I hate that she’s right.
I hate myself for losing my cool and having sex with her.
I hate myself for letting what I like in bed slip.
And I hate myself for announcing that she’s mine. She can never be mine. Never. And it was a low thing to do—she’s young, and she might be living in a fairytale. I don’t know anything about her experience with love and how she may take my words. Fuck, she’s nearly ten years younger than me. What type of an asshole am I?
At the moment though, she doesn’t feel younger. The way she thinks? The way she processes things? And the way she took charge? My dick stirs just remembering it. I’m an alpha in bed. Always have been. But the moment she told me to shut up and do as she said, my body listened. It was an out of body experience. I had never let anyone take control in bed like that. Never.
When it all started, I was ready to go to the bathroom and finish what we started because there is no way I was going to share my kinks with her, making her cut me. Well, in my defense, all the blood left my brain, so I blame my slip on that.
And then she proved me wrong on all accounts—I rocketed like a fucking volcano without drawing any blood. I don’t remember ever having such a strong orgasm. And my words about being vanilla? Yeah, bullshit. That was anything but vanilla.
When she told me she wanted ‘to try it like that,’ I nearly came on the spot. I’d never admit it, but I love that position. Every single thrust brings me deeper than any pose ever could. Every move in is effortless. No woman has ever loved it the way I do until her. It’s a hard position for a guy, but it takes a physical toll on the woman as well. But she met my every push with one of her own to match. Her arms wrapped around me while her little moans tickled my ear.
I groan and glance at the bathroom door—she’s been in there for a long time. What is she doing? Is she crying?
No, I can’t imagine Leila crying. The way she called me on my bullshit when every other woman would get offended and run away, locking themselves in the bathroom, not ever speaking to me again. Yeah, I’ve been there before. But she didn’t. She just got mad. I was a second away from throwing her over my shoulder, carrying her into the nearest cave, and fucking her into oblivion like a madman. Harder this time. Longer. I’d prove to her that after time with me, she wouldn’t want anyone else.
Anyone else…
Fuck, even the idea of that makes my skin crawl. How will I survive when she finds some asshole to be in her bed? A woman like her has a large appetite, and not everyone can satisfy it. I know I can. But my sex skills come with a side of issues that I will never be able to resolve, and I wouldn’t do that to her. Plus, it’s hard to forget Alex. What I did is a slap in his face. If he didn’t warn me against doing anything with her, this situation would be a little more bearable, but he saw it coming and told me not to. And yet, here we are. And now Kenneth has been added to the list of people I’ll disappoint—the asshole wormed his way into my life.
It was bullshit to say that she judged me for my masochism. I knew she didn’t, but I needed to push back when she got too close to the truth. I’ve always liked my sex with a bit of pain involved—woman’s nails digging into my skin, pulling hair, an occasional ass slap—but after I came back, it changed. Every time I felt pleasure during regular sex, I felt guilty that I was enjoying my life while my brothers lost theirs. So, I stopped having sex for a while. But urges won, and I found a way to coexist with them. I began inflicting pain on myself.
But at some point, it stopped being enough—I was still here, enjoying my life, while their families couldn’t see their husbands and sons. I was lost for a year and couldn’t deal with that, deciding to refuse sex again. But I had people relying on me, and without sex or even jacking off, I became unbearable to be around. Even Hank, my top artist, told me to get laid, and he never gets involved. Ever.
I’d always been a sexual creature, and refusing sex felt like a good punishment to myself. Until it became a punishment to the people around me; I had to come up with another solution. One which came to me one night in the face of a very sadistic partner I picked up at a bar. She had a knife and cut me pretty deep—I couldn’t stop the bleeding after she left—but it worked. By the time she was out the door, my balls were empty, but my thirst wasn’t satisfied. I didn’t get any pleasure from the act, but my hormones calmed down a bit. And that’s how I eventually found myself in this circle of self-hate only I was privy to.
But when Leila said it out loud, it became all too real, and she was right. She really read me like a book, and I attacked her for it, being an asshole instead of just agreeing with her. Because agreeing meant accepting the problem and then healing (fuck that word away from my vocabulary), and I will never be ready for that. So, here I am, a jerk extraordinaire who just told the woman he dreams of making his own, that she’s pretty much a piece of shit. Way to go, Stephan.
Suddenly the water stops, and Leila comes out, wearing skimpy shorts (even skimpier than before, those tiny offensive shorts that made my dick hurt) and a tiny see-through shirt with thin straps. It’s pink; I think they call it blush or something. Her long hair is down, and it moves with every step she takes toward the kitchen, completely ignoring me. There, she proceeds to put a kettle on the fire and grabs a mug from the cabinet. Still ignoring me.
It pisses me off, so I rise from the couch where I’ve been waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom and walk over to her. Tea sounds good right about now.
I walk past her to grab a mug for myself and graze her shoulder with my arm. She shoots away like I just burned her and gives me a death stare. I lean my butt on the table, waiting for the tea to boil. She takes the same pose opposite me, leaning on the counter.
Our eyes meet, and she quirks a brow. I want to smile, but I keep my cool. I cross my arms over my chest, knowing that the muscles in my arms pop. I’ve seen her ogling me before, so I count on that. True to my assumption, her eyes dip down, and her cute nostrils flare. But she quickly catches herself and crosses her arms over her chest too. Her tits threaten to spill from the top—two perfect globes I had in my mouth just an hour ago. I feel a stir in my dick, but I keep staring at her, not acknowledging it.
She drops her hands and brings them to the back of her neck, kneading her muscles. A low moan follows as she drops her head forward, and I shift my feet uncomfortably, suddenly not so sure of myself. She tilts her head to the side, gliding her hand over the side of her neck.
I swallow.
Her finger gets stuck in the strap of her shirt, and she pulls it aside, fanning herself.
My eye twitches.
She puts her hands on the table by her sides and pushes herself up. Now, she’s sitting on top of it. Her gorgeous hair falls over her shoulder, and she pushes it back.
My dick starts forming a tent in my sweats.
She spreads her legs and places her palms on her thighs. Her shorts are tiny, and she doesn’t have underwear on. I can see her pussy as her shorts slide to the side. She starts rubbing her thighs with her palms, up and down, up and down, letting her fingers graze over her slit.
My breathing becomes heavier. I drop my hands to my sides and watch her next movements. My intention of driving her crazy is completely forgotten.
She brings her middle finger to her mouth and sticks it inside, giving it a few good sucks, all the while watching me. She takes her wet digit out with a pop, moves her shorts even more to the side, baring everything to me, and presses her wet finger to her clit.
It’s wet, and the air already smells like sex—I don’t think I’m just imagining it.
My mouth opens as I attempt to steady my breathing. My nostrils keep flaring, trying to catch her scent.
But she just keeps rubbing her clit with her finger.
And then her eyes close. Just for a second, and I know she’s close. I want to be there with her, but I also want to watch.
I can see her putting more pressure on her clit as she increases the speed. Her mouth falls open, and her breathing turns shallow. The top of her chest is pink, her cheeks too.
On another rub, she drops her head back and lets out a long, loud moan. Her pussy glistens, wetting her silky shorts, and she claps her thighs shut with her hand still between them. It’s the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. I push away from the table with the full intention of going to her, but she opens her eyes, already sober, and jumps from the table. Raising her hand in the air, she stops me halfway.
“I’m sorry. I guess it was too vanilla for you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She blinks innocently a few times and goes to turn off the kettle. Pouring the water into our mugs, she takes hers from the table and marches to the living room like a little soldier going to war. My dick salutes her, and I look at the ceiling, asking the universe why I deserve such torture.
Such pleasure.
The rest of the evening proves to be the former—some sort of prolonged, painful torture.
When she takes a seat on the loveseat with her mug and a book she found on the shelf, a little stash someone left here, she doesn’t just sit there. No. She aims to kill.
She brings her feet up on the couch and keeps her knees together. It would be a very innocent pose if not for her moving her feet to the side slightly, so I can see the result of her self-play in the kitchen—the wet spot on her silky shorts. Plus, those tiny shorts don’t leave much to the imagination, so the tent in my pants has no plans of going away anytime soon. And that’s what she wants.
So, I cover my lap with a pillow and take my phone out to play mindless games since there’s no reception here, and I can’t make any phone calls. Nor can I focus enough to make one should we get service at some point. That was what initially attracted me to this place, but now I could sure use the distraction.
I glance at Leila from time to time, and she seems so engrossed in her book while she’s anything but. Her eyes are trained on the pages in her hands, but her finger is in her mouth, making slow, sucking motions, and unless she’s reading pure porn and getting really excited, I think this show is for me. Yeah, this woman is not vanilla.
When she feels my eyes on her, she pushes her finger deeper into her mouth and hollows her cheeks, imitating real hard sucking.
I swallow the dry lump in my throat and press the pillow to me harder. She notices and squeezes her knees tighter while placing her feet wider. Little minx.
I decide two can play this game since she’s putting on this show for me, so why waste the resources I’ve got? I throw the pillow away and pull my dick out.
Her eyes go wide, and she forgets to keep sucking.
Good. Now I have her attention.
The next thing I do is place my dick in a comfortable position by pulling my sweats down a little and freeing my sack too. I place my palm over my angry-looking cock and grab my balls with the other. They’re fucking heavy, even though I just emptied them an hour ago. They would feel so nice slapping against her ass…
My dick twitches, leaking with precum, and I squeeze it at the base, willing it to chill a little so I can prolong this torturous pleasure.
Now it’s her turn to squirm. She moves her butt, pushing herself deeper into the chair.
I give my dick a lazy pull.
Her finger falls out of her mouth while her lips stay parted. Her eyes are on me. Good girl.
I move my palm along my shaft, and I could use some lotion for sure. Running to get it would ruin the mood, so I spit into my palm and cover the head with it.
Her breath hitches and she leans toward me. Interesting.
I slowly move my hand up and down, and she licks her lips. Oh fuck, I can imagine her full, red lips wrapped around my dick while I fist her gorgeous mane.
Another tug on my cock feels too good, and the muscles on my stomach contract, nearly sending me into a full-body shudder. She lets out a loud sigh but quickly catches herself and clamps her mouth shut.
Fuck, I want it open. I want to imagine her on me.
I keep running my palm over my shaft while squeezing my balls. It feels so fucking good, but I’m at the point where I need pain to come, or eventually I’ll deflate and embarrass myself. So I squeeze the base, making my whole dick darken. Then I feel the ping of that pleasure I was waiting for. I glance at Leila so I can live my fantasy and find her sitting on the edge of the couch with an angry look on her face.
“Drop the hand,” she hisses.
I tilt my head, confused by her request, still high on the feeling I’m experiencing.
“Drop. The fucking. Hand.”
And my hand drops. Both of them. Fuck me, my body listened to her without even listening to my own brain.
She moves so her ass is nearly hanging from the edge of the loveseat, then spreads her legs wide. I can see everything.
“Eyes on my face, soldier.”
“I’m not a soldier.”
“You are when I say you are.” Her voice is rough and low, one I haven’t yet heard from her.
And with that, my eyes shift to her face and find her licking her suddenly swollen lips. Her eyes are half closed, her cheeks are red. She’s a sight to behold.
“Wrap your big hand around your giant dick,” she orders, and my hand moves to do as it’s told. I didn’t know she could talk like that, and I squeeze my shaft, excited.
“Gentler.”
“No, I can’t, Lei. I ca—”
She raises her hand, shutting me up, and stands from the couch. Moving toward me slowly, she keeps her eyes trained on mine. Warning me to not move. And fuck me, but I love her treating me like this.
When she’s next to me, she kneels on the side of the chair I’m sitting on and places her hand on top of mine, grazing my fingers with hers.
“You can.” Her eyes find and hold mine. “You don’t have to punish yourself every time you feel good.”
I swallow the rough truth I’ve been running away from, unsure of how she managed to get it out of me in the short time she’s known me.
Her hand helps mine move, and I notice how mine is twice the size of hers, and I love how small she is and yet how she can mold me into something new without any effort other than being herself. Letting someone else control me relieves me of responsibility for the time being. I didn’t know it could be so liberating.
Her hand slowly moves with mine, and even though it’s my hand touching my dick, it feels so fucking good. Then she takes my hand, brings it to her mouth, and gives it a long, wet lick. My eyes go droopy, and when she places my hand back on my cock, I’m ready to go.
We move a few more times when she leans down to my ear and whispers, “Let me.”
I instantly drop my hand, and hers replaces it right away. It’s small and barely covers anything but fuck, it feels so good. She licks her hand, and I follow the movement of her tongue with my eyes. When she puts her hand back on me, my whole body goes rigid, the muscles in my stomach twitching. She feels it too, because she quickens the tempo and inches her mouth closer to my ear.
“Let yourself go.” Her whisper tingles my brain, and when she bites my earlobe, I explode, shooting cum all over my stomach and chest. She’s walking me through the whole orgasm and slows down at the end when it gets too sensitive. I don’t want to think about where she knows so much from—I just want to erase the moment the question ever popped into my brain.
When I’m done, she trails light kisses from my ear, onto my cheek, before giving me a peck on the mouth.
“Go clean yourself, soldier.”
“I’m not a soldier.” My voice comes out coarse like I’ve been yelling at some rock concert for hours.
“You are when I say you are,” she repeats with a challenge and a sneaky half-smile.
A smart man knows how to pick his battles, so I respond with, “Yes, ma’am.”
She rolls her lips, trying not to laugh, and stands up. “Since we’re stuck here, I want to get a Christmas tree.”
“But it’s not Christmas anymore.” I look out the window.
“Who cares?” She shrugs. “It’s New Year’s soon. Can you help me get one?”
“Yeah.” I nod. I’ll get her the moon if she wants it. It might take longer, but I’d reverse gravity so the shining ball could be in her magical hands.
“Cool.” She looks outside. “It’s getting dark even earlier here. Like we’re on a different planet.”
I follow her gaze. “Yeah, I didn’t expect that, but I like it.”
“Me too.” She smiles and looks at the bed. “I guess we’ve solved the problem of sleeping arrangements. Even though this bed doesn’t have a good track record of conversations held there.” Then she adds with a quirked brow, “But if we manage to keep our mouths shut, maybe we’ll manage?”
I let her have this moment because I totally deserve that.
