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“I’m a man. You’ve never been with a man, right?”
“No.” I swallowed, trying to take in everything about Scottie all at once. He had his shirt and pants in his lap, hiding his body from me.
Can’t have that.
I plucked the clothes from his hands and tossed them over my shoulders.
Pink panties.
Oh hell, Scottie.
The lace material stretched over the erection he tried to hide with his hands. Grabbing his wrists, I forced his arms over his head onto the bed and crouched over him. Our bare legs rubbed against each other. His hairless and smooth. Mine rough from coarse hair.
Scottie shifted beneath me and spread his legs. I fit snugly between his slender thighs. Those big eyes of his looked up at me from behind his glasses. Waiting.
“I’m going to ask you once.”
How odd. He had no breasts, but the sight of his flat chest and the cherry sized nipples made me want to forget all the talking and to take him.
“What is it?” He let out a deep breath, as if he had been holding it in.
“The things you wrote in your letters about your preferences. They’re all true. Right? The choking, the rough sex, being tied up, used, orgasm denial. Is that the Scottie who’s under me right now?”
He blinked several times. “Y-yes.”
I tightened my grip on his arms and rocked my erection into his pelvis.
“But no hitting,” he whispered. “Spanking… my bottom is fine. But no slapping across the face. I hate that.”
“What else do you hate?”
He swallowed. “No spitting in my face.”
“Go on.”
“And if I use my safeword, don’t ignore it.”
“What’s your safeword?”
“Pickle.”
“Pickle?”
He nodded.
I repeated the words a few times. “All right, pickle it is. Anything else you want to tell me before I devour you, Scottie?”
“Umm, n-n-no.”
“You won’t ask me to wear a condom?”
He inhaled sharply. “You—you said you were safe. Wasn’t that true?”
“I am safe, but I want you to be sure.” A slight pressure to his hands above his head and he gasped. He arched up off the bed.
Jackpot. A pain slut. He liked it.
“I’m sure.”
