I shake my head, protesting, but he keeps touching me, and it's not thirty seconds before I'm throwing my head back in surrender. He slips his finger inside me, and I am so far gone I can’t think anymore. I don’t care what he wants me to say. At this point, I’ll say anything.
Until he pulls it out, and I’m left empty. I look up at him, my breath short. “What the hell?”
Caulter shakes his head. “Naughty girl. You’re not going to get to come that easily.”
“Whatever, Caulter." I choke out the words, eyeing his obvious hardness. “Fine. But I know you want it. More than I do.”
He leans in close to me, taking my earlobe between his teeth. The movement sends a shudder down the length of my body. “Tell me how much I want it, Princess.”
I watch as he unzips his jeans and reaches inside to release his erect cock. I hadn’t forgotten how huge it is -- in fact, his damn dick has preoccupied my brain for the last few weeks to a point where I can’t focus on anything else. But seeing it again, I'm transfixed. He strokes himself from base to tip, without taking his eyes off me. I almost can't believe that he’s so brazen to just whip out his cock in front of me right here, except that it's Caulter.
What's more unbelievable is how intensely my body responds as I watch him move his hand up and down his length, the throbbing between my legs so insistent I can barely take it. “You can’t do that in here,” I protest weakly.
Caulter ignores me, his hand moving up and down. “I’d like it to be your hand here. Or better yet, that perfect mouth of yours wrapped around my cock.”
“No way,” I say. “We’re about to be back at the house. It’s not like you can get off in the next two minutes before we get to my house."
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, if that’s your only objection,” he says, “you don't have to worry. I'm not about to get off here. I'm going to wait until I'm lodged deep in your pussy before I come."
Reaching for my hand, he places it on his shaft. I should pull away, teach him a lesson in appropriate behavior, but I don’t. With Caulter, I find myself perpetually unable to resist. He’s so hard, and I wrap my hand around his shaft, the sensation of his hardness so distracting. Incredibly distracting. “You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you? How it felt when I was inside you?"
I don’t answer, my thumb finding a bead of pre-cum at the tip of his head. I rub it in circles on his tip.
I move my hand along his shaft, long and languid strokes, until the slowing of the car jolts me out of my nearly-hypnotic state. I quickly adjust my skirt and scoot across the seat as we pass through the gate in front of the house, clearing my throat and intentionally not looking in Caulter's direction.
For all I know, Caulter will probably walk out of the limo with his pants around his ass, hard-on fully displayed, just to fuck with me. Of course, the joke would be on him, since Rose has the day off and the only one at the house to torment would be me.
Shit. We're all alone in the house.
I’m totally screwed. And the problem is, the thought of being screwed by Caulter is too damn appealing.
As soon as the car pulls up to the house, Katherine is out of that thing like a bat out of hell. It’s actually laughable. She's practically running, full throttle, toward the door.
I catch her arm at the front door, and spin her around to face me. Her breath is short, and I know full and well it’s not because of that little jog; I've watched Katherine at track practice at Brighton enough to know that.
“Is Rose home?” I ask, and I know what the answer is by the expression on her face -- lust mixed with apprehension.
“No,” she says. “And I’m going upstairs. You do what you want.”
“Ask me what I want.”
“No,” she says. “And there’s a security camera out here.” I let her go, and she opens the door, but once we're inside, I put my hand right back where it was on her wrist and pull her against me, against my hardness.
"What the hell are you doing?” she asks.
“There are no cameras in here, right?” I ask.
“So?” She turns her face up, her jaw set. “Do you think that means you can just grab me like some kind of caveman?”
“Ask me what I want, Princess,” I repeat, pulling her more tightly against me.
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“I’ll stop calling you that when I’m buried inside you,” I say, trailing my finger down her cleavage to where the fabric on the top of her dress barely covers it. Her chest rises as she inhales sharply. “Don’t you want to know?”