Page 87 of Ruthless Game

“Don’t you dare fucking close your eyes when I touch you, Emma. I don’t want you to forget who’s doing this to you. Who’s giving you this. Tell me, who am I?”

“Lawson,” I mewled.

“No, who.”

“Lawson!” I cried.

“I swear to fucking god, Angel,” he said, then switched tactics as he started rubbing my clit again, this time with his thumb, as he shoved his two thick fingers into my pussy, stretching me around him. I screamed this time as I came, clenching so hard I saw stars.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuck, you feel so goddamn good when you come for me. Who do you belong to, Angel?” He continued to stroke my clit as he thrust his fingers in and out of my pussy. “Who the fuck do you belong to?”

“You,” I sobbed, because going from no orgasms to three in a row was too much, too overwhelming in a way I didn’t know how to process. “I belong to you, Lawson.”

He roared then, angry at the way I refused to call him by the name he preferred.

“Fuck this,” he rasped, like his throat hurt. “Fuck storytime. I’m going to lick this pussy and bite these lips and suck this swollen clit and tongue this pretty little hole until you come for me five, ten, fifteen times. Until you’ve come so many times you pass out. I promise you, Emma, you’re going to say my goddamn name before I’m done with you.”

“No,” I gasped. “I—I won’t. Do your fucking worst.”

“Oh, I will,” he swore, first kissing his way from my thigh to my clit, then to my other thigh, then following that path with licks, then bites, before sweeping his tongue over my slit, landing it on my clit. He thrust his fingers in and out of my pussy, growling in tandem with my gasps and cries, lifting his mouth to slap my pussy every time my eyes began to flutter shut. And then, then, then:

He was licking circles around my clit, like he had with my nipples, and I couldn’t resist him, coming again and again, each orgasm blending together, some soft swells, some hard tumbles, until they all blurred together.

“That’s right, Angel, you come for me. You come for the man who owns you. Who owns this pussy and those tits and that mouth, and one day, that cute little asshole. Oh fuck, you like that, don’t you? You just soaked my goddamn mustache.”

He buried his face in my pussy then, sucking, biting, licking—eating at me like I was his last meal on death row. But I was the one who was dying, a little more each time, breaking apart and being remade into someone I wasn’t sure I’d recognize, because I’d fully become his.

“Who am I, Starburst?” he rasped again. “Fucking tell me.”

“Don’t—don’t—please,” I gasped, not sure what I was asking for.

“Please, what? Please who?”

“It’s too much,” I sobbed, because he’d torn me apart and I was adrift. “I’ve come too many times. It hurts, Lawson. Please, no more.”

He stared at me, his eyes pitch black now. “You know what to do, Starburst. Call me Max, and I’ll stop. Call me Max, and this can be the last one. Otherwise, I’ll make you come until you hate me.”

The words tore out of me.

“I already hate you, Max.”

He didn’t say anything, but when he rolled off my body, I fell back against the bed—relieved, and, I hated to admit, disappointed, because he’d given up so easily. Was he done? Done with me?

But he was digging in a bag for something, and when he came back, the relief whooshed out of me.

“Oh, you thought we were done? That’s cute. I’ll never be done with you, Angel. No, I’m just stepping things up. Do you know what this is?”

Through my blurred vision, I saw a white electrical wand thing that almost looked like an oversized electric toothbrush, except at its top was a wide , soft head.

“This is a Hitachi wand. It has different speeds and intensities, and it’s guaranteed to make you orgasm for as long as I want you to. How do we feel about hours?”

“Please,” I begged, terrified.

“Nah,” he said. “You know what to do.”

“I called you Max.”

“Do it sweeter, or we keep going. Make me happy. Please me, and I’ll give you a break.”