Chapter Seven

I've stopped questioning whatI'm doing because nothing makes sense anymore. Mr. Clarke—Jake—keeps surprising me, and I can't comprehend why I want him as much as I do. Is it narcissistic pride? Am I reveling in the knowledge that the most unique man I've ever met is interested in me? Or at least in my body.

His tattoos and cavalier attitude might as well be a giant billboard warning me not to approach. Everything about him should push me away, but I'm drawn to him instead. Why am I by his side, walking toward the room we just secured for ourselves? It's as though I'm on autopilot, and I'm not sure I want to take back control of my body and mind. I can't explain what's happening, but I'll have a lot to unload the next time I see my therapist.

Once we get to our door, it opens in one try, despite my trembling hands. Before I can step inside, Jake presses his hand to my back again, spurring me on.

The room is comfortably large, but not enough to ignore how oppressive the massive bed feels. Especially when Jake closes the door behind us. In an attempt to earn myself some time to relax, I come up with a simple idea.

"We'll take turns in the shower," I say, twisting around to face him. He's much closer to me than I expected, so I take a surprised step back.

"I showered right before coming." Oh… Since he continues coming closer, his face inches from mine, I keep stepping back until I'm stopped by the bed. "And I can't let you get rid of the evidence, red. I want to see it."

"See what?"

"How much you want me."

This only causes more "evidence" to coat the lace of my underwear, and I press my knees together, desperate to muffle how my core aches. A lot. I want him a lot. Which is disconcerting, to say the least.

He grabs my coat and throws it on an armchair to the side. Then, his fingers brush against my shoulder, and he rids me of my clutch bag. He dips a hand in his pocket, and when he takes out two condoms from there and throws them on the bed behind me, I sense my face warm up. I'm as mesmerized as the first time when he removes his leather jacket, revealing muscular arms covered in intricate drawings. This is another reason why we're here. I want to discover it all.

When he bends toward my face with his to the side, I'm struck by a surge of cowardice.

"You-you said we'd take it slow," I remind him, flustered.

"Oh, but this is slow, red."

"Then what is fast?"

"Fast is me pouncing on you as soon as we passed through that door. Fast is me ramming into you within seconds, like I've been eager to do since I found you perched on that stool last week. Fast is you already moaning my name because I'm balls deep into your tight little cunt."

These crude, almost vile words shouldn't do the things they do to me. I should find them revolting and walk out because who is he to treat me so crassly? But in that very moment, as my body contends with desires I've never experienced before, I realize no one's ever wanted me with the intensity he does. And I've never needed someone so much in my life.

This is what Hana spoke of. This is pure, unadulterated lust. This is sex in its truest and most potent form. And it's about time I experienced it.

"Ah, then if this is slow," I say, pushing myself up on the tips of my Louboutins.

I see how my boldness surprises him, but he doesn't recoil when my lips meet his. It takes him a couple of seconds to gather himself, then all hell breaks loose.

His powerful hands slither on the silk of my dress as he wraps his arms around me, and then I'm caged in his tight embrace, my entire front plastered onto his. His head tilts to the side when he deepens our kiss, and the warm and wet brush of his tongue drags across my lips.

Damned be everything I know and who I am. For now, I'm whatever he wants me to be. Time to finally let loose and prove to everyone that I'm not a block of ice or a frigid bitch.

I part my lips, responding to his lewd request. A split second later, his deft tongue slips into my mouth, famished and daring. While he explores this part of me with adamant passion, his hands course over my body, tugging and pulling, igniting intense shivers wherever he touches.

This brings me back to a week ago when I panicked and abandoned him in the lobby downstairs. This kiss feels just as good as then, but the promise of what's to come makes it even better—if that's possible. It isn't just him trying to sway my mind in his favor. It's a preamble for the sex we're about to have.

My fingers climb up his broad torso, exploring the tight muscles over his T-shirt, and my hand slips around his nape while the other one grabs onto his shoulder. When his devious hands dig into my behind and shove me into his erection, a wanton moan escapes me. He's so hard against my core, the bulge alarmingly imposing.

Once more, his version of slow gives me a rush of adrenaline, like I just jumped off a plane and am free-falling. But I don't even have a parachute to slow my descent.

Heaven's sake, this is the most erotic thing I've ever experienced, and neither of us is even naked yet.

"You want this, red?" he groans into our kiss. Another moan from me, another shiver that spreads from my core to my extremities. When I don't answer, too overwhelmed for it, he pulls me harder against him. "You want my cock? My pierced cock?"

"Yes…"

"Will you take it all? Every last inch of it?"

"I'll try."

My answer, although genuine, triggers his laughter. It comes in the way of our embrace, but he finds something else to focus on. I stand still before him as he pulls down the zipper on the back of my dress. I let him, discarding my modesty, and when he takes a step back, I use the distance to admire his gorgeous features once more. He really is a magnificent specimen.

I barely notice when he pushes the straps of my dress to the side, but the garment falls into a murmur of silk. His pupils double in size when he takes me in, and I fight the urge to shield myself from his penetrative stare.

Because sex was the determined outcome of our encounter, I'm wearing the prettiest lingerie set I own—a cream lace duo that almost matches my skin tone. He says nothing for the longest time, his eyes ravenously devouring me. When he unconsciously reaches down for his crotch and gives his hard-on a pinch and a tug through his jeans, I urgently squeeze my thighs together. That part of him will be in me soon, and everything in me longs to fast forward.

"Fucking hell, red…" he mutters.

"Your turn," I order, desperate to discover the rest of his tattoos.

His eyes never stop raking up and down my body while he reaches for the collar on the back of his neck. Then he slips off his top in one smooth gesture, and it's my turn to be in awe. Arranged feathers do indeed cover his shoulders, but his chest has a different design, something too complex for me to properly make out, given my advanced state of lust. I do notice the small bar in his nipple though, an eighth piercing I didn't know existed. Most of the ribbed plane of his abs is devoid of ink, as if he decided that the lean muscles there were enough art. They are like a Renaissance sculpture, a masterpiece made of flesh and skin.

"They said checkout at noon, right?" he asks, meeting my eyes again.

"Yes."

"We better get on with it, then. Otherwise, we won't have enough time for all the things I plan on doing to you."

My eyes widen at his statement. We have nearly fifteen hours before then. Surely, we'll have more than enough for whatever he has in mind.

Jake doesn't allow me time to respond, back against me in a blink, retaking my lips with fervor. This time, when his tongue comes to meet mine, I feel bolder and return his enthusiasm. As we kiss like we're possessed, his hands expertly unclasp my bra before discarding it.

As soon as they are freed, my breasts disappear under his palms. When he pinches both my nipples, deep and powerful jolts bolt to my core, making my knees buckle.

"Jake," I moan into his mouth.

He pulls away, and we look down at what he's doing to me. His big, rough, and tanned hands starkly contrast with the delicate cream color of my mounds and the soft pink of my tips, especially with the inky drawings tattooed on the back of them. It feels like we were never supposed to meet, but here we are, about to engage in the most intimate act two people can share.

"You're so fucking perfect, red. I was half-convinced I was getting catfished, but Jesus fucking Christ… I'm beyond glad I gave you a try."

I never thought I'd say this, but, "I'm glad I made that profile."

When his lips return to me, they latch on my neck. He kisses his way down, licking and nibbling as he does, and when he lowers enough to engulf a rosy nipple in the warmth of his mouth, I finally get a glimpse at the intricate design on his muscular back. He has an enormous phoenix in orange and red hues that take up most of it, and its spread wings pour onto his arms and neck.

The sheer size of it is a reminder that we couldn't be more mismatched. But somehow, I cannot imagine him differently than how he appears before me now. Rebellious, unique, and brimming with sex appeal.

It takes some focus to think past the pleasure of his teeth, lips, and tongue on my nipple, but I reach for his belt, eager to see all of him.

"These stay on for now," he grunts, pushing my hands away.

"Why?"

He lets go of my tip and straightens to meet my gaze. "I don't want to scare you away."

The idea has me smiling. "I'm here for the piercings. I know what you're working with."

"Oh, sweet red. You really don't."

I'm still trying to process his answer when he lifts me off my feet by the back of my thighs and pulls me onto him. With just my thong to shield me, the hard bulge of his erection feels more real than ever despite the thick fabric of his jeans.

We're lost in our kiss when he lowers me onto the bed. The mattress is soft underneath me, but all I can think of is the hardness of his body over mine. And his voice… I swear I could get drunk on it. I've never been with a man like him. Not even close. This enterprise of mine is a novelty in many ways.

"May I initiate—No, don't do that, love," he grunts when I writhe my aching center onto his hard length. He stills me with a solid hand and resumes his request. "May I initiate ‘oral sex performed on genitals?'"

God, yes!I don't even care that he's teasing me, obsessed by the idea of his mouth on that part of me. I nod, noticing the way his eyes darken.

Leisurely, he lays kisses down my body, torturing my nipples on his way to my core. I've forgotten who I am. My morals and principles are completely gone. He set them ablaze, and they went up in flames before I could even try to contain the arson.

When his fingers slip into the sides of my thong, his tatted knuckles brushing on my pale skin, I tense, my hands fisting the sheets so I don't try to stop him. He's about to see. As soon as the lace is gone, he'll see exactly how much I want him and how his dirty words worked on me. As if he's aware of this, he makes it last, slowly pulling on it. When the triangle of curls that I keep there is unveiled, he gives me a wolfish grin.

Yes. I'm red everywhere. I get irrationally mad whenever a man asks me if I'm a natural redhead. But Jake wondering doesn't hit the same.

He finishes tugging at my underwear, getting a second big reveal. To add to my embarrassment, I feel the fabric stick to me, completely soaked.

"Fuck, red," he curses.

My instinct is to hide myself, so I attempt to press my thighs together. But he stops me swiftly, hooking his hands behind my knees and bringing them higher, spreading me. His eyes are on my intimacy, unyielding, and I close mine to preserve my sanity.

"No, look at me," he orders. I comply, powered by a force deep within me. He's so big and mighty, so domineering as he looms over me like a threat, that I question again what led me to this. "You will look at me while I eat your drenched pussy."

He slowly lowers, never breaking the link of our gazes, and a realization hits me. His perfect physique, his striking face, the tattoos, the searing intensity of his light green eyes… He's the devil, isn't he?

And I just signed a contract with him.

The first lick he gives me is a revelation. It sends prickling shivers through my entire body, making my back arch. And he doesn't even touch that sweet spot but merely laps at my slit, where wetness has gathered.

The low "hmm" that rumbles in his throat, like I'm some delicious treat, nearly undoes me.

Then he licks me again. And again. And again. And my head quickly falls back onto the mattress with a long sigh.

Once I'm free of excess wetness, his tongue lazily explores the rest of me, and I brace for the sparks. They do come, but every time the pointed tip misses that one critical spot, I grow increasingly impatient. It drags slightly to the right of it. Then to the left. Then, he draws an arch that manages to miss it entirely. After what must be an entire minute of torture, I realize he might not be as good at this as I expected.

"Do you not know where it is?!" I frustratedly ask, pushing myself up on my elbows.

He barely lifts his head, his gaze now on mine. "Oh, I know exactly where it is."

"Then why do you keep missing it?"

His deep chuckle fans across my folds, making me shiver. "Because it would be too easy. If I start licking your clit, you'll come in twenty seconds."

I snort. Twenty seconds? That's unlikely.

His eyebrow cocks up as if I just issued a challenge. It seems I did because his face lowers again, and his mouth falls right on my clitoris, confirming his words. Then, he endeavors to show me just how wrong I was.

Oh, he does know where it is. And he also knows exactly what to do with it.

His lips maintain a suction that heightens everything, and the rapid pace at which he flicks my clit has me recoiling, struck by too much pleasure to endure. But his hands are on my hips, holding me firmly in place. Sparks ignite from my core to spread through my limbs and end in my fingers and toes.

With a whimper, my hand leaves the duvet to tangle into his hair, the thick strands soft under my fingers. "Oh God," I moan, sensing myself ascending faster than I can handle.

Twenty seconds wasn't that far off. Actually, I think his devious tongue gets me to the finish line with two to spare.

I explode, hips bucking, back lifting off the bed, legs pressing together and imprisoning his head. His name is on my lips as I orgasm, my entire body taut, my nipples hard, my core spasming. Wave after wave of bliss wreck me, tearing loud moans out of my throat. I've never orgasmed like this. Not with such magnitude, not to such heights. No man or toy ever brought me this amount of pleasure. In fact, I never suspected it was possible.

Jake never halts his ministrations, maintaining a quick and expert pace that drags and drags my pleasure for many seconds. This, too, I didn't know. That an orgasm could last more than three fleeting beats.

When it becomes too much and lasts for too long, I force my legs to part and try to push against his head to make him stop. This is too much pleasure. Too much stimulation. It scares me, almost.

He clasps his hand around one of my wrists to shove it away, and with his other hand, he—

"Oh, God," I cry out, my insides pulsing around the two thick fingers he harshly thrusts into me.

When he begins pumping them in and out, it makes it all so much better and so much worse. I'm pretty sure a second orgasm has seamlessly melted into the first one because I'm shaking and arching all over again, flooded once more by ripples of pleasure.

When his gestures slow, I thank whatever compelled him to. I need a break after all this. An hour-long break.

"Do you have any more complaints regarding my technique?" he cockily asks, moving up enough for me to see his wet and pink lips. I shake my head, distrustful of my tongue. "Good. Then let me proceed without interrupting. I need to focus on this ‘genital penetration by use of fingers' thing. It's very technical."

This further teasing almost makes me miss the most essential part of his sentence. "Proceed?"

"That was just to get you relaxed. Now I'll show you what I can really do."

This time, he isn't as forward, leisurely exploring me. I quickly understand that his goal isn't to make me come anymore, but instead climb, and climb, and climb, until I'm a pleading and begging mess.

He gives and withdraws with perfect accuracy, pushing me to beg a few times. But as soon as I'm about to shatter under his deft tongue and around his clever fingers, he changes something that delays the impending climax.

While he fingers me with his right hand, grazing his fingertips onto that spot that feels so good, the other one twists and pulls on my nipples, inflicting another kind of torture. His tongue is the perfect mix of soft and rough, knowing precisely what to do with my swollen and pulsing bud.

After God knows how many minutes of this, I decide I can't take more of his edging. He'll drive me mad if he denies me again.

When he makes me climb once more, my fingers tighten into his hair, my hips lifting to press my core harder into his mouth.

"Oh, God… Don't stop! Don't st—"

But then everything stops. His tongue is gone, his hands have freed me, and I'm alone on the verge of a devastating orgasm.

There's a glimmer in his eyes that I don't quite understand. "What are you doing?" I whimper.

"You used one of the consent-withdrawing words."

It takes me a second to understand what he's implying. "I said don't stop."

"Still said stop."

I let out a frustrated groan. "You know exactly what I meant."

"I warned you those weren't good words, red. You didn't believe me."

I press my lips together, refusing to admit he was right. But he made his point, and I now understand what he meant earlier, even though it made no sense then.

"Just admit you were wrong, and I'll continue," he demands.

Everything in me wants to deny him, but the precipice I was about to fall over is slowly fading away. I need him to finish what he started. "I was wrong," I mutter lowly.

"What was that?"

Asshole."I was wrong."

He smirks, all cocky and satisfied, before resuming like he promised. Three fingers enter me this time, stretching my walls with their thickness, and his tongue comes down on my aching spot with precision.

"Yes!" I moan, shamelessly grinding onto him. "Right there—Don't stop!"

As soon as I feel his retreat, I lock my thighs around his head. "Continue!" I say instead, on the brink of orgasm. I can feel his smile on my core, but I don't care. I'm so, so close.

When I finally tilt, it feels like my entire being shatters into a thousand pieces. All the teasing, the edging, the delay… It makes my release even more intense than the first two he brought.

I'm lost in a sea of pleasure, an abandoned ship at the mercy of the tumultuous waves of a tempest. And he's the one who conjured this mighty hurricane.

My mind is still foggy when he lets go of me, so I barely realize it when he releases my legs. But as he stands by the bed to open his jeans, the sound of the zipper pulls me out of the misty haze of lust. My movements are heavy and shaky as I lift myself to my elbows. I have to see his shaft and his piercings. I need to, for my own sake.

When he pulls his pants down, along with his black underwear, his erection springs out. And I forget how to breathe.

Holy…

His penis is so hard that it's angled up, allowing me to see the ladder that led us to this moment. Six piercings are perfectly arranged on the underside of him, and then there's a bigger one that goes through his glans, from the sensitive crest below to the upper part.

It looks like a weapon, meant to hurt more than give pleasure—not only because of his sheer size, but also because of the jewels embedded in the flesh. His tip is wet, glistening with desire, but I barely notice it, too absorbed by the bars of surgical steel.

"So? Do you think that'll do?" he asks with a brazen grin.

Do what? Wreck me? Shred my vagina to pieces? Surely. But do I care? Not anymore.

I don't reply, but my expression doesn't seem to leave room for doubt. I watch, mesmerized by his nudity, as he finishes getting undressed, and then I observe with fascination when he unrolls a condom that he picked up next to me. It's not an easy feat, but his practiced gestures tell me he's done it more than enough times to master it. Once he's fully sheathed, he comes back on top of me and helps me slide higher on the bed.

I spread my legs to welcome his broad frame, and his gaze leisurely strolls between us, starting with the red curls at my mound, lifting to the pink tips of my breasts, and landing on my face.

"Time for my favorite thing in the world: vaginal penetration by penis," he teases yet again. He can't let it go, can he?

I don't even try to resist the temptation and slip a hand between us, wrapping it around his imposing girth. Blindly, my fingers and palm explore him. He remains patient as I do, his breath hitching when I squeeze him a little harder. The piercings of the ladder are quite spaced out already, and I see why four would be too few. With his length, he needed more than that.

"Do they bring you pleasure?" I ask, teasing the metallic balls I can feel under the latex.

"The apadravya, yes. Some."

"And the others?"

"The others aren't for me, red."

My walls pulse at the thought. I shouldn't be so ready to have him, not with the way I just orgasmed. But I lost touch with reality long ago, which is probably why I use my hold on him to align his head with my awaiting opening.

"Should we count them together?" he suggests, his hand replacing mine. My throat swells with a stuck breath when he teases my folds, dragging his round head up and down, the ends of the largest piercing adding to the sensation. Then, before I can beg him to get on with it, he presses into my slit.

The first bar of steel—the largest one—enters, and I can already understand its appeal. Then, a full inch sinks into me, and while he's thicker than anything I've ever welcomed, I'm too wet and aroused to find it uncomfortable.

"One," he grunts, pausing. Displaying an unexpected amount of restraint, he pushes further, enough to pass another piercing. "Two."

My hips jolt forward, compelled by an unstoppable spasm, and more of him disappears into me.

"Fuck," he swears, as surprised as I am. "Well, three and four, then."

He leans on a single elbow so his hand can still me. Seconds stretch, and I'm going half-mad by the time two more piercings enter me. There's one left, but I'm not sure it'll fit. I feel fuller than I ever have, my walls distended to their limits by his thickness.

Unhurriedly, he pulls out, the piercings rippling against my walls as he does. I don't expect it when he punches back into me, but before I can even gasp in surprise, he mutters, "Seven," right into my ear.

There. The reason why I'm here is officially accomplished. I'm trying a Jacob's ladder. I'm experimenting, being audacious and bold. I'm not so boring now, am I?

"Fuck, red… I've been wondering if you were as tight as you're uptight. You so fucking are."

That makes my cheeks burn while I quiver around him. He draws out for a tentative thrust, and I feel his large jewel drag against my front wall. It feels amazing. Those mutilations I couldn't fathom now make sense. This is an upgrade, and the pain it must have caused him is worth it—on my end, at least.

When I stretch my neck up, he gets my silent demand and kisses me. His tongue enters me, mimicking what's going on between us. He's slow, but I can feel the tension of his muscles under my coursing hands. He's holding back, mindful of my lack of practice.

"Harder," I beg into our kiss, bringing my knees higher onto his sides to be more open. "And faster."

I swallow his crude curse, welcoming the increased pace and intensity of his thrusts.

It's clear that he knows precisely how female anatomy works. The rolls of his hips are sinuous, deep, and firm. Every time he rams into me, not only do the metal balls drag on my walls, but his base also slams onto my overworked clit, adding to the sensations. With his earlier ministrations, I'm way too receptive to these thrusts, and my oversensitive flesh feels raw, its nerve endings on fire.

This feels like nothing I've ever known before. It's like sex is a hundred times better than it ever was, like I've experienced it from behind a veil until now. But it's not just the piercings, even though they make this extraordinarily unique. It's him, Ladder Guy, the cocky, overconfident, rebellious man currently plowing into me. It's the tattoos between us every time I look down. It's his stupidly attractive face, his whole aura. He's what makes it so terribly amazing.

In fact, it's all so shockingly incredible that I end up exploding again, way too soon after my last climax.

"Aah, Jake! Yes!" I shout, ravaged by my orgasm. My walls clench and spasm, squeezing him and the jewels, shivers making my body jolt beneath his.

"Shit, red, I—Fuck!" he mutters. His thrusts lose their pointed precision, and the roar he can't quite contain tells me why. My climax took him by surprise and triggered his. My arms and legs hold onto him tightly as he punches into me with intensity. He's as lost in bliss as I am.

His grunts in my ear while his body tremors propel my orgasm to even greater heights.

Hana was right. Oh, God. She was so right. Great sex is worth everything.