Filthy Little Games

Ch. 6: The Unholy Water

EMERY

He's a distraction. That's all this is. A soothing, almost ethereal distraction. His voice. His touch. His commands. They fucking numb me. I've never experienced this type of peaceful hell before. And it is hell. I deserve this. I deserve to burn in the hottest of deserts. I should stop. I should keep my distance. I should heed Sophie's warning. Her foreshadowing. I should draw a line. But goddamn it, the line is too tempting, it calls to me. I want to toe it. I want to walk it. I want to run across it so many fucking times that it disappears.

I'm a bad person.

Good people don't play these filthy little games.

But being bad feels so fucking good. Why must it feel so fucking good?

Quinton's eyes glow like indestructive sapphires, precious gems that I can't escape. His gaze is locked on me, tethered to my every movement, my every breath. The water ripples as I drag my hand between my parted thighs, and it's as if I'm drowning in a pool of decadent sin, unholy water that condemns my actions, my thoughts, my inability to resist.

"Good girl," Quinton rasps, dragging a thumb across his bottom lip. "Nice and slow, darling." He tilts his head, gaze commanding yet so fucking tender. "I want to you feel it all." He swallows, a tiny growl reverberating in his chest as my eyelids flutter shut, and my clit pulses beneath my fingertips. I hear him shift positions, a light gust of air flowing against the side of my face, and then his voice is louder, his lips feathering against my ear as he positions himself behind me. I gasp as he captures my nipples between his taunting fingers. "Play, little darling." Pain shoots through my breasts as he squeezes tighter, his voice deeper as he commands, "I said play."

Like a willing soldier, I obey his orders, my knees parting, resting on the white, cold curves of the tub as I flick and rub and torment myself.

"Just like that, darling," Quinton rasps, edging me on with his calculated words. "A little harder now." I moan as he twists on my nipples, the pleasurable pain damn near euphoric. "I said harder, darling." I quicken my speed, tiny tidal waves bashing against the tub as I do as I'm told, as my core clenches, as I listen intently to his guidance, to his cult-like preaching. "Yes, keep going, darling. Keep fucking going." My stomach clenches, pussy vibrating as his words of encouragement keep flowing, "Good girl, little Emery. Keep going. Keep fucking yourself. Yes, just like that. Just like that." His voice dips into a carnivorous growl. "Come for me, little Emery. Fucking come."

And just like that, my entire body convulses, like he's performed a goddamn exorcism on my possessed and evil body. My legs quiver, knees shaking, the voltage reaching my toes as wanton moans slip past my lips.

Holy hell. Oh, my God.

I feel his lips press against my damp forehead, my energy level depleted, my eyes unable to open. "Don't say in here too long," he whispers. "You'll prune."

I force my eyes to open, and with a puzzled frown, I glance up at him. "Are you leaving?" He smiles down at me, his hard cock bulging out of his trousers. I reach over to offer him some relief but he moves away. "What are—"

"This wasn't about me, darling," he says, tilting his head as his gaze skims my naked, spent body. He sucks in a sharp, stabilizing breath. "Sleep soundly tonight, Emery. We've got a big couple of days ahead."

I frown. "Days?"

A cunning smirk lights up his face. "Goodnight, darling." He turns around to exit the ensuite but stops before the door. He cranes his neck over his shoulder, eyes darkening as he adds, "Don't touch yourself while I'm gone."