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"Take whatever pleasure you want from this experience.” His voice is soft seductive, but the message he sends through our connection shouts, “Show me who you are.”
Nobody’s ever given a shit about who I am and I’m burning with curiosity, so I sit and watch. My breath catches as I watch Jaden stroke himself with ferocious intensity. His tapered fingers move over his length in strong, steady strokes, kneading it like firm dough between thumb and forefingers. His body tightens under my gaze, a barely audible groan of pleasure erupting from his lips as he spills onto the cloth laid out on his stomach. My body tightens in return and heat floods through my lower regions. Longing to taste that essence and feel its warmth on my tongue courses through me. That’s a first. I don’t do blowjobs, but I can’t tear my gaze away from his softening cock, so it’s a moment before I notice his golden-hued eyes studying me intently. My cheeks heat at the scrutiny.
"You act like this is the first time you've seen someone masturbate." His beautiful tenor voice is low and seductive, pulling me to him. Making me want to comply.
I open my mouth to reply when his words register fully. My whole body tenses up, my instincts on high alert, but damn it, I can't lie. The words spill out, raw and honest, before I even have a chance to think. It's like my soul won't let me hold back, even though my mind is screaming for me to shut up. "Don't you dare judge me. I told you it's the first time I've watched. It’s the first time I’ve done most things.”
"I'm not judging you.” Jaden’s fires back at me, clearly pissed. Sitting there with his cock still hanging out and his cum all over the towel. The cock and cum my eyes are locked on,
"I'm saying stop following society's script and figure out what you actually want. Especially when it comes to your own desires." The tension radiating from him as he puts himself together should alarm me, but it has quite the opposite effect. Because he’s right, if people are really doing the kind of shit we’re watching on TV, there’s been a lot missing from the romance novels I’ve read.
"You're probably right," I begrudgingly admit. More out of embarrassment than shame. What twenty-five-year-old doesn’t know about sex these days? Those of us trying to survive.
He arches an eyebrow, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of a secret amusement in his eyes before he shifts his attention back to the television. A nauseating blonde is on the screen, blowing one of the men, and I can't help but wonder what he finds appealing about watching fake sex. But I know better than to ask, especially with his moody nature.
Once, in my life before Viper, I stumbled across an erotic movie filmed abroad—in Bombay, perhaps, or some other city of exotic beauty. The women were stunning, the men beautiful. The acting was passable—it was enough to take me away from reality and indulge in heated fantasies. In my memory, I can still see their oiled bodies intertwined between silken sheets and sultry curtains as they moved together like one harmonious creature. There was no explicit nudity, yet every subtlety had been amplified to teasing intensity. Even now it provokes a stirring deep within me. Now, smut like that is worth watching.
In this silence between us, a subtle air of smug righteousness surrounds him, as if he's stumbled upon some hidden purpose, and I'm somehow at the center of it. His curiosity sends shivers down my spine. It's as if he's trying to figure me out, peering into the depths of my soul with those piercing eyes.
I sit there, my heart racing, feeling the weight of his gaze on me even though he's seemingly engrossed in the TV. There's something about him that both intrigues and frightens me. I've never met someone like him before, someone who can make me feel so exposed and vulnerable without even saying a word.
As much as I want to know what's going on in his mind, I'm also afraid of what I might find. He's a man of secrets, and I can sense that he guards them fiercely. He's built a fortress around his heart, and I'm not sure if I'll ever be allowed inside.
So, I sit in silence, my own thoughts swirling like a storm. Our connection is both undeniable and unnerving. Will he ever let me in, or will he always keep me at arm's length, a distant spectator in his life?
For now, I have no choice but to watch, wait, and navigate this complex dance we're in. And as I steal glances at him, I’m certain he's watching me just as closely, as if trying to decipher how to decode me.
Suddenly his hand reaches over and grabs mine, drawing it up to hover over his groin. Heat radiates through me, and my heart pounds wildly in my chest. Now he wants a hand job? But he just came! He looks into my eyes, and I swear I can see all the way to his soul in that moment.
My heart races faster as Jaden leans closer. His breath swirls around me, a dark caress that sparks every nerve ending in my body. I can't focus on anything but him and the strange connection between us. I'm trying to look sophisticated as if I'm in control of the situation . . . and failing miserably. All I can do is fight the urge to surrender to this burning desire inside of me.
The muted TV screen flickers to life, the blonde beneath the man in a passionate embrace snatching my attention back to the screen . . . while my hand stays locked about an inch above tenting lounge pants. I can't tear my eyes away as my heart pounds against my chest. I've never been this turned on, ever. The strong yearnings in me beg for something that both terrifies and fascinates me—sex. It brings nothing but pain, but with Jaden . . . maybe it won't hurt. Maybe with him, I could feel something more than fear at his touch. I let my hand drop onto his crotch. What the fuck do I do now?
Jaden's eyes meet mine, filling me with a sudden burning desire that overtakes all other thoughts. Only a whisper of command escapes his lips. "Take off your panties." His words roar through me like rippling thunder and the heat between us makes it hard to breathe. His hand slides farther up my thigh, and the promise of all the wicked things he could teach me hangs heavy in the air, an unspoken temptation between us, daring us to cross the line. There's no sound except that of our breathing.
His movements are deliberate, each touch like a slow burn, igniting a fire within me that I can't ignore. I wait for the dead feeling to come . . . that numbness that always washes over me when men touch me. Except, this time it doesn't. His fingers trace delicate patterns along my skin, awakening sensations I'd never known before. It should terrify me, but instead, it's like a forbidden thrill that I can't resist. My mind swims in a storm of conflicting emotions, but the intensity of his touch drowns out everything else. I can't deny it any longer—I want him, body and soul, and the fear that courses through me is exhilarating.
In this moment of darkness and desire, I see the vulnerability in his eyes, a glimpse of the man beneath the extremely rude exterior. I know I should be cautious, for the secrets he keeps and the pain he hides, but the pull between us is magnetic.
He's giving me a choice, a chance to walk away if I want to, but I can't bring myself to take it. I want to explore this connection, to delve into the depths of this unspoken desire. I trust my instincts and heart; they're telling me to stay right now. I try to deny it, yet my traitorous thighs fall apart as if they have a will of their own, and with trembling fingers, I obey him and wriggle out of my panties.
His fingertips brush my hip as he guides me back, teasing me with what could be if I give in. His gaze sears through me as his thoughts become clear through our strange connection—I can feel them exploring every inch of my body, making me desperate for his touch.
He gazes down at me with a heat that burns my skin, and shame washes through me. What he must think of me splayed out in front of him like a wanton slut.
"None of that," he whispers in my ear, his breath warm on my neck. My body tenses, anticipation coursing through me. Again, he barely moves, yet I am thrown off balance, reacting as if pushed back. His magnetism is a force in the room that threatens to consume me, and I collapse against the couch, my legs spread wide. His hand travels slowly up my thigh, and my pulse quickens. A wave of desire crashes over me as his fingers dip between my legs, tracing circles around the swollen wetness between my thighs before sliding down and teasingly circling my clit.
A moan escapes my lips, and I can feel his intense satisfaction at my surrender, but I'm already lost in the delicious sensations consuming my body. His fingers deftly explore every inch of my girlie bits, pushing deeper with each thrust until I'm coiled tightly—too tightly—on the edge of ecstasy.
“Let go.” He breathes it in my ear. His fingers circle before applying just a little bit more pressure. I let out a long moan, tense, on the edge. Anxiety seeps in. I try hard not to pant—I concentrate every ounce of energy on it.
He kneels over me, grabs my curls, and yanks my face to his. He isn’t rough, but he’s insistent. My eyes fly open. His gaze drills into mine. “Stop thinking.” Low, insistent, commanding. He lets my head drop back, and I collapse against the cushions. After a few seconds of intense staring, he seems satisfied and resumes where he’s left off. I let myself look for just a few seconds. He is glorious. Greek God glorious. I always liked the Greeks better than?—
Jaden plunges three fingers deep into me, and waves of pleasure and pain jolt through me. My clit pulses in time with the rhythm his other hand sets as he caresses it. I bite my lip to stave off the scream that threatens to escape me. My body rebels against this invasion, trying to push him away. But the warmth of his touch seeps through me like honey, melting away all resistance. I moan long and low as I rock against him, meeting each thrust with one of my own. He moves his fingers like they are performing some kind of ancient magic, weaving patterns of pleasure inside me that threaten to break any semblance of control I have left. Every move pushes me closer to the edge. . .
I can’t let myself think about what I want. So I lie there, suspended, like a steam engine without a vent, waiting to explode. His hands roughly yank at my shirt and pull it up to reveal my hardened nipples begging for attention. He grasps one between his lips, sucking hard until I'm on the brink of screaming out as pleasure and agony mix. My every nerve is pulling me closer and closer to the hidden abyss I yearn for—but just can’t reach. So I do what the girls at the warehouse taught me to do and make appropriate moaning noises faking an orgasm.
I almost sob as he withdraws his fingers. I want more. He sits beside me while I recover . . . not touching, but not withdrawn either. I get my breath back and try not to let the confusing chorus of my thoughts ruin the sensations coursing through my body.
