Glamour: Contemporary Fairytale Retellings

“But that’s not what we’re talking about and you know it,” he cut in. “How long since someone has given you what you need?”

And the honest answer to that was never. “They haven’t,” she said, her voice sounding unaccountably sad.

Cal tsked, big fingers starting to gently twist their way up inside her now. “What a fucking shame. But I’m almost grateful because—” his fingers slid in even deeper and she squirmed in his lap “—it means—” He slid up to the second knuckles and curled his fingers, driving pressure against her soft front wall. She gasped, her head dropping back onto his shoulder “—that you are starving for it right now.”

And she was, oh fuck, yes she was. Starving like she hadn’t eaten in days, empty like she’d been hollowed out and filled with air instead. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please love me.”

She didn’t have to explain herself to him, she knew from the growl behind her and the way his hand cupped her possessively that he understood. He knew she didn’t mean love like a feeling, like a commitment to a future, like red roses and musical greeting cards and dinners full of small talk. She meant love like a verb, a very specific verb. She meant care for me, make me feel good, stay with me tonight. She meant come inside me, hold me so tight I can’t breathe, touch me, touch me, touch me.

“I’m gonna,” he said into her ear. He twisted her nipple sharply through the leotard and she cried out. “And I’m not a fancy guy, sweetheart. You want me to stop, you say ‘stop.’ You want me to wait, say ‘wait.’ Got it?”

She nodded eagerly, ready to move past whatever barriers were keeping him from possessing her right now, and he seemed to feel the same way, because he shifted and his hand abandoned her breast. She wanted to pout at the lack of contact, but all attempts at pouting fled the moment she saw what he was reaching for in his back pocket.

A small folding knife.

She stared at it in the dim light, at the nicks and scrapes along the painted handle, wondering if he carried this knife while on deployment. If he’d ever used it to hurt someone.

Cal flicked the knife open with the ease born of lots of practice. “Don’t,” he said, “move.”

She didn’t.

She held completely still as the knife moved between her legs and the tip pricked carefully at the sensitive skin where thigh met cunt. And then his fingers withdrew, wrapped around the crotch of her leotard, and with a swift cut, her leotard was cut open.

The knife was folded, put away, and then Cal’s fingers tugged her leotard up past her hips. She was fully exposed now, so exposed that all any stranger had to do was look at her and they’d see her nakedness. See the wet place where Cal’s fingers were once again buried. See the hard points of her nipples through her leotard and the flush on her face and the tense lines of her thighs where she strained to hold them open.

“Someone might see,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if it was in a tone of protest or wonder.

“I want them to see,” Cal answered. “I want them to see what a little deviant you are.”

She tried to think of a response to that and she couldn’t. His touch felt so good and the way he fingered her—slow curls inside coupled with the press of his palm on her clit—had her insensate. She was going to come soon. And hard.

“Let’s play a game,” he growled into her ear.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“The game is that you have to do what I say, when I say it. And if you don’t, I’ll tell your father where you’ve been sneaking off to all these nights.”

She shivered. It didn’t take much imagination to recall the feeling of her father’s blows. “Is…is the game real?”

Cal paused before answering. “Do you really want to know?”

No. It was fucked up for sure, but the very real threat of her father finding out made the whole thing feel so much more…delicious.

“No,” she said, feeling certain of this one thing at least. “Don’t tell me.”

His hand withdrew from her folds again, and when she looked over at her shoulder at him, he was sucking her taste off his fingers, his eyes hooded. “You taste sweet, princess. Just like a little ballerina should. Let’s see if you look that way too.” And before she could protest—not that she would have anyway—she was pushed unceremoniously forward between his legs. He pushed her just fast enough for her to gasp, just slow enough that she could easily get her arms out in front of her and catch her weight.

It was a ridiculous position, all things considered—her hands flat on the floor, head hanging down, ass still secure in his lap. Thank God she was flexible enough to be comfortable like this. But then she felt his fingers run glancingly up her cunt to her ass and she realized this position wasn’t ridiculous at all. It was decidedly and definitely humiliating—which made it perfect. Leaning all the way forward like this meant that her ass and pussy were open for Cal’s viewing, and view them he did.

“Oh, your pussy looks so sweet too,” he said. “Pink like your slippers.”

“Oh,” she breathed as he took his thumbs and spread her folds. It was so fucking degrading, the air so cool on flesh that was usually hidden and protected.

“Don’t squirm, sweetheart. You’re letting me do whatever I want, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she managed from down by the floor.

A sharp smack on her ass. “Damn straight, you do.” Then the thumbs returned, spreading her even more. “Like a pretty pink butterfly,” Cal said with something between gruff wonder and lust. “I can’t wait to fuck it.”

“You’re…you’re going to fuck me?”

“Of course I am. I get to do anything I want with you. I’ve caught a little butterfly—I’ve caught you—and I’m not letting you go until I’m finished.”

She shuddered at his words, at the wrongness, at the sharp feelings of desire they stirred up in her.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You don’t have a choice, not if you want me to behave. You be good for me, I’ll be good for you, got it?

And then a thumb moved up higher, kneading gently at the little rosebud between her cheeks. “This is such a very pretty pink too,” he murmured. “How good for me are you going to be tonight?”

She’d never done…that…never been with someone she trusted enough to do that, and yet the idea of doing it for the first time with a man like Cal was exciting on an order of magnitude she’d never felt before. She decided to be brave in their game too.

“I’ll do anything you want,” she said, and she didn’t even have to work to make her voice pleading. “Just please don’t tell my dad.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Cal grunted. A finger pushed back into her pussy, and he chucked darkly. “I knew you were a dirty one.” And with strength she knew he had but was still shocking to feel, he wrapped his hands around her hips and raised her easily to his mouth.

“Oh God,” she moaned. His tongue was so strong, his lips so firm. His sucks and licks so greedy. And then he left her cunt to trace wet circles around her anus, and her entire body shivered in filthy delight.

So wrong.

A.L. Jackson, Sophie Jordan, Aleatha Romig, Skye Warren, Lili St. Germain, Nora Flite, Sierra Simone, Nicola Rendell's books