Page 65 of Unwrapped

“No,” I gasp, my hips bucking against my own hand. “He doesn’t. But you’d know exactly what to do if you were there.”

“If I were there,” Vince says, his voice dropping to something dangerous and raw, “I wouldn’t just watch. I’d wait until he was inside you, until he thought he had you. And then I’d pull him off. I’d push him aside and take his place. I’d show him how a man fucks what’s his.”

The words send a shockwave through me, and I moan, my fingers working faster. “Yes. Yes, Vince. Show him. Show me.”

“I’d grab your hips,” he continues, his hand pumping his cock, pre-cum beading at the tip and smearing down the shaft. “I’d hold you still and drive into you in one stroke. I’d bury myself so deep you’d feel me in your throat. And you’d take it, wouldn’t you, Sophie? You’d take every inch and beg for more.”

“I’d take it.” My voice cracks, my orgasm building fast and hot. “I’d take all of you. I want all of you, Vince. I don’t want him. I want you inside me. I want to feel you.”

“Fuck.” Vince groans, his head falling back, his hand working his cock. “I’d make you feel me, Sophie. I’d fuck you bare, and fill you up with my cum, so deep inside you. I’d mark you from the inside so you’d never forget who you belong to.”

“But I might get pregnant,” I gasp, the thought sending a dark, thrilling spike through my arousal. “If you come inside me with no protection, I might get pregnant, Vince.”

“I don’t care.” His eyes snap open, blazing into mine with a ferocity that steals my breath. “I don’t fucking care. I want to fill you up so badly, Soph. I want to pump every drop inside you and watch it leak out of you. I want to see you full of me. I want to know you’re carrying my cum inside you while you walk around this house, while you sleep, while you wake up tomorrow still dripping with what I gave you.”

“Oh God, Vince⁠—“

“I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk straight.” His hips are jerking now, his fist tight and punishing around his cock. “I’d hold you down and make you take every pulse of it. I’d stay inside you afterward, softening but still thick, plugging you up so nothing escapes. And then I’d do it again. And again. Until you were so full of my cum you’d feel it for days.”

“I’m going to come,” I whimper, my thighs shaking. “Vince, I’m going to come.”

“Yes, baby girl. Come with me, Sophie.” His voice is a growl, his body tensing, his cock swelling in his fist. “Come while I imagine shooting inside you. Come while I imagine your pussy milking me dry, your womb drinking every fucking drop⁠—”

His back arches, and he erupts with a groan, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist, his stomach, his sweatpants. The sight of him losing control, of his face twisted in pure ecstasy, pushes me over the edge. I cry out as my orgasm crashes through me, my pussy clenching, my whole body convulsing with wave after wave of blinding pleasure.

We come together, gasping and shuddering at opposite ends of the couch, and then we collapse, all the tension of the moment gone.

Vince reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table and offers it to me before taking a few himself. I let my legs fall closed, my skin flushed and sensitive, my heart still hammering against my ribs.

“Well,” I say finally, my voice hoarse and trembling.

“Yeah,” Vince agrees, his eyes finding mine across the couch. He reaches for me. His hand finds my face, cupping my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip.

“Sophie,” he says, low and intimate.

I lean into his touch for a second. Then I sit up, straighten my skirt, and stand. “Well,” I announce brightly, “I'm going up to bed.”

He tilts his head. “Stay for a minute.”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Good night, Vince.” I give him a smile and head upstairs, leaving him on the couch.

Last night, Vince was the one who walked away, and I'd lain awake wondering what it meant. Tonight, I get to make that decision for myself. I close my bedroom door, crawl under the covers, and settle in with a smile.

I know he wants me. I've never doubted that. And for once, I don't need him to prove it, explain it, or apologize for it. I can just go to sleep happy with the way the night ended.

Eighteen

DECEMBER 30

Vince

Custody?” I exclaim, leaning back in my office chair. “Of a nineteen-year-old woman?”

“I know.” I can hear the amusement in my lawyer’s voice. “She’s your dependent on your tax returns, so they’re trying to stretch the definition of ‘minor’ as far as the fabric will bear.” Richard chuckles. “Which is to say, not far at all.”