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Morning dawns to find me weighted beneath a blanket of soft, warm woman. My dick thinks it’s in heaven, its hardness pressing against Maricela’s soft skin and searching for more. My hands are on her back, my fingertips drinking in her softness.
Until I wake fully and pull myself together, that is.
It doesn’t happen soon enough.
I don’t know if it’s my iron cock nudging at her, but Maricela wakes with all the adorableness of a clawing, hissing kitten.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snarls, her eyes narrowed as she pushes herself up on her elbows, revealing the seductive curve of her breasts, which draw my focus.
Realizing, she scrambles away from me, pulling me out of my reverie, and I sit up, rubbing my eyes wearily. “What am I doing? It was you who decided to sleep draped all over me,” I point out, although I can't help but appreciate the sight before me.
My fecking cock has addled my brain.
Maricela looks defiant, if not a little terrified, her hair tousled, and eyes sleep-laden. I feel my own heart racing, a primitive urge to possess her coursing through my veins.
“Asshole!” she spits. “Only a lowly, scum-sucking, two-bit asshole would take advantage of a woman while she sleeps.”
I roll my eyes. Drama is definitely not my thing. “Jesus God, woman, I did nothing of the sort.”
She glares at me. “You forced me to be here,” she points out. “You used your strength to take me by force.”
“Did I?” I turn my eyes to where she's bundled in the sheets, like she’s trying to hide herself. “I seem to remember you were quite willing to come with me. Enough to show us the way out so we didn’t get caught.”
I still haven’t gotten my head around that… which reminds me of the marks on her back I still haven’t had a chance to ask her about. “And sure as hell no one forced you to your knees yesterday when you decided to provide your… um… services. We never did finish that conversation, did we?”
She’s getting angry and I find I like riling her up. “Am I to assume you were just pimping yourself out to gain preferential treatment during your captivity? Or are you going to explain what all that was about? Because so far, your words and your actions are somewhat contradictory, and I have no idea which to believe. Although they do say, ‘actions speak louder than words…”
I allow the slur to bloom in the air, and Maricela’s dark, fathomless eyes widen before a noise somewhere between a screech and a growl emanates from her throat. “Are you implying I’m some kind of… of… self-serving slut?”
The depth of her affronted indignation has me laughing, which only makes matters worse, and my pretty little captive momentarily forgets herself, picking up a pillow and whacking me around the head with it in pure outrage.
I bat it away, then pluck it from her hands and toss it on the floor before I topple her back onto the bed and pin her wrists above her head.
She stills, her eyes round and apprehensive, her body rigid, and I recognize the fear of reprisal, which has her barely daring to take a breath. I refuse to let it move me, but it shrivels my dick pretty bloody quick. Instead, I steel myself against her very obvious charms and the sudden alarm evident in her expression.
“Well, if the shoe fits,” I drawl with a sly smirk.
Just as I expected, the insinuation has her forgetting herself, bucking beneath me in a futile attempt to dislodge my large body from on top of her. I don’t know why that pleases me so much.
“Why, you bastard,” she grunts from between gritted teeth.
I laugh. “Well, my mother might disagree with that statement,” I defend, much to her chagrin. “And you seemed to enjoy being on your knees, on show in front of all my men, while you took my cock in that pretty little mouth.”
She whips her head around, midnight hair flying around her perfect, china-doll face, and stares at me with a look of affronted horror. “I most certainly did not. Not for a second.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Really? Then tell me, why were you so willing to begin with? I've been in enough battles to know when a woman’s fighting me and when she's not. You weren't. Nobody was coercing you. No one was making you do anything you didn’t want to do. Everything that happened was of your own free will, sweetheart. So don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
She huffs. “I was mortified if you must know. And when your men started stripping me, I was outraged.”
I chuckle. “I doubt that very much, sweetheart.” She looks away, her cheeks flushing, and I smile to myself because I’ve an inkling it actually excites her despite her attempt at moral indignation, whether she wants to admit it or not. Either way, I can’t help but goad her. I like her feisty. “I think you enjoyed it. Pretty sure I could smell your arousal.”
She turns back to glare at me, and I watch her carefully, interested to see her reaction.
“That’s disgusting,” she splutters. She says all the right words, but I’m still not convinced the outrage is real. “No, I did not. I hated every second of it.”
I stare at her, making it clear I don’t believe her, and after a few moments, she starts to squirm, enticing my wayward dick to perk up and take notice again.
I release her wrists and lean back, still straddling her, no longer pressed against every inch of her delectable body, but my eyes never leave hers. Unable to hold my gaze, she turns away and starts fiddling with her hair, then biting her bottom lip. Eventually, she can’t help but fill the silence. She refuses to give it up, though. And who knows, she’s probably telling the truth, because if I’m honest, she doesn’t strike me as the type who gets off by making a spectacle of herself. I think that’s what has me so fascinated. The sheer contradiction of it all. The woman is a paradox who has me hooked… and that’s more than a little uncomfortable to acknowledge. In fact, it pisses me right off and makes me more than a little punchy.
