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I’m too chickenshit.
He hasn’t fully dragged me from my cocoon.
I lick my lips again and rotate my hips forward, ready for round two.
But I freeze when his body shudders.
A deep groan leaves him, and he opens his ravenous eyes to drown in mine.
I glance down, fascinated, when the first drop of cum drips from his tip. He inches closer until his cock meets my entrance. When I attempt to clamp my legs shut, his body stops them.
He strokes himself faster and faster, his elbow hitting my thigh. On his final thrust, he gasps my name. His entire body shakes, his orgasm an earthquake inside him, as he releases every drop of his cum between my legs.
Before I can take another breath, he collects as much cum as he can on his fingers and sinks them inside me, ravenously pumping them.
“When I leave here, I want you to play with yourself again,” he demands, forcing his cum deeper and making small circles. “I want you to slip your fingers in and out of your pussy.”
While there’s no way I can complete a sentence, his words are articulated.
“My cum stays in here,” he adds, slowly withdrawing his fingers. “Don’t you dare shower or clean it. When I return tomorrow night, I’d better smell me inside you—do you hear me?”
I stay quiet, pressing my palm to my stomach to control my breathing.
He wants me to go to bed and, like … incubate his cum inside me?
That’s how pregnancies happen, and Antonio will one hundred percent die if he impregnates me.
He buckles his pants, drapes his body over mine, and grabs my jaw. “If you don’t, I won’t let you come next time, nor will I be nice about it. Do you want that, princess?”
I shake my head the best I can in his constraint.
He pats my cheek. “That’s my good girl.”
Then I watch as he leaves without saying another word. Lying here, I process what happened and press my hand between my legs. I play with his cum between my fingers, focusing, and bring my finger to my mouth, sucking on it.
It tastes salty.
Foreign.
“Not too bad,” I mutter, my eyes on the French doors.
My knees are weak when I roll out of bed and change into a not-ripped nightie. I glare at the ripped one.
Antonio will get a bill for that.
When I return to bed, I squeeze my thighs together, not wanting to lose a drop of him.
My thoughts are everywhere as I lower my hand between my legs.
When I glide a finger inside myself, I say it’s for me. That I need another orgasm. Not because Antonio ordered me to do so.
I moan his name when my body hits the brink again.
We’re playing a dangerous game.
Sleep shunned me last night, but the tiredness is worth it.
Antonio is my first text of the day.
