Keep Reading

“Stop the car.”

The command, low and final, cut through the quiet hum of the engine. Her head snapped up from the book, heart giving a startled jump. Outside, the rain streaked the tinted windows, turning the city lights into long, blurry lines. Behind them, the sleek black shape of his car pulled up.

Her husband, doing whatever he wants - because he can. What now?

Her driver glanced in the rearview mirror, then quickly looked away as the back door opened. Cold, rain-scented air swirled in, carrying him. He slid onto the leather seat beside her, bringing the faint, expensive smells of wool, cologne, and something darker, something uniquely his. The door shut with a heavy, solid sound.

Silence, thick and waiting. She looked from his sharp profile back to the page in her lap, the words suddenly meaningless ink. This was obvious and common - his abruptness and her defeatedly demanding no answers. The car pulled smoothly back into traffic.

He watched her, his gaze heavy. She could feel it on her cheek, her neck. Her fingers tightened on the book. "Husband." She stated without looking at him.

“Wife. Come here,” he said, his voice soft, almost casual. He patted his thigh.

She looked at him fully then. His dark suit was perfect, uncreased, exactly what a mafia leader would be expected to be dressed as. His eyes held that familiar look – part owner, part hunter. She swallowed. “Here?” Her gaze flicked nervously towards the partition separating them from the driver. It was still down. The driver’s eyes met hers briefly in the mirror before shifting back to the road. A faint flush crawled up her neck. This is new.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Okay.” He leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the seat, letting his fingers brush the curve of her shoulder. “You read your book.”

Relief warred with… something else. Disappointment? Ridiculous. She focused determinedly on the page, trying to find her place. The print seemed to swim.

His hand began to move, slow and easy, down her arm. Over the soft cashmere of her dress, his touch was light, almost absentminded. Almost. It smoothed the fabric over her shoulder, down her side, tracing the line of her ribs. Her breath hitched when his fingers paused just below the swell of her breast.

Don’t react. Just read.

He leaned closer, his warmth pressing against her side, his breath stirring the hair near her ear. His hand shifted, flattening against her side, his thumb finding the edge of her breast through the dress and bra. He applied the slightest pressure.

Her nipple tightened instantly, aching. God.

“You wanna read, princess?” he murmured, his lips close to her earlobe. His thumb stroked slowly, deliberately, back and forth over the peak. “Read.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “And you don’t fucking stop.”

Her eyes flew open, finding his reflected in the window. Dark, intense.

“Because if you stop—” His other hand, the one that had been resting innocently on the seat between them, slid across her lap. Fingers brushed the fabric of her dress lying over the juncture of her thighs. Lightly. A promise. She froze.

His thumb continued its slow torture on her nipple. His knuckles brushed against the mound beneath her dress. She could feel the heat of his touch even through the layers.

Her gaze darted to the rearview mirror again. The driver’s eyes were fixed forward, but his posture seemed unnaturally stiff. Humiliation and heat warred inside her.

“- if you fucking stop,” he continued, his voice a low vibration against her skin, “I stop.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine. “And you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

A small sound escaped her, half-protest, half-plea. He pressed a button on the armrest. A smooth, silent panel slid up, closing them off from the front of the car, plunging the back into deeper shadow, thicker intimacy.

“You’re crazy,” she whispered, the words shaky. Her hips gave an involuntary little lift off the seat as his fingers deliberately pressed down, outlining her through the silk dress and the lace underneath. “Not here.” A soft moan followed despite herself. Fuck.

He turned her head towards him then, one hand cupping her jaw, fingers firm. His eyes bored into hers, black and commanding in the dim light. “You will do as I say.”

There was no question in his voice. No room for argument. Before she could form a reply, his mouth was on hers. Not gentle. It was a kiss that staked a claim, hard and deep, tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers, stealing her breath, tasting her surrender. He pinned her against the seat, his body a solid wall against hers, his hand still subtly pressing between her legs, her nipple still aching under his other thumb.

Just as suddenly, he pulled back, leaving her breathless, lips tingling, head spinning. His eyes held hers for another beat. Then, he released her jaw and nodded towards the book in her lap.

Her hands were trembling. She looked down at the page. The heroine traced the outline of his cock through his trousers… Christ. Her own cunt gave a distinct throb. She forced her eyes to track the words.

“Read,” he commanded softly.

She started reading aloud, her voice thin and wavering at first. “…her breath catching as he groaned…”

As the words left her mouth, his thumb resumed its relentless friction on her nipple, rubbing back and forth, pinching slightly, sending jolts straight down. Simultaneously, the fingers between her legs began to move, circling slowly, pressing down firmly against her clit through the layers of fabric.

Oh God. His touch .... He leaned in again, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below her ear. Soft kisses trailed down her neck, punctuated by gentle nips that made her gasp. His free hand came up to cup her other breast, squeezing gently, kneading through the cashmere.

“…he lowered his head… tasting the salt…” she read, her voice catching. The combination was dizzying. Mouth on her neck, fingers on her clit, thumb torturing her nipple, his hard body pressed against hers. Exactly like he knew she craved and fought against.

Her reading faltered, the words blurring. “…she arched…” Her voice trailed off into a soft sound, half-word, half-moan.

Instantly, his hands stilled. The pressure between her legs vanished. His thumb stopped moving. His mouth lifted from her neck. The sudden absence was almost painful. Cold air hit the damp skin where his lips had been.

Her eyes shot to his. He was watching her, a knowing glint in his eyes. Waiting.

Fuck.

“Read,” he repeated, his voice perfectly even.

Frustration warred with need. Begging wouldn’t work. She knew that. She found her place, forcing the words out, shaky but clear. “…arched against his seeking mouth…”

Immediately, his mouth returned to her neck, sucking gently this time, creating a wet heat that made her skin prickle. His thumb resumed its pinching, rolling motion on her nipple, making her gasp again. And the fingers… oh god, the fingers pressed down harder now, finding the exact spot, rubbing with a firm, consistent pressure that built heat low in her belly. His other hand kneaded her breast, thumb and forefinger finding the peak through the fabric, mirroring the torture on the other side.

“…the rough stubble of his chin scraped…” She read faster now, desperate to keep the sensations going. The story on the page felt intensely real, lines blurring between the ink and the reality of his touch. “…her inner thigh as his hand slid higher…”

He chuckled softly against her skin, a low rumble. “Good girl.”

His praise sent a thrill through her, mixed with the shame of wanting it so badly. He knew exactly how to play her.

The car hit a small bump, jostling them. The pressure of his fingers between her legs increased for a fraction of a second, sending a white-hot spike of pleasure through her. A whimper escaped. Don’t stop reading.

“…reaching the damp heat…” Keep going. “…between her legs. She was already wet…”

He shifted, pulling her slightly, turning her more towards him. “On my lap. Now.”

Her heart hammered. She hesitated for only a second before obeying, lifting herself, clumsy in the confined space. He guided her, hands firm on her hips, settling her onto his hard thighs, facing him. The wool of his trousers was rough against her skin through the thin dress. She could feel the solid ridge of his erection beneath her.

Her dress had ridden up slightly. He didn’t bother pulling it down further yet. Instead, his large hands settled on her hips, possessive. Then, one hand slid around to her lower back, pressing her closer against his hardness, while the other snaked around her waist, thumb dipping just below her navel.

“Move for me,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. “Just like that.” His hand on her waist tightened slightly, guiding her hips in a small circle against him.

She bit her lip, stifling a moan as her core rubbed against his clothed length. The friction was exquisite. Keep reading.

“…so wet for him,” she forced the words out, her voice breathy. His hand was still circling her clit through her dress and underwear, the pressure maddening now that she was pressed so tightly against him. His other hand had found her breast again, fingers working the nipple with agonizing slowness. His mouth was at her ear again. “Reading about being wet, while you soak your panties for me?”

A wave of heat washed over her. Yes. She couldn’t speak the word, but her body answered, hips moving more insistently against him.

“Keep reading, princess.”

“…he groaned her name… fingers finding her slick entrance…” The words were fuel. His fingers between her legs suddenly stopped their circling motion. She held her breath.

Then, his hand slid upwards, pushing the hem of her cashmere dress higher, bunching the soft fabric around her waist. Cool air hit her thighs. He paused, his knuckles brushing the top of her stockings, the delicate lace edge of her garters. His gaze dropped, following the line of his own hand. She felt exposed, vulnerable, yet excitement thrummed under her skin.

His hand smoothed over the silk of her panties, then dipped lower. His thumb hooked under the thin lace edge. He slowly pushed the barrier aside, his calloused thumb finding her clit directly.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat. Oh, fuck. The sudden shock of it, the directness.

His thumb began to rub. Slow, deliberate circles. Right on the nerve endings. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Read,” his voice was a low growl in her ear, lips brushing her skin.

Her eyes snapped open. The book. Shit. Where was she? Her eyes scanned the page frantically. “…her slick entrance… she gasped as his finger…” Found it. “…slid inside.”

As she spoke the word “inside,” his thumb pressed down hard, rubbing faster, creating an almost unbearable friction. His other hand abandoned her breast, sliding down her back to cup her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pressing her harder against his lap, against that insistent thumb. His mouth latched onto the side of her neck, sucking, biting gently, marking her.

Every nerve ending felt alive, raw. The direct touch, the grinding against his erection, the suckling on her neck, the grip on her ass, the words she was forced to read aloud – it was too much. Almost.

“He stopped…” she read, her voice tight with need.

And he did. His thumb stilled. His mouth lifted. His hand loosened its grip. Silence, except for her ragged breathing and the soft swish of the wipers outside.

She wanted to scream. To beg. But she knew it was pointless. He thrived on this control, on her forced obedience. She hated it. She loved it. Fuck.

Taking a shaky breath, she found the next line. “…then slid deeper…”

Instantly, his thumb resumed its magic, faster now, relentless. His teeth scraped lightly along her collarbone. His hand squeezed her ass cheek. Yes.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured against her skin.

The car slowed, turning a corner smoothly. The motion shifted her on his lap, changing the angle of his thumb, hitting a slightly different spot that made her gasp and arch her back.

“…making her cry out…” she read, the words mirroring her own state.

His thumb pressed, rubbed, circled. Relentless. Heat built low in her belly, coiling tighter and tighter. She could feel the slickness between her legs, dampening the lace of her panties where his thumb wasn’t.

Then, he shifted his hand slightly. Keeping the thumb anchored on her clit, he eased one long finger downwards, finding her entrance through the slick folds. He paused just at the threshold.

Her breath caught. Anticipation zinged through her. Please.

“…he teased the entrance…” she managed to read, her voice barely a whisper.

He pressed the tip of his finger just inside her. Just the very tip. Stretching her slightly.

God. She whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand.

“Keep reading,” he ordered, his voice thick. His finger stayed right there, unmoving, just inside her, while his thumb continued its merciless work on her clit.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the page through the haze of pleasure. “…begging him to fill her…”

He pushed his finger in. Slowly. Inch by agonizing inch. She felt the stretch, the invasion, the friction against her inner walls. It felt impossibly good. Tight. Wet.

A low moan rumbled in her chest. His finger slid all the way in, stopping deep inside. She was impaled on that single digit, her body clenching around it instinctively.

“Read,” he bit out, his own control sounding strained. His mouth found hers again, kissing her hard, punishingly, tongue demanding entrance, mirroring the invasion below. His thumb never stopped moving on her clit. His finger inside her pressed upwards, hitting that spot… oh.

She kissed him back desperately, pulling her mouth away only when she absolutely had to gasp for air and find the next words. “…he moved slowly at first… letting her adjust…”

His finger began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes. In and out. Not deep, not fast. Just… enough. Enough to make her desperate for more. His thumb worked her clit in perfect time with the slide of his finger. His other hand came back to her breast, pinching the nipple sharply through the dress, making her cry out into his mouth.

He stops… and then he resumes… making everything so much harder for me… and this hand presses my breast, gently now… no, harder… ah. The thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. All sensation. His finger, his thumb, his mouth, his hand. The hard ridge of his cock beneath her. The words she had to speak.

The car hit another bump, a larger one this time. The jolt sent his finger deeper, harder, hitting a spot that sent a shockwave right through her core. A loud gasp escaped her. Her hips jerked violently.

She lost her place completely. The book tumbled from her nerveless fingers, landing silently on the floor mat.

Everything stopped.

The finger inside her stilled. The thumb on her clit froze. His mouth lifted from hers, leaving her lips wet and swollen. His hand fell away from her breast.

The silence screamed. Her body throbbed with frustrated need. She could feel the orgasm coiled tight inside her, a burning fuse just waiting for a spark.

She looked at him, eyes wide, pleading. Tears prickled. “Please,” she whispered, the word raw.

He just watched her, his expression unreadable in the dimness. That faint, knowing smile touched his lips again. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held her gaze.

The waiting was agony. The silence stretched, filled only by the sound of the rain and her own frantic heartbeat. She wouldn’t beg again. Not out loud. But her body was screaming it.

He leaned down, picked up the book, and placed it back in her trembling hands, opening it roughly to a random page.

“Find your place,” he said calmly. “Or we sit like this until we arrive.”

Bastard. Sadistic bastard. Tears welled properly now, blurring the text. She blinked furiously, sniffing, trying to focus. Her whole body shook with need and frustration. He wouldn’t yield to tears or pleas. Only obedience.

She found a sentence, any sentence. “…her climax crashed over her…” Her voice broke on the last word.

The moment the words were out, his thumb resumed its furious rubbing. And then, slowly, deliberately, a second finger joined the first, pressing against her entrance.

She gasped, eyes widening. “No, wait-”

He ignored her protest, pushing the second finger in alongside the first. It was tight. So tight. Stretching her, filling her more completely. A sharp intake of breath, bordering on pain, but swamped by a wave of overwhelming pleasure.

“Read,” he commanded, his voice rougher than before. His two fingers inside her pressed upwards firmly, rubbing against her g-spot while his thumb continued its relentless assault on her clit. His mouth returned to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His other hand gripped her hip, fingers digging in, holding her steady as her body threatened to buck uncontrollably.

“…wave after wave…” she sobbed out the words, barely coherent. Reading about orgasm while he drove her right to the edge. The contrast was dizzying, unbearable, perfect.

His fingers inside her curled slightly, pressing, rubbing. Then they began to move. Not just in and out, but a deeper, curling motion, fucking her with his fingers while his thumb created relentless friction outside. In. Out. Curl. Press. Thumb rubbing faster, harder. Mouth biting her shoulder now. Hand squeezing her hip tight.

She was whimpering constantly now, small, desperate sounds choked off by his relentless pace. The tension built impossibly high, coiling in her stomach, making her legs tremble violently against his sides. She ground down onto his hand, seeking release, desperate.

“Look at me,” he growled against her skin. She forced her tear-blurred eyes open to meet his intense gaze. “You feel that, princess? How wet you are? How tight you are around my fingers?” He thrust his fingers deeper, stretching her further. “You’re so fucking desperate.”

“…look at you…” she choked out, barely seeing the words now. The climax was right there, hovering, a blinding point of light behind her closed eyelids.

He shifted his weight, his own body taut with control. And then, he pressed a third finger against her opening.

A genuine cry this time. Not just pleasure, but the overwhelming intensity, the stretch. “No… please… too much…”

“Read,” was his only reply, guttural.

He forced the third finger in. She cried out, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she was stretched to her absolute limit. Filled. Completely fucking filled by his hand. The initial sharp discomfort melted instantly into the most profound, overwhelming fullness.

“…shattering…” she read, the single word a broken sob.

And then he started to move. Three fingers thrusting into her, deep and hard. Pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in. Pounding into her, stretching her, fucking her with his hand in a relentless rhythm. His thumb was a blur against her clit. His mouth devoured her neck. His other hand slid down, cupping her wet heat, fingers brushing against his own thrusting hand, adding another layer of friction.

ah. he’s so fucking good. oh god. his fingers..mmmm… fuck… inside… the stretch… ah… his thumb… god… don’t stop…

She couldn’t read anymore. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. There was only the relentless motion of his fingers, the exquisite friction, the overwhelming fullness, the tight coil of pleasure inside her winding tighter… tighter…

He leaned back slightly, still thrusting, watching her face intently in the dim light. Watching her break.

Her back arched off his lap, spine bowing, head thrown back against the headrest. A raw scream built in her chest, clawing its way up her throat as the climax ripped through her. It wasn’t just one wave, but wave after crashing wave, seizing her, shaking her, stealing her breath, stealing everything. Her inner muscles clenched violently around his fingers, milking him. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the sweat and the rain smell and his cologne. She moaned uncontrollably, hips bucking uselessly against his relentless hand.

He didn’t stop. Not immediately. He drove her through the peak, fingers still thrusting, thumb still rubbing, mouth still clamped onto her neck, until the last aftershock shuddered through her frame and she collapsed against him, gasping.

Slowly, carefully, he withdrew his fingers, the slick sound loud in the sudden quiet. He eased her dress back down over her thighs, the movement almost gentle now. His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb stroking away a tear.

She kept her eyes closed, breathing raggedly, unable to meet his gaze. Her body hummed, sensitized, aching in the most profound way.

He leaned his forehead against hers. She could feel the slight tremor in his own body, the evidence of his own control.

After a long moment, he pulled back slightly. He reached down and retrieved the book from the floor mat again. He didn’t hand it to her this time. He simply opened it, found a page near the end, and began to read aloud, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the storm that had just broken inside the car.

“…and as she lay tangled in the sheets, breathless and his,” he read, “she knew, deep in her bones, that she belonged to him…”