Buttons and Lace (Buttons 1)

She still looked confused, unable to process the truth. “So...you aren’t really a criminal.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I’d done my fair share of terrible things. I was far more evil than I was good. “Don’t forget you’re being held against your will. I make you work for your freedom—by fucking. I’m definitely a criminal.”

She felt the sheets underneath her fingertips, deep in thought. “I wonder—”

“You’re at five buttons. I’ll keep going if you’re willing to pay the price.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your answers weren’t worth that much.”

“I disagree.” She knew a lot more about me.

“But I have more questions...”

“Go ahead. But you’ll have to pay for them.” I loved manipulating her into sex. I loved getting her to pay me with her pretty mouth and slick pussy.

“Is that really all you care about? Sex?”

I didn’t answer the question because I didn’t understand it.

“Do you ever have relationships?”

“That sounds like another question.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know you can get sex from me just by asking. Do you really need to get buttons out of it?”

“Yes.” I held her gaze without an ounce of sympathy. “The more buttons I get, the more sex I get before I’m forced to let you go. It’s not any different from cash in a bank account. I spend wisely.”

When she didn’t ask any more questions, I knew she’d reached her max. She didn’t want to do a sexual act that cost more than five buttons because she knew exactly how much it was worth—since she did it once before. “Alright. I’m done.”

“Good. Now for the good stuff.” I left the bed and grabbed the instrument I’d been thinking of. While she asked her questions, I thought about how I wanted to take her. Seeing her sitting on the bed in my very own playroom got me hard and bothered. My mind immediately went to dirty places—really dirty places.

I came back to the bed and set the rod on top. My mouth moved to hers so I could get the foreplay started. Getting women wet was the part I despised the most. I was hard up and wanted to be inside her. But with Button, I didn’t mind. I loved kissing and touching her. I loved the quiet noises she made when her lips parted. She writhed in my arms because she wanted me, and I could feel her thighs press tightly together in longing.

“Uh, what’s that?”

I eyed her lips, irritated that she stopped me. “A butt plug.” I crushed my mouth against hers again and guided her to her back. I ripped my jacket off and tossed it on the ground. The fact my brother wanted to fuck her made me want her even more. She was mine, and I didn’t share anything that was mine.

“Whoa, what?” She pressed her hand to my chest and pushed me back. “A butt plug?”

“Yeah.” A purple jewel sparkled at the end so when it was in her ass, I could see it sparkle under the light. It would look sexy between her cheeks. “Now stop talking.” I grabbed the back of her neck and forced her lips on mine.

She pushed me off again. “That thing is not going in my ass. Forget it.”

She was apprehensive before I slapped her with my belt, but she enjoyed it. She would enjoy this too. “Trust me.”

“No.”

“You’ll enjoy it.” I was at a crossroad. I was irritated when she argued with me, but I absolutely loved it at the same time. I had a partner who rivaled my strength. I had a partner who was just as headstrong, argumentative, and stubborn. “You enjoy being whipped, and you’ll enjoy this.”

“There’s one thing I don’t do and that’s anal. It’s off the table.”

My cock hardened at her disagreement. Now her ass was even more desirable to me. The fact I couldn’t have it, or at least she thought I couldn’t, made me want it more. “Button.” My hand snaked into her hair, and I held myself on top of her. “When have I ever done anything that didn’t feel good?” I was rough with her, but I never did more than she could handle. And this was very tame.

She softened under my touch, loving the gentle side of me because it was so rare. “Bones did that a lot with me, and it was the most painful experience of my life. More painful than being hit with a bat. More painful than being cut with a knife. Crow, I don’t want to do it.”

It was the first time I felt something similar to sympathy. Imagining her being hunted down and beaten sent rage through my spine. The fact she suffered alone without any comfort pulled at my heart. It was a sensation I didn’t think I could feel. But somehow, I did. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not him. I’m nothing like him. If you compare me to him again, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll be knocked out for days. You understand me?” My moment of weakness made me ice-cold. I didn’t want to be caring or compassionate. I didn’t want to care about anyone or anything. Every time I did, they disappeared.