Page 8 of The Wrong Monster

Not a good sign.

His hand darts out and wraps around my ankle so fast I can’t react. He jerks it forward, opening my legs for me, his other palm going to my inner thigh and pressing them open.

He stares down at my pussy, hot and already wet, and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. I fuck hard and fast in hotel rooms or bar bathrooms, but I can’t remember anyone ever looking at me like this.

Ignoring my challenge, he hefts me up with an arm under my lower back and positions me with my head on the pillow. It’s not uncomfortable even though my handcuffed arm is up, relaxed alongside my head. But I’m not prepared for the way he grips my hips and buries his face between my legs.

Fully clothed, he laps at my pussy like it’s his last meal. I let out a shocked moan, head tipping back as he drags his tongue across my clit in quick succession.

How do I feel this close to orgasm already? There’s no way.

He hums against my core, biting my inner thigh lightly before coming up and kissing my breasts, then my lips.

I can taste myself on his mouth. Salty, sweaty, it should be disgusting, but there’s something hot and dirty about it. He presses his tongue into my mouth and I suck on it, whimpering and trying to arch my hips up into him.

“Mm—mm,” he corrects, sitting back on his heels.

He takes his time taking off his clothes. First the shirt, button by button, though there’s only three left. When he strips it off, that muscular, lean chest is revealed, covered in salt-and-pepper hair and surprisingly tan for spring in the Adirondacks.

Then the snick of his belt. He shoves his pants down over his hips, underwear going with them, and his dick springs free.

It’s…huge.

The word is too mundane, but that’s all that crosses my mind with my eyes glued to it.

He’s thick, bigger than average, with an angry vein throbbing just below the swollen tip. Fisting himself, he grunts as he tugs once, teasingly. A bead of pre-cum makes my mouth water.

“This is what you wanted?” he asks.

All I can do is nod. My pussy must be soaked now and probably leaving a mark on the duvet under me, but I can’t look away. He backs off the bed carefully, shucking his pants off the rest of the way until he’s completely bare. Then he grips my ankle again and moves until he’s over my body again.

Teeth graze my nipples. I try to sit up, but the chain keeps me from doing so. The metal bites into my wrist again and a sound of frustration slips out.

Instead of feeling bad for me, he just smirks.

“You’re not going to make me more comfortable?”

The next words are a promise: “Soon you won’t even notice it.”

He kneels between my legs, his heavy cock in his hand as he stares down at my pussy. He strokes himself again, slowly, mouth open as he takes me in. Then he leans forward and braces himself with one hand next to my hip.

Uses the other to guide the head of his cock right to my entrance. Runs it up and down my wet folds, sending a tingling buzz up my spine.

I gasp, a garbled sound that thankfully doesn’t sound like the “please” running through my head on repeat.

When I lift my hips, he pulls back.

Strokes himself again.

Looks down at me with narrowed eyes, shaking his head as if I’ve done something bad.

“You’re going to hold still for me,” he says in that gruff voice, “and let me fuck you however I want.”

The frisson of desire that rockets through my body is absolutely a sin.

I am a lawyer only a year or two away from making partner and should not be letting a man, much less a criminal, talk to me like this.

But God, I like it.