Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Her eyes stay on mine for the longest time before drifting back to the table, to the toy standing there. And this is how we continue for what seems like five minutes. But eventually she climbs off of the bed. I’m entranced by the bounce of her tits, by the sway of her hips, by the way her eyes are locked on the toy much the same way she locks her eyes on me when I’m stroking myself while she’s in the shower.
She licks her own lips as she gets closer to it, but she makes a point to step around me, to make sure her skin doesn’t brush mine. I’m so fucking grateful for that, given she hasn’t worn clothes since the second night she was here. She’s naked all the time, and I know that tortures me but I just can’t seem to help it. Maybe that’s my own punishment. Maybe being here is hers and seeing every inch of her flesh all day, every day, is mine.
Her heart-shaped ass jiggles as she passes me, and I clench my hand in an effort not to reach out and grab it. She’s confident in her skin, no longer trying to hide herself from me. Sometimes we watch television in bed and she lets the blankets pool around her thighs rather than holding it up to her chin to cover her tits.
Once she gets within reach of the toy, she begins to position herself over it with her back to me.
“No,” I say. “Turn around and face me.” She does but that same annoyed look is on her face that she gave me earlier in the shower for having been woken up when she was still tired.
“I will fall over,” she says. “I need my hands on the table to steady myself.”
I inch closer to her and once again she steps to the side, making sure her toes aren’t in the way. I slide the table across the room, butting the corner up against the bedpost. I don’t waste a second climbing on the bed, situating myself until I have the best view in the house.
She stands there, disbelief and shock marring her pretty features, but once again her eyes go from me to the toy, to me to the toy. I can sense the argument or refusal coming in the way she walks to the corner of the bed. But instead of refusing, she says, “I’ve never…”
And I swear to God if she says she’s a virgin, that promise I made last week will fly out the fucking window. I grip my shaft because I have to. Because thinking about her blood on my cock from penetrating her hymen, nearly sends me over the fucking edge. My breathing increases.
“I’ve never done it this way before,” she says, and I can’t help but smile.
“Never ridden a cock?” I ask, because this is the kind of conversation I like.
I don’t want the small talk. I don’t want the questions she sometimes asks if she nods off during the middle of a show and gets confused when she wakes back up, needing to know what happened.
I want her to torture me with her words as much as she tortures me with the sight of her naked flesh. I try to ignore the disappointment I feel at discovering she’s not a virgin. I’ve never had sex with a virgin. It’s not something I’ve sought out, but I shove away the disappointment of knowing I won’t be the first one to fuck inside of her.
Sick fuck, I’m a sick fuck, I think. She shakes her head and honestly, I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I can’t remember what questions she’s answering.
“I’ve only been with one guy,” she confesses.
“And what?” I managed to ask. “He didn’t like you on top?”
She frowns. “He never worried about me. He was more the bend me over the desk and get off than worry about me. It was always a rush job from my professor.”
My eyes narrow. She has confessed so much right now. She’s only been with one guy. She lost her virginity to a college professor. He didn’t take care of her, didn’t make her come. I couldn’t imagine putting my hands on this woman and it only being about me. Her pleasure is my pleasure.
I hate the man and I don’t even fucking know him. She looks away then and the embarrassment is gone. I hate that she might be thinking back to that time. I hate the pain I see in her eyes with the memories.
“He hurt you, didn’t he?” I ask. “He broke your heart.”
She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter but I can tell that it does.
“Get to work,” I say, pointing to the cock standing in the air instead of consoling her. Warm and fuzzy isn’t my thing. Tracking that guy down and slitting his fucking throat on the other hand? That’s kind of more my style.