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Dirty Girl

Dirty Girl

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It was raining all the way to his place and they didn’t talk much in the car. She sat in the passenger seat with her legs crossed, listening to the rain as it slanted down against the dark windows. When he pulled up outside his building and they got out of the car, she wasn’t really in any hurry. Half of her wanted to stand outside until she was soaked through. But he took her hand and pulled her inside so she started up the stairs.

He was behind her, a little further away than she’d have liked. Her dress wasn’t too short but it still left her feeling like he could see all the way up. Inside his apartment, it was cold so he turned up the thermostat and switched on the coffee maker. She hung up her damp jacket. Music from the apartment above throbbed through the walls.

He leafed through a stack of mail he’d picked up from downstairs. His brows pulled together. She watched him a while. He was ignoring her on purpose. Part of her wanted to hit him and part of her wanted to hug him and never let go.

“You were driving me crazy,” she said eventually, only because she needed his attention.

He glanced up.

“You do the same,” he said. “All the time.”

She’d never known anyone like him and doubted she ever would. There was something. Some perfect blend of lust and love that made her feel perpetually content and yet thrillingly on edge. Nobody had ever understood her like he did.

She swallowed and walked closer to him then changed her mind midway and swivelled to drop down on the sofa. The hem of her dress came up to mid-thigh and she tugged it down self-consciously.

“Open them,” he said. He’d been watching her approach and he set down the mail, finally giving her his undivided attention.

She blinked. “What?”

“Your legs,” He was standing in front of her. “Open them. Show me.”

She didn’t. She crossed them instead.

“I can’t believe you touched me like that,” she said. She could hardly look at his face. “What if the waiter saw?”

“That’s why I told you to keep quiet,” he said, like he was a reasonable person.

Her heartbeat still felt irregular. It’d been maybe two hours ago. The restaurant had been brightly lit and bustling, their table by a window in the far corner and she’d been telling him about something inane, something unimportant, an article she’d read when he’d started distracting her.

She’d felt him touch her knee first, fingers working higher until he’d grazed her underwear. Her legs had tightened automatically but his fingers had grasped her thigh, almost a warning, daring her to refuse. The restaurant had been busy, the bar crowded by people ducking in to escape the rain outside. Nobody was paying them any attention. She wanted him to stop but then she didn’t want him to stop at all. His fingers continued to urge against her, pushing her to give him an entry.

“Open your legs,” he'd said.


She was too aware of everything else. The lights. The people. The half-full water glass in front of her.

“Do it,” His voice was a growl. “It’s mine. It’s all mine.”

She almost moaned. Her legs shifted apart a fraction but it was all he needed. As soon as she relented slightly, he was there, touching her, fingers sliding into her lace panties and stroking hard. She was already wet. It didn’t take much with him. Sometimes just the sound of his voice made her flush with want.

“You’re like silk,” he said, his mouth brushing her ear. Silk. She should have been. She always wanted to be perfect for him. He explored her relentlessly, stroking her soft skin and feeling how wet she’d already become. His finger eased inside her and began pumping steadily. A moan caught in her throat.

“Shhhh.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her face. “Try not to attract attention, huh?”

He didn’t stop when the waiter approached. Her fingers curled around his wrist, trying to pull him away but he was too strong. He didn’t stop touching her even as she was trying to order, barely able to speak. The waiter eyed her curiously. Her face felt far too hot. She didn’t even know what she said but he finally walked away and they were alone again. Him and her. He was so close, so perfectly close. His finger retreated to tease her clit, massaging it in firm, slow circles. It made everything inside her build so completely that she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.

“Is that good?” he murmured. His eyes were all over her face, drinking her in. She could hear how turned on he was by the way his voice dragged. “You like when I play with you, baby?”

“Please,” She felt like she was dripping. His foot had hooked into the inside of her ankle, holding her open. Her legs were trembling. His finger didn’t stop. Slow and firm and insistent. Her teeth were still lodged firmly in her lower lip but a soft whimper escaped as she helplessly pushed back at him, trying to increase the pressure.

“You want to cum?” He kissed her then, briefly on her mouth. “Right here? Like a dirty girl?”

“No,” Her eyes darted helplessly around the restaurant. “Please. No.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Oh god.”

She didn’t want to but she needed to. Couldn’t imagine anything else. His finger pushed back inside her, stroking and curling. She gripped the edge of the table hard. He was watching her face, studying it, like he wanted to memorise every little reaction he invoked. She wanted to hate him. Wanted to pull away. His finger came back to her clit again, pressing against it hard until she felt like it was the centre of her entire body. She could feel the way it throbbed, knew he felt it too.

And then he stopped. His hand pulled away, wet fingers coming up to smear over her lips before he kissed her again, deep and hard this time. She was breathless when he stopped, her mind still a whirlwind. Her body felt wound tight, like one little nudge could tip her into orgasm. Shifted in her seat, conscious of the damp lace between her legs.

“Take them off,” he said.

She looked at him. Couldn’t even speak anymore. Just looked at him, eyes wide and beseeching.

“Go to the ladies room and take them off and then come back here.”

She was too turned on to refuse. Knew that if she didn’t listen, he might not let her cum all night. And the thought was unbearable. She stood up, smoothed down her burgundy dress and went to the bathroom, feeling his eyes on her the entire way. Once there, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror for a minute. Her face was flushed, the gloss on her lips faded. She washed her hands, ducked into a cubicle to drag her damp underwear down and balled the scrap of lace up into her fist.

She stilled a second, taking a moment to breathe and then she steeled herself and walked out, all the way back to their table. It occurred to her that she was entirely naked except for her dress and heeled sandals. He knew. Only him. Only he knew her this way.

She shoved the underwear into his hand and tried not to react as he brought it to his face to inhale. He knew her inside out and yet her heart still jumped at the things he did. She sipped water from her glass. When she looked at him again, the panties had disappeared, stowed into his pocket. He didn’t try to touch her again.

They ate dinner. She couldn’t remember anything they ate. He talked about things that didn’t register. She watched his mouth as he spoke, the sound of his words easing inside her and keeping her perpetually on edge. Every sentence seemed loaded. She gazed at him helplessly. She should have hated him but she could never hate him because she loved everything he did, even when it drove her insane. She was so in love with him it seemed impossible to ever stop. Sometimes it felt like she’d love him for eternity, that even after everything was done, their souls would still be aligned somewhere. It wasn’t something that could just stop or switch off.

“Open them,” he said again and she blinked, jolted back to the present, to his apartment, the sofa against her bare legs and the warm hum of the coffee machine.

He was watching her from across the room, waiting patiently for her to succumb and show him. She wondered who wanted it more. Maybe it was mutual. It usually was. It excited her. That high level of lust where every niceness evaporated and all the names came out. My dirty girl. My dirty little slut. My filthy angel. There was something so painfully, sordidly sweet about the things he called her. She craved his lust more than anything; loved when he got so carried away. She wanted to be those things to him. To be everything. Everything he could ever want. She thought about opening her legs but the dress she was wearing was restrictive and she knew she wouldn’t get her legs nearly as wide as she’d like if he made her start touching herself. Maybe he knew too. She stood up.

“I have to change,” she said and she walked through into the bedroom. She didn’t bother closing the door and reached back to unzip the dress even as she was still walking. She pulled her arms clear and the material pooled around her feet. She left it on the end of the bed and walked into the adjoining bathroom. He didn’t come after her. She switched on the shower and stepped under, careful not to get her hair wet as she washed methodically. She hoped he’d join her while knowing he wouldn’t but there was still the idea of it; of his stepping in behind her, his hands on her shoulders and then moving around to grope her breasts. She looked down at her own insubstantial hands and sighed. She switched off the shower and stood there a minute until she shivered and stepped out.

He was waiting when she re-entered the living room. His eyes dropped to her bare legs and dragged slowly upwards to the hem of the t-shirt she’d taken from his drawer. He frowned, maybe trying to figure out whether or not she was wearing underwear. She'd untied her hair and it hung loose over one shoulder.

They watched each other silently. Alive. She could hear the beat of her heart, the way it thudded for him. The fine hairs on her arms were standing up. He was looking at her so completely that it made her clench, her nipples tightening into hard points. She wondered if they were visible against the shirt but didn’t quite dare to look down and check.

The coffee machine beeped from the kitchen but he still didn’t move.

She tilted her head, surveying him.

“You want me to get it?”

He blinked before he realised what she was saying.


He walked through into the cramped kitchen and she heard him clattering cups, then the steady sound of pouring. The refrigerator opened, milk splashed once and then the fridge thudded shut again. She sat on the edge of the windowsill, listening to it rain with her legs extended in front of her. He came back with two cups, walked over and handed one to her.

She inhaled the steam and sipped. He sat next to her. His leg against hers. One layer of clothing between them.

“We should talk,” he said.

“About how terribly behaved you are?”

He half-laughed.

“No. About tomorrow.”

Rain pattered against the window, the wind sporadically strengthening it. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t think she could. Tomorrow she’d have to go home and then who knew how long it’d be before they saw one another again? There was nothing to talk about. Talking only brought the inevitable forward, ruining the precious time they had left. Tomorrow would come and she’d leave and that’d be it. She’d go home and dream for months about seeing him again, memories and phone calls keeping them alive until the time finally came.

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” she said and she moved away from the window to drop down onto the sofa. She sipped the coffee he’d made for her, sprawled on his sofa in his apartment, wearing his t-shirt and wondered how long it’d be until she really was a part of him. A part that never had to leave. It seemed impossible to settle for anything less. She didn’t want to think about being back home alone and thinking helplessly, endlessly about him and what he was doing and all the people lucky enough to get a part of him.

“You don’t wanna talk about it?”


He sighed.

“I just thought – I don’t know. Maybe we could do something nice before, y’know?”

Her smile was bittersweet.

“Everything we do is nice.”

She didn’t look at him but she felt him smile.

“You’re nice,” he offered and it was the kind of thing she ordinarily said which only made it warm her even more. She set down her empty cup. He was looking at her. The t-shirt had lifted when she’d sat down, revealing her lacy underwear. His eyes were on it. She sighed.

“What did you do with my other ones?”

He blinked. Looked at her face.

“Your other what?”

She eyed him.

“You know what.”

He smiled, went in his pocket and brought out the panties.

“They were so wet,” he said. “God.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go away.”

“Like, soaking,” he said, widening his eyes for effect.

“No, they weren’t,” she protested. “They were just – damp.”

“Like, dripping,” he went on. “I mean, you should drink more water. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

“I hate you,” she said but she was laughing even as she hid her face in her hands.

He laughed.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said. “You make me crazy.”

It was just them. Only the two of them. How it was meant to be. Life seemed to have fit into place, slotting like the final piece of a jigsaw. They were together and alone and warm and safe in his apartment and being alive couldn’t get any better. There was a level of comfort about it. Everything else became immaterial, everybody else bored her.

“Take them off,” he said.

She didn’t even bother to protest. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and lifted her butt off the sofa, drawing her legs up and dragging the underwear off. She wondered why she’d even bothered putting them on at all. Her legs were still closed and he was looking at them like it’d make them open. She considered crossing them.

“Just fucking show me,” he said, before she could move. “I can’t – just – touch it for me.”

She assessed him from over her knees. Part of her was relieved. The way he’d been looking at her all night had her aching to touch herself and yet doing it in front of him added a whole new level to the evening. She wanted to please him and yet she wanted to hide. Please him. She parted her legs, not looking at him. The air was cool against her flushed pussy and her eyes closed momentarily. Her hand slipped down and touched. She felt wet, open, ready for him already.

“You’re – fucking – perfect,” he said. His hand was at the front of his pants.

She sighed, opening her legs wider and he stood up, standing directly opposite her.

“God, you’re so fucking hot. And all fucking mine.”

She sighed. “Yours.”

Her fingers were moving, slicking back and forth. She sank further back into the sofa, displaying herself obscenely for him. But it didn’t feel obscene. It felt beautiful. They were overwhelmingly connected. He liked her like this. Loved her like this. It was enough to make her want to give him her whole life.

“Wider,” he said, “I want you as wide as possible.”

She bit her lip, easing her legs further apart. Her pussy was entirely on show, exposed completely. He groaned approvingly.

“It's yours,” she said, like he didn't already know. “All yours “

Her legs hurt a little but she didn't move them. She rolled her fingertips over her clit, toying with the swollen nub until she had to stop. She paused a second, fingers resting against her thigh as she massaged one of her breasts with the other hand, fingers digging in hard.

“My dirty girl,” he said. It was still raining outside, harder now and the sound made the room feel more enclosed. “My dirty little angel.”

She almost whimpered. Her pussy clenched.

“Nobody else gets this,” he murmured. “Nobody knows you like this.”

“Nobody ever has. Or will.”

“Stroke it. Gently.”

She did as he asked. Did exactly what he wanted. When he told her to put her finger inside, she did that too, fucking herself with it until she shook. She wondered if he'd let her cum like this. Maybe. He liked watching her. She tried not to get her hopes up but as she resumed rubbing her clit, she figured he probably would. She'd followed his instructions after all.

His hand was inside his pants and she could see it moving, see him stroking himself. He was hard for her. All for her. Her fingers moved faster, grinding hard against her aching clit until her hips lifted off the sofa.


She didn’t want to but forced her hand away, breathing hard.

Agony. It was beautiful, intense, addictive agony. She wanted to come but then she didn’t want to either. She wanted to please him even as her body ached for release, hips lifting, searching for some friction against her pussy. Her breasts were pushed out as she gasped and sweated, so on edge, she was terrified she’d accidentally spill over into an ocean of bliss. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She clenched hard, holding everything inside and he stood there and watched her, his eyes dark with want.

She didn’t think it was possible to love him more but every day she craved him, and it must have been more because if it was the same, surely it’d get old and lose the thrill. She felt like she fell in love with him again every day whilst already being in love with him and it didn’t make any sense but it was true, it just needed new words, new languages to speak it. Every time she tried, she’d confuse herself and yet it felt furiously important to tell him. But then, he knew. He felt it too. And that was the best thing. The knowledge that he didn’t want anyone else. He loved her, only her, everything she was.

“I could look at you for days,” he said.

He’d pushed his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. He was stroking it slowly, hand fisted around the hard pole, his eyes riveted on her pussy.

“Slap it,” he said. She didn’t want to. Winced even as she prepared herself. The sound of her fingers slapping against her wet pussy was obscenely loud. The sting wasn’t especially painful but it made her moan and press her legs together hard.


She heard herself whimper as her legs parted reluctantly. His eyes were all over her. She was wetter than ever. It didn’t make any sense. She let her fingers slap down again, sensation coursing through her entire being and he told her to do it again and again and again. Her entire hand was getting wet now, her breath coming out unevenly.

His hand was working his cock relentlessly and she could hear the catch of his breath as he held off. He came closer. Her fingers were laying against the throbbing heat of her pussy, not moving but just splayed across it. She wondered if he’d make her slap it again. Wondered if she could. Now that she’d stopped, it felt all the more sensitive.

“Take your shirt off.”

The t-shirt was damp with sweat. She sat up a little dazed and grasped the hem to tug it off. She pushed her hair back and looked up at him. His cock looked perfect. Smooth and hard. She wanted to lick it. Wanted to make him groan and feel him fist his hands in her hair. She swallowed hard. She wet her lips. He caught the motion of her tongue and groaned.

“You want it? You wanna suck it, baby?”


He moved back, dropping into the armchair opposite.

“Come here.”

She slid off the sofa and crawled naked towards him. He let go of his cock and she reached out to touch it, feeling him hot and hard under her fingers. He exhaled. She looked up at him and his eyes caught hers, full of silent reverence. His hand came out to stroke the side of her face.

“God, I love you so much,” he said. “I don’t want to be without you ever.”

She didn’t say anything. She moved closer to him, her mouth centimetres from his cock. She extended her tongue and licked him, her tongue sweeping from the base to the tip, her eyes on his the whole time. He let out half a groan and she did it again, her hand moving down to caress his smooth balls. She’d never thought of a cock as being something beautiful before his but there was no other word that did his justice. She closed her lips around the head and swirled her tongue against the underside. Her hand wrapped around the base as she took in more, her hair falling over her face. She felt him push it back, holding it into a loose ponytail so he could watch her. She was on her knees in front of him and the urge to touch herself as she sucked him was almost overpowering. She shifted her legs apart, fingers slipping and stroking over her wet pussy.

“Do it hard,” he murmured. “I want you close.”

She pulled back from his wet cock, breathless. Her fingers slicked more urgently against her clit. She pumped his cock with her free hand, leaning in to lick his smooth, heavy balls. He groaned loudly, his fingers tightening in her hair. She licked again, kissed them wetly, feeling the heat beneath her lips before she resumed licking. She didn’t want to stop. Ever. Wanted to hear him groaning and gasping her name for eternity.

His hand was almost painfully tight in her hair as she retreated to suck his cock again, his wet shank slipping in and out of her mouth. Her hand was still stroking her pussy and she moaned around his cock, forcing herself to stop in case she tipped over the edge. She looked up at him. His eyes were dark.

“You’re – fucking – perfect,” he growled and he gripped her hair hard and began fucking her mouth with short, hard strokes. Each time he went a little further until all she knew was the constant wet thrusting. She could taste him, hear him, feel every part of his need. He went harder, further than she thought she could take but she took it, eyes watering until he got too close and pulled suddenly out.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

He was still holding her hair as he pulled her up to kiss her hard on the mouth. His hands went over her body, groping and kneading, his tongue searching her mouth until she was breathless. She pulled back and they gazed at each other a second.

“You should stay,” he said. “Forever.”

She blinked. “If I could, I would.”

He stood up then and dragged off the rest of his clothes before pulling her through into the bedroom. Naked. Nothing but them. He flicked on the light and kissed her again, pulling her body into his. She could feel his hard cock trapped between them and it made her clench all over again. He reached down, bending slightly so he could fit it between her legs, covering it in her wetness. The feel of him there was almost enough to make her come.

“You’re mine,” he said, like she needed reminding. “All mine.”

She rolled her eyes.

“If you insist.”

She was wondering if he was going to push up inside her right there against the wall. Her heart was pounding. Every time he touched her thrilled her. He made her feel more wanted than anything. More loved than anything.

“Oh, I insist,” he said. His lips were brushing hers as he spoke. “I should just keep you here. Never let you leave.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she whispered into his mouth.

“You wouldn’t?” She felt him smile against her lips and when she looked up his eyes were on hers. “I’d make you fuck me all the time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” she breathed.

“Good,” His cock pushed against her harder. “You’d be my permanent dirty girl.”

“Baby, I already am.” She almost moaned as his hand came up to grip one of her breasts, kneading it and tugging hard at the nipple. “I always will be. I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” He kissed her, tugging her against him and then they were falling back onto the bed, him on top. He touched between her legs, his fingers deliberate and knowing. She’d been wound up all night and within seconds of him touching her, she felt like she might expire. He didn’t let her though. He touched her just enough to make her ache, keeping his fingertips light enough to have her throbbing.

“Please,” She gazed up at him. “God, don’t tease me.”

“Baby, I know you love it.”

He moved back and she wanted to protest, wanted to ask him to just fuck her but then his mouth was on her, hands digging hard into her thighs and holding them apart as his tongue swept over her exposed pussy. He was right there, seeing everything she was, his lips closing around her clit and his tongue flickering against it. She moaned. She shuddered as he took her to the edge. Every time she thought it’d be the one but then he’d stop, content himself with sliding a finger inside her and she’d lie there gasping and desperate.

“All of this is mine,” he whispered. “Forever.”

He was driving her insane. She wanted to hate him. Her body felt like it was perpetually trembling. The worst part was not knowing when he’d relent. He always caught her off guard, unexpectedly giving her permission only to take it back if she wasn’t quick enough. She was sweating. His hands dug into her ass, holding her against his mouth. She felt obscenely wet. He didn’t give it to her.

He moved back up, kissed her mouth again so she could taste her own honey, his hand gentle around her neck. She kissed him back hard and his hand traced down the damp contours of her body. Her legs were still open, and she lifted her hips up from the bed, desperate for his cock.

“You want it? You want this fucking cock?”

“Baby, please.”

“Tell me. Tell me what you want, dirty girl.”

He was looking at her face. She gazed back desperately. He didn’t relent.

“Oh god. Oh god.” She looked away, searching for words. “I want you to push inside me.”

“With what?” He caught her chin and turned her face back to his. She looked at his mouth.

“With your cock. Please. I want you to fuck me with your cock.”

“Fuck you where, angel?”

She exhaled. He waited.

“Just fuck me,” Her breath was uneven. “Just fucking fuck me, for fuck’s sake.”

“God, you’ve got a dirty mouth,” he groaned but he finally pressed the head of his cock against her, slowly easing inside.

The first moment always gave her the faintest anxious rush, the knowledge that he was right there, his body was physically pushing into hers but then he was moving, and there was no time to think but just feel. He pushed inside her hard, grinding as deep as he could go. He was studying her face the entire time, watching the way he affected her. She could feel everything. She went to put her legs around him but he was pulling back already, almost all the way out before he gave it to her again. She moaned.

“Fuck, I love that sound,” he said and he started moving faster, making her moan even louder as he slicked tightly in and out of her. Everything, the entire night had been building up to this, to feeling each other. It was all she ever dreamed of. Their bodies shoving hard against each other's, searching for more, for more contact, more sound, more pleasure. His hand was roaming her body, rough and possessive as it slid over her. She was his. Entirely his. Open for him. Her hips lifted, meeting his for every thrust. She wanted it as much as he did. Everything about them was so mutual and complete, it seemed unnatural for them ever to be apart.

No-one else came close for either of them and she knew it was reckless to associate her happiness so entirely with him but she didn’t care. She didn’t care. Their worlds were forever out of sync but the energy was always there, the force that kept them helplessly hung up on one another. And moments like this were the culmination of it all. The end product of nights of dreaming, of endless aching and wanting. His cock driving into her like he was trying to get deep enough to mark her soul. Didn't he know he already had?

“God,” His hand was on her breast, groping it hard. “All mine.”

His cock felt sublime. Each time he slammed deep inside her, she'd clench hard, a pleasurable ache rippling through her before the friction of him pulling out made her writhe.

“Fuck me back,” he growled. “Come on. Show me.”

She did her best but every time she tried to raise herself to him, he'd shove her hard into the mattress. For a few moments he held himself there, grinding deeper, his balls pushing against her ass.

Then he pulled out completely and just ground against her, his cock wet and slippery against her pussy. He reached down and took a hold of it, slapping it against her. The feeling was indescribable. She squirmed beneath him and he did it again, wet and loud before grinding the head hard against her clit.

“Oh god!”

“What? You're gonna cum?”

She opened her mouth but he was sliding inside her again, his thumb pressing hard against her clit as he did so.

“You want it? Ask me.”

She couldn't speak. Their eyes met and she gazed at him desperately as he took her to the edge again, holding her there with his cock buried deep inside her.

“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” he growled and then he gave it to her, fucking her hard as his thumb massaged her. His eyes were on hers as she moaned and gasped, twisting beneath him.

“Show me,” he insisted. His eyes were all she could see. “Show me what I do to you.”

Her body was trembling as the orgasm finally coursed through her, the pleasure intense and endless. He didn't stop touching her, even as she writhed and clenched beneath him, the sensations dragged through her forcefully. She was sweating, moaning, wanting him to stop and yet wanting it to last forever. Her body felt weak and powerful all at once and as she clenched around his thrusting cock he came too, grunting and gasping, as he kissed her hard. Their bodies didn't stop moving for a while and afterwards they lay there, still aching against each other.

“God,” he said.

He eased off her and they lay there looking at each other, the moment soft and alive.

“Go to sleep,” he said, finally.

“I can't,” she whispered. Her heartbeat still felt too fast. “It feels like a waste.”


“You know what I mean.”

He touched her face. “Aren't you tired?”

She smiled. “No.”

Eventually, they got up and showered and drank more coffee, and she curled up in his lap as they listened to the rain, feeling each other breathe.

“I have to give you something,” he said.

She'd been half asleep. She blinked. It was still dark outside but she could hear birds. She sat up.

“Again? You're insatiable.”

He laughed.

“You have a one-track mind. Actually, no. It's something I got for you and I was going to give it to you later before you left but I guess I'd like to at least see you wearing it a while.”

She frowned. She waited as he went back into the bedroom and eventually got up and went after him.

“Wearing what? Please don't tell me you bought underwear for me. I'd feel ridiculous.”

He laughed. “Not this time. Actually, I bought you a collar.”

Her eyes widened.

“A what?”

It wasn’t exactly a collar, more of a slim leather choker with a silver band at the front. She lifted her hair up so he could put it around her neck. It fit perfectly, made her feel almost elegant. The words DIRTY GIRL were etched out finely on the silver.

“You should wear it all the time,” he said. The thought made her clench hard. He was watching her in the mirror as he secured it around her neck. “’Cause even if you're a million miles away, you’re always mine.”

“Your dirty girl,” she said and bit her lip at how beautifully sweet it was.

“Mine,” he said and they smiled at each other and she leaned back into the warmth of him and couldn't dream of ever being anything else.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright 2016-19 browncoffee
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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