Chapter 17: The Kept Day
The phone buzzed again on the floor, a persistent insect hum. Millie stared at it, her body still humming from his, the reality of the morning solidifying into a cold, hard shape in her stomach.
Josh watched her. The conflict was naked on her face. He saw the exact moment her jaw tightened, the resignation that followed. She bent, a stiff movement, and picked up the device.
“Here,” she said, her voice low. She held it out to him. “It’s… it’s better if you do it.”
He took the phone. The screen was still lit with Zoe’s latest message: No worries! Feel better xoxo. He tapped the reply field. His thumbs moved swiftly, without hesitation.
Hey, I’m so hungover, can’t make coffee today. Rain check?
He hit send before she could breathe. He tossed the phone onto the rumpled sheets. It landed face down, a silent, black rectangle.
“Why did you do that?” Millie asked. There was no anger in the question. It was hollow, stripped bare. Underneath it, a thread of something else—a dark, pooling heat.
“Because you’re staying here with me today,” he said. The words weren’t a suggestion. They were a flat, quiet declaration. His eyes held hers, and the playful confidence was gone, replaced by something older, more territorial. It was the same look he’d given her when he’d fucked her from behind against the kitchen counter, when he’d whispered filth in her ear while his sister laughed in the next room.
He closed the distance between them. His hand came up, not to her face, but to her throat. His thumb rested on the pulse hammering there. He didn’t squeeze. He just held, a reminder of possession. Then he pushed.
She fell back onto the bed, the breath leaving her in a soft oof. He followed her down, his knees spreading her legs wide apart. The morning air was cool on her exposed skin. She was still wet from him, the flesh swollen and sensitive.
He didn’t kiss her. He looked at her, his gaze traveling the length of her body as if inventorying what was now his. Then he lowered his head between her thighs.
His tongue was a flat, hot stripe from the very base of her entrance all the way up to her clit. It was not a gentle exploration. It was a claim. He lapped at her, rough and thorough, cleaning his own spend from her folds, the taste of their mingled sex sharp on his tongue.
“Josh…” Her voice was a broken thing.
He answered by sucking her clit into his mouth. He sucked hard, his lips forming a tight seal, his tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen bud. At the same time, two fingers pushed inside her. They slid in easily, her cunt yielding, still loose from his cock. He curled them, searching, and pressed up.
“There,” he grunted against her, the vibration shooting through her like lightning.
He found that spongy, deep spot and began to rub it in a relentless, corkscrew motion. His mouth never left her clit, sucking and licking in a vicious, perfect rhythm. The dual assault shattered her. Her hips jerked off the bed, her hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets. A high, thin whine escaped her lips.
“You taste like me,” he muttered, lifting his head for a second, his chin slick. “You taste like my cum in your pussy. That’s all you are today. A hole for me to use.”
He dove back in. The obscene, wet sounds filled the sunlit room. He fucked her with his fingers, hard and deep, while his tongue worked her clit into a fever-pitch of sensation. It was too much. It was brutal. It erased everything—the guilt, the fear, the outside world. There was only this searing, concentrated point of pleasure-pain.
Her orgasm ripped through her without warning. It was a silent, breathless seizure for a moment before the sound broke free—a raw, animal cry that tore from her throat. Her body arched, rigid, her cunt clamping down on his fingers in violent pulses. He kept his mouth sealed to her, drinking her down as she came, milking every last shudder from her.
When she finally collapsed, boneless and gasping, he crawled up her body. His cock, hard and angry red, slapped against her stomach. It was slick, coated in her juices. He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locking onto hers. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused.
“All day,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp. He pushed forward, sinking into her in one long, inexorable stroke. She was so open, so thoroughly fucked, she took him effortlessly, a sigh of perfect fullness escaping her lips. “I’m going to fuck you all day.”
He began to move. Not with the frantic, driving pace of before, but with a slow, devastating depth. Each withdrawal was almost complete, each thrust a total re-occupation. He set a grinding rhythm, his pubic bone hitting her clit with every roll of his hips. He kept his weight on his forearms, his face inches from hers, forcing her to watch him.
“This cunt is mine today,” he said, his breath hot on her mouth. “You don’t leave this bed. You don’t answer that phone. You take my cock whenever I want to give it to you. You understand?”
She nodded, a desperate, weak movement. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“My… my cunt is yours today.”
He rewarded her with a deeper thrust, a grind that made her see stars. “Good girl.”
He kept the pace agonizingly slow, drawing out each sensation until she was whimpering beneath him. The overstimulation was a live wire, her second orgasm building not as a peak but as a slow, rising flood. He felt it, the way her inner walls began to flutter and cling to him. He shifted, driving in at a sharper angle.
“Come for me again,” he commanded. “Now.”
It was the permission she didn’t know she needed. The wave broke, slower this time, a deep, rolling culmination that had her moaning into his shoulder, her nails scraping down his back. Her climax triggered his. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and released, his body shuddering as he pumped his cum into her already-filled depths. He held there, pulsing inside her, until he was completely spent.
He collapsed to the side, pulling her with him, his arm a heavy weight across her waist. His breath was hot and ragged against her neck. For a long time, they just lay there, sticky and spent in the pooling sunlight.
He kissed her forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture amidst the wreckage. His voice was rough but quiet. “No one’s taking you away from me today.”
Millie closed her eyes. The words should have felt like a cage. Instead, in her exhaustion, in the hollowed-out, used-up satisfaction thrumming through her veins, they felt like a reprieve. A temporary sanctuary built on a lie. She could hear the faint electronic pulse of another notification from her phone, buried somewhere in the sheets. It sounded very far away.
Outside, a car door slammed. A dog barked. The ordinary world went about its business.
In here, there was only the smell of sex, the ache in her muscles, and the heavy, possessive arm holding her in place. The day stretched before them, long and empty and theirs. For now, it was enough. It had to be.