Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

My lips meet the shell of his ear and I whisper, “It means I’m only a slut for you, Nate.”

The change is barely noticeable, but it’s there in his flaring nostrils and the tic in his jaw. His fingers tighten on my core and I moan, feeling my wetness drenching my panties and messing up his hand and my thighs. That’s all I’ve ever been for freaking five years.

A mess.

And it’s one of the most beautiful messes to have ever been created.

One that he made. One that he keeps nurturing.

“No, you’re not.” He removes his hand from me and the car comes to a halt. We’re already home, but I couldn’t care less about that right now, because he stopped touching me.

“What? Why?”

His eyes meet mine, and I think I liked it better when they hadn’t, because there’s a strong current there that’s about to sweep me under and bury me in its depths.

“You’re not my slut if you let other people touch what’s fucking mine. Get the fuck off me.”

I do the exact opposite and awkwardly tumble forward until I’m sitting on his lap. My legs stretch wide on either side of him so that I’m able to sit down. But I don’t sit anywhere. I lift my dress and lower myself onto his erection, so his cock is nudging against my soaked panties.

My core clenches in remembrance of him inside me and the image turns me delirious as I glide myself against his bulge.

“Gwyneth, stop.”

I shake my head frantically. “I lied. I didn’t like it, not really.”

“You didn’t like what?”

“Grinding against Alex and Chris.”

“Then why the fuck did you do it?”

“Because…” I wet my lips. “Because I wanted to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You…among other things. But it didn’t work. All I could think about was you.” I bite my lower lip because his hard-on is growing against my swollen folds and I can’t help rocking against it. Back and forth until I’m so wet, my thighs are soaked with the evidence.

His strong hand wraps around my waist, under the dress that’s now bunched to my stomach. He jerks his hips up as I go down and I whimper. “You thought about me, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think about?”

“Your strong hands and hard chest. I thought about your cock, too, and how big it is.” I’m dry-humping him now, my movements turned frantic by his thrusts.

“What else?”

“I thought about how much my pussy wants you. Not anyone else, you.”

“Because it’s my pussy?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“And you’re a slut. My slut.”

“I am.” He didn’t ask, but I’m answering anyway. I’m sliding up and down, fucking myself on his bulge and I’m getting close, so close that my legs tremble.

“Is my slut going to let anyone else but me touch her again?”

“No…no…I won’t…”

“That’s right, because if you do, I’ll fuck up their lives, Gwyneth. I mean it.”

I come then. It’s so harsh and intense that I scream. I scream loud and uncensored, not caring that someone might pass by and see me becoming his slut.

That someone could see me screaming and panting and moaning Nate’s name.

Actually, they should.

I really wish someone would see me shattering all over him.

His words shouldn’t make me this horny. I shouldn’t come at the promise of him hurting people because they touched me, but I do, and it goes on for such a long time that I don’t think I’ll ever come down.

The alcohol in my blood makes my head buzz as I stare at him through droopy eyes, still rocking back and forth against him. At some point, both of his hands wrap around my waist and now it feels like everything is complete.

There’s something in his dark gaze. I don’t know what, but it’s there, and it’s filling me with so many emotions at once.

I lean in to kiss him. My mouth is a few inches away from his lips, the same lips I’ve fantasized about since I was fifteen and got my first taste of when I was eighteen.

The forbidden lips that I shouldn’t have wanted to kiss in the first place but couldn’t help myself.

But before I can touch them, he pulls away and opens the door, and I jerk back, my action delayed because of all the alcohol in my bloodstream.

I don’t hear it, but I feel when my heart splinters to pieces.

What was I thinking anyway? Men don’t kiss their sluts. Even if they make them their wives.

I ease off of him, as awkwardly as I planted myself on his lap, and he gets out first.

He waits for me in front of the car, probably to carry me, but I run ahead of him to the house. I’m hot.

Too hot.

And my steps are wobbly and incoherent. But I’m burning, and that needs to go away. That and the fucking breaking that’s currently happening in my chest.

My feet come to a halt at the edge of the luminous pool. Water.

I unhook my zipper and push the dress down my body, then yank away my panties so that I’m completely naked.

“Gwyneth, don’t,” Nate calls out in the distance, but I’m not listening. Because he’s the cause of this burn. He’s the reason I have to do this.