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20
The next morning…
Lilyana
Itook a shower, dressed in one of Arman’s T-shirts, and settled down to sleep. It’s now eight a.m., and he has not returned.
So my fiancé has decided to have his fun with me after all. I don’t know how to feel except used, but that’s not new. I wish he wouldn’t pretend there’s more to it; my naive heart doesn’t know any better, and despite my valiant efforts, I cannot prevent myself from swooning every time he utters those honeyed words.
Still, he wouldn’t go further. Is that because he’d already got the relief he wanted, or did he honestly care whether I’d regret giving him my virginity? Difficult to say. Maybe he thinks I’ll be terrible at sex.
Whatever his perspective on the matter, I can’t deny he’s lit a fire in me. Now, I feel more vulnerable than ever around him. It’s like he’s taken ownership of my sexuality, but not in a grasping, greedy way.
He wants to teach me, and I want to learn. Whether there’s anything more to it than a possessive desire to be my first, who can say, but I can hold that over him. The longer I keep my innocence, the better; it might be foolish, but the thought of him getting bored with me breaks my heart.
My internal voice is a total bitch; all she wants is to make me hate myself. I’d love to evict her for good, but my father trained her, and he did a good job.
You have so little to offer Arman. You’re so sheltered. Odd. Damaged. How can you possibly hold his interest?
Sometimes I understand that these trains of thought are unhelpful, but right now, the evidence is damning. Arman made me come, then vanished into the night with some crony of his without so much as a text in the interim. What am I supposed to think?
The front door rattles, and I fly out of bed. I didn’t put the chain on. Oh no. I’m here alone and someone is trying to break in—
“Lili? Baby?”
Arman.
I run into his arms, my doubts swamped by relief. “Where the fuck have you been?” I ask, burying my face in his chest.
“Language.” He palms my throat and pushes my head back so I’m forced to look at him. “You don’t cuss at me. I had to deal with something, but now I’m back.” He slips his other hand over the small of my back, sliding it beneath the fabric. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
I nod. “I wanted to be comfortable.”
“Did you make yourself come again after I left you hanging?” he asks, drawing me closer. “I hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry. I have just enough time to make it up to you.”
My core throbs needily as I lean into him. “I didn’t do anything—I went to sleep. Why? What are you going to do to me?”
“Remember when we got interrupted by the phone?” His firm thigh presses insistently between my legs. “I was fucking desperate to eat you, and I haven’t had breakfast yet, so care to indulge me?”
He wants to go down on me. I’m desperate to experience it, but my need is tempered by anxiety. I’ll feel so exposed. What if my pussy tastes weird or something?
“You look worried, baby girl.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips before leading me to his room. “I’ll stop any time you want me to. Just go with it.”
I’m not wearing panties, and as I spread my legs, Arman moans appreciatively.
“Fuck, Lili. If your pussy is half as delicious as it looks, I’m gonna spend a lot of time with my tongue in it.” He lowers his face between my legs, and licks my inner thigh, making me jump.
“Don’t tease me too much,” I say. “I can’t deal. Now I know how an orgasm feels, I want more.”
“So take the reins.” Arman laps lightly at my clit, holding me in place with one hand as I writhe. “I want to see some confidence. You want me to make you come? You’re the bratva princess. Until tomorrow, I’m just your bodyguard.” He slips his tongue inside me for a moment before pulling out again. “Have a little fun, Lili.”
His words thrill me. I weave my hands through his hair and tilt my hips, pushing my pussy into his face, and he rewards me with a firm suck on my clit.
“Just like that,” he says, his words muffled. “That’s my good girl. You like the way I eat your pretty cunt?
I love his dirty mouth, but I’m still too shy to respond with more than tiny mewls of pleasure. Arman’s hand steals under my shirt and finds my nipple, rolling it between his fingertips, and I groan with exasperation as he sits back on his heels.
“I asked you a question,” he says. His face is shiny with my wetness, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell me what you like. How else could I possibly know?”
