Priceless

by Miranda Silver

I felt the hunger in his body, enormous and raging, and the restraint, and I didn’t know which scared me more. I wanted both.

“Of course it turned me on. I wanted to fuck you right there. On the bench. In public. Embarrassed and helpless and naked. Pinned under me and so very aroused. Needing me to get you out of this mess.” “You’re a twisted fuck,” I whispered. “And you’re about to come,” he whispered back.

“What do you know about it? Do you even have friends? Or do you just prowl around like the big bad wolf, flashing wads of cash at girls and luring them back to your lair?” Patrick’s face split in a grin. “See? That’s why I pay you the big bucks. You’re entertaining.”

“Nice ass.” I froze, flushing. The words were crude. Delivered in that deep, quiet voice, they went from a catcall to a barb. Stuck in my skin, tugging between my legs.

A ribbon of air from the open window, cold and restless, stirred the tie of my blouse and the hem of my skirt.

Lies had a taste. Flat, metallic. I’d never noticed it before, because I was so fucking accustomed to pretending.

Obsession wasn’t pretty. It was an ugly, all-consuming thing. The drive to create a world that only held two people, to escape reality, to blot out the rest of life.

The tension between me and Patrick was silent. Sliceable. You could serve a wedge on a plate and call it dessert.

Our gaze caught. I looked away first.

He kicked off his shoes and unzipped his jeans. Involuntarily, I tensed. That scrape of Patrick’s zipper, quick and deliberate, meant one thing: rough sex. Humiliating sex. Sex that peeled my layers and split me open.

It was so unlike Patrick to volunteer information about his past that I breathed more carefully, in case the confession turned to mist.

“You’re right.” Regret crossed his face. “I was playing with you. I got carried away. My mistake.” “My mistake? That’s all you have to say? Is that like the discount version of ‘I’m sorry?’”

“You’re perfect,” he crooned, hypnotic. “You’re such a good little whore. You want me to put a price on the way you come? Or the blush on your skin when I tell you the truth? How cute you are when you cry, because you’re so overwhelmed by the way I fuck you? How much you love it when I hurt you a little? How much I love it when you snarl at me in bed? I can’t. You’re priceless. You were made for me.”

I took another pace back, testing the invisible cable that stretched between us.