Bang (Club Deep #3)

My chest clenches. It’s the first time she’s said my name. It sounds too good in her mouth, in that pampered, posh accent of hers.

I cross the room without replying and wrench open the door. Slam it behind me, snapping this connection shut.

3

What the hell just happened? I huddle on the couch, curled over myself, arms wrapped around my naked torso. My clothes are in a puddle across the room, but I can’t bring myself to stand up, cross over there and put them back on. I’m not sure my legs would support my weight at this point. And besides, my heart is still racing too fast to let me think about anything except what Farrow just did to me.

My whole body feels electric. On fire with desire. I want nothing more than him to finish what he started, right here on this couch. I am naked and alone, and the couch is damp beneath my ass, wet from my own shameful desire.

How could I want him? How could I give in to this man who has taken everything from me? And why am I tempted, even now, to run my hand down my stomach and touch my pussy. Finger myself until I finally crash into the orgasm that I can’t help wanting.

I clench my hands into fists, trying to distract myself. You don’t want him. You’re just scared and alone and naked in a strange place, and he feels warm and somewhat familiar.

I’m remembering the alley all those years ago. The summer afterward, which I spent fantasizing about him, dreaming about a moment exactly like this. A moment when my savior—my dark, dangerous savior—returned to finish what he started. To take me and make me his.

That’s what he’s threatening to do, after all these years. Take what he could have taken in that alley. Fuck me senseless.

But he insists he won’t, not until I beg him to. It sounded absurd when he first said it. I thought that would be impossible… Until now. Until I realized what he could do to me. How he can make me feel.

The door opens again and I gasp, flinging myself down along the couch.

But it’s only Farrow. Only? I ask myself, wondering when I got so accustomed to him seeing me naked. He tosses something at me. A robe.

I stay huddled against the couch, glaring at him, but he just watches me brazenly, his gaze roaming across my body until I realize I have no other choice.

Fuck him.

I unfold myself and stand up, drawing myself to my full height, naked in front of him. I feel hot all over, in every place where I can feel his gaze on me. I ignore it as best I can and stoop to scoop up the robe. I wrap it around myself, cinch it tight, and then join him by the door, jaw clenched.

“Follow me,” he says and leaves without a backwards glance.

I trail after him through the second story of the house. It’s as well decorated as the first floor, with the cozy air of a family home. It’s not where I’d expect a single bachelor to live, much less someone like Farrow. He opens a room at the end of the hall for me, and I tense, almost expecting to find something terrifying—some dungeon or horrible dank room he wants to lock me in to punish me.

Instead, the door opens to reveal a beautiful suite, one that reminds me of my bedroom at home. A huge bed and a side door leading into a private bathroom lined in marble. I linger in the doorway, studying it. I notice the broad window beside the bed, open to the night air. Not locked.

I’m still staring when Farrow brushes my shoulder lightly, almost hesitantly. “You have free range here,” he says, following my gaze. “I know you won’t try to escape. Your little sister makes a much better ball and chain than any locks would.”

I close my eyes. By the time I open them again, he’s gone, and I feel like I can finally breathe freely.

There are some clothes in the closet. He guessed my size in everything, from the silky nightgowns to the sexy lingerie. I find a drawer full of thongs and lace panties and skimpy bras. I close that and head for the shower. I need a cold shower—maybe that will help me regain control.

Because I can’t stop thinking about his hands all over me. His tongue on my skin. The red-hot fire between my legs that refuses to be quenched.

The shower is enormous, situated above a clawfoot bathtub. I turn the water on and stick my face under it, hoping this will help. But even with the cold water rushing over me, all I can picture is him. His face. His breath against my neck. The way he took possession of me so easily.