Page 91 of The Bet
For the first time in my life, I know exactly where I belong.
I don’t remember exactly when the city outside stopped mattering, only that the moment Thomas lifts me off my feet and kisses me against the cold glass, the world contracts to just the two of us and the echo of our breathing. There’s still a low noise from the hallway, a scattered laugh or a glass chiming in the sink, but none of it comes within a mile of what I’m feeling.
After a long minute, I break the kiss, pressing my palm to the center of his chest. I feel the quick skip of his heart beneath the fabric, and I know he feels it too—how much I want him, how close I am to just taking what I want, right here on the goddamn floor. Instead, I slide my hand down his arm, knotting our fingers together, and tug him toward the master bathroom.
He goes, wordless, always a little stunned when I’m the one in charge. He’s so much taller, broader, but the effect of dragging him behind me is electric. The en suite is huge, all white marble and chrome, the glass shower bigger than some apartments I’ve lived in. The air inside is already humid, as if the room’s been waiting for us.
I let go of his hand just inside the door. For a second, I just stand there, soaking in the space, the heat, the impossible fact of my life now. Then, slow and deliberate, I turn to face him, tug the thin straps of my dress off my shoulders, and let it slide down. It pools at my feet in a dark ribbon, leaving me nude and lush, but for the key still pressed in my palm. I set it on the counter, then step closer, shameless.
Thomas watches, his eyes burning into me, the color wild. He takes in every inch: the flush on my cheeks, my big breasts,the way my nipples are already hard. He looks like he wants to devour me, but he waits.
I cock a hip, rest a hand on the marble counter. “You’re overdressed, Mr. Moreland.”
He laughs, then strips his shirt off in one practiced move, tossing it onto the vanity. His chest is ridiculous—sculpted, covered in a light dusting of hair that I want to rake my nails through. I can’t help but stare at the way his body moves, all sinew and tension, and then at the thick bulge in his dress pants. He catches me looking, and his mouth twitches.
“Let me switch off the bathroom camera,” he says, voice a low rumble. “It’ll just take a sec.” It’s something we do now. We still have the security cams for safety and insurance purposes, but when we’re intimate, Thomas turns off the relevant cameras.
But before he can reach for his phone, I catch his wrist, stopping him. “Don’t,” I whisper, the word so soft I barely hear it. “I want you to record us. Just this time. Well, maybe a few more times in the future too.”
He blinks, thrown. “You’re sure?”
I nod, slow. “I want to watch it after. I want to remember everything.”
Something in him snaps. He grabs my face, crushing his mouth to mine, all heat and hunger and raw need. He lifts me onto the marble counter, the stone icy against my bare thighs, and I gasp at the contrast of cold and him. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him tight. I can feel the length of him through the fabric, and the thought of him inside me—claimed, ruined, immortalized on video—makes my whole body clench.
He works a hand between my legs, fingers slicking through the wetness already there. He strokes me, slow and firm, thumb grazing my clit, and I moan into his mouth. He keeps going until my hips rock against his palm, until I’m so close I could scream, then he pulls away.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “God, you’re gorgeous, Andie.”
He steps back, eyes never leaving mine, and unbuttons his pants with maddening slowness. His ten-inch cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking for me. I want to fall to my knees and taste him, running my tongue lovingly along the bulging veins, but instead I wait, a shiver running up my back.
Thomas moves behind me and opens the stall door, turning on the water and making sure it’s warm. Then, he helps me off the counter before ushering me into the shower stall. He steps in behind me, shoulders nearly blocking out the light, and pushes me gently against the cold glass wall, and I brace my hands there, legs parted. The heat of the water hits my back, beads on my skin, and the mirror across the room instantly fogs with it.
“I’m going to taste you, baby girl,” he rasps. “You’ve been tempting me all night with this slutty pussy and horny back door.”
He kneels behind me, spreading my ass cheeks with reverence, and presses his tongue against my pussy, then my ass. He eats me, slow and deliberate, tongue working in circles, making me sob and squirm. He teases, opening me with two fingers, then three, and I know what’s coming but I want it so bad I could beg. The camera’s red eye blinks in the corner, watching everything. I look at it, and the thought of being seen—of showing this to myself later—makes me gush with arousal.
“Fuck me in the ass, Daddy,” I pant. “Now, now. I need it!”
Thomas groans and then stands, the head of his cock nudging against my asshole. He spits into his hand, strokes himself, then guides it in, just the tip at first, stretching me open. I moan, pushing back against him, desperate to be filled to the brim by that veiny dick.
“Ooooh!” I squeal, my eyes squinching shut. “You’re so big! You’re stretching me out too much!”
Thomas merely chuckles, raw and throaty.
“Yeah, but you love it, baby, because you’re a horny buttslut. Nothing ever changes, does it? That first time, when we didn’t even know each other’s names, you were already a horny buttslut desperate for dick deep inside your asshole. Now, you’re getting it and more.”
He groans again, still working that massive cock into my tiny asshole. He goes slow, always slow at first, but then when he’s buried balls deep, the restraint cracks. He fucks into me, long and hard, driving into my ass with the kind of force that makes my knees buckle and my vision go white.
“Mmm!” I scream. “Oh god, yes!”
The sound of skin on skin is drowned by the thunder of the shower, our cries echoing off the walls, but I know it’s being recorded, every obscene detail.
He leans in, hand twisting in my hair, pulling my head back so I can see him fucking me in the asshole in the mirror. His other hand reaches around to stroke my clit, pinching and rubbing until my whole body shakes. I watch my own face—eyes wild,mouth open, big Double D’s bouncing with every thrust—and I’ve never felt more beautiful or more depraved.
He whispers, “You like being my horny little whore, don’t you? You like knowing I’ll watch this tape over and over.”
I can barely answer, but I manage, “Yes, fuck, yes, I love it. I love you, Thomas! I’ll be your horny anal whore forever!”
