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“Oh, I wouldn’t?”
He shakes his head.
“Why is that?”
There’s a tiny bit of fire in those dark pits. Not enough to ignite, but enough to fan the smoke.
“I’m broken. Used.”
His voice cracks on the last word.
“Didn’t stop me before.”
I shove my pants down my thighs, letting him get a good look at my trapped cock: plump and filling as I stroke over it with lazy fingers. Nothing about this is arousing, but I need to create the illusion for him.
“I want you naked.”
Shiloh doesn’t respond. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. I stare him down even though his eyes are hidden by his hair and hood.
“Safeword,” I bark, and that seems to shock him out of his trance.
I wait for him to spit the word like venom, but instead he reaches for the hem of his hoodie and pulls it off. He’s got a ratty tee beneath that he tosses aside.
There he stops, and our eyes lock.
His chest and abdomen are even bigger landmines of bruises and gashes. His ribs are a sickening red and purple, with deep fingerprints across his waist.
I try to imagine causing him the kind of pain that would leave marks like those, but even I can’t be that cruel.
“Come here and show me your ass.”
The defiance roots him in place, but I have patience. If he wants this, he’ll give it to me. Even if he has to fight back first. If he doesn’t, he’ll use his word. Or I’ll say it for him.
When I kick my shoes off and drop the pants to the floor, Shiloh slowly crawls off the bed. He toes off his own shoes but hesitates with his fingers at his waistband.
“Are you going to fuck me?”
I’m not sure if it’s a challenge or if he genuinely thinks I’d do that to him right now.
“No. You’ll have to earn that privilege, sweetheart. I want to touch you.”
He starts to roll the band of his pants down but stops. “Are you going to spank me?”
“Do you want me to spank you?”
A couple of breaths skip in his chest, and I think he might panic before he finally gets a huge gulp in.
“Does it matter what I want?”
Yes, always.
“No.”
His eyes flutter closed. His chest rises and falls in slow, jerky motions. He shoves his pants down, grips the fabric of his underwear in tight fists.
I don’t press for that last shred of compliance. When he’s ready–if he’s ready–he’ll give it to me.
He’s still closed off, only peeks of emotion coming through. Uncertainty is the most prominent. But even so, he bends over and discards the last of his clothes and stands in front of me on full display.
