare at me.
Then he slipped my fingers under the bra straps. At that moment, I was his puppet. His doll. He made me undress myself.
One strap, and then the other. He was so close that I could feel his breath on my shoulders, where my bra had once been.
Without the straps, the cups dipped forward. His eyes roamed my body, and then he glided my hands down, slipping my thumbs inside of my underwear. Without any words, I eased them off of my hips, and Lucas never strayed, never gave me more space to breathe. He was close. So close. I had to be careful not to touch him while I undressed. And when my underwear dropped to my ankles, I bent down to remove them. His perfect shoes filled my vision. The same ones he had worn before. The ones he had made me lick.
I stood, facing him. I had to look up into his face. I was completely naked. Bared and vulnerable. There was no way to hide. While he was clothed: a suit representing his class. Our states of undress showing our dynamic.
He was above me, and I was naked beneath him.
With our eyes locked, he took control of me once again, but this time, his hand swallowed mine, covering my fingers like a mitten. He placed one of my hands on my breast, his warm fingertips grazing the skin around my hands. He placed the other on my sex.
Impulsively, I touched myself. Squeezed. I was wet.
Those piercing eyes bore into me, daring me to move. My thumb moved to my clit, and with my other hand, I pinched my nipples. His lips were thick, and I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss a man like him. To know what true power was. There was a rawness to the way he moved, the way he controlled me through inescapable masculinity. He might have been respecting my boundaries by makingmetouch myself, and not doing it himself, and but it was clear that he wanted me. His cock bulged in his pants. I licked my lips.
“Show me what a whore you are,” he said in a husky voice that made me shiver. A whore? That word. Why did that repulse and invigorate me all at once? “Your desire. Your need. You want to, don’t you, Haley? You want to touch yourself. It feels good when I watch you pleasure yourself, doesn’t it?” He whispered into my ear, “It makes me hard knowing how you want to degrade yourself. Coming for an audience. Coming for me. My little whore.”
I hadn’t realized it, but I was doing it. I was squeezing and rubbing like I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t resist. Not with those words breathing down onto me. Not when I was already dripping wet.
It was okay, wasn’t it? He wasn’t touching me. I was touching myself. It was part of the show.
But it wasn’t okay. There wasn’t supposed to beanysex between the guests and the servers. That was Dahlia’s rule.
But this wasn’t sex between two people. This was just me.
“Show me what a whore you are,” he growled.
And I came undone. Rubbing my clit and pinching my breasts like I was an animal in heat. I couldn’t catch my breath. Not with his body so close. Not with his cock pulsing in his pants, aching against me. Not with his eyes on me. Only me.
