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"Baby. Fetch me the box," I say into her mouth.
She pulls back, eyes pleading. "I'm not like her. I can't, I..."
"I know. You're special." I run my lips across her forehead, nuzzle downward, lick the tight tendons at her throat. It's oddly peaceful to pet her. "You think I won't take care of you? You think I'm still a teenaged boy?"
Her fingers pluck at the base of my scalp, measuring the softness of my hair, the strength I hold in strange places. "I don't want to ruin my good sheets," she says flatly.
A twisted laugh bubbles up from my belly, croaking and splitting as it hits the air. "I'll buy you new sheets. Fetch the box, sweetheart. Please. For me." I reach down to roll up the hem of her skirt. "But take the dress off first."
She's silent as I pull the dress over her head. It lands on the floor in a heavy puddle of jersey, leaving her in her black bra, panties and heels. I make short work of the bra, her breasts tumbling out to be squeezed while I kiss her, her tight nipples grating along my palms. Oh yes. Good girl, already struggling, just a little. When I run my hands down to her ass, scrunch her cheeks up so she rubs against my straining cock, she squeals a protest so genuine that I have to spit her bottom lip out before I bite it off.
"Fetch it," I demand. "Now."
Leo kicks her heels off and pads out into the hall. I take her place at the bed frame and drink in the sight: not long ago, she did the same walk of shame out of my elevator, only fully clothed and not nearly as flustered. Now she's barefoot in panties, panties that hug her like a second skin, the slender valley of her spine leading to a heart shaped invitation. Her ass is like something from Alice in Wonderland—eat me, drink me. That book needed another bottle that said fuck me. Alice would've been less of a bitter cunt and the book would've been vastly improved.
While she fetches the box, I play with myself. Fist my cock through the fleece of my track pants, close my eyes, open them, dark, shadow, dark. So fucking hard I'm probably gaping at the head. Leo appears again, an outline in the grey fog of the room with the black box in one hand. She walks with a bowed head, soft footsteps, like even the carpet is telling her to be quiet.
Then she reaches my feet...and kneels.
She presses her face into my left thigh. Hot breath disturbs the fine hairs there, balms the muscles, taunts old wounds.
"Leo," I groan.
The box lands on my foot, pushed gently against my toes. The floorboards shift beneath her; she comes up a little, the tip of her nose running up toward my cock in a shock of heat.
I get a good handful of her hair and tug her head back, forcing her to look at me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Another girl might have apologised. Sorry, sir. Promise I won't do it again, sir. But my defiant little lion just arches eyebrow at me—how dare you interrupt? For all that fear haunts her, sarcasm is never far behind.
I don't even know what to do with that. But I'm a problem solver. I have my tools.
"On the bed," I tell her, still squeezing her hair on my fist. "On your back. Arms up toward the headboard. Legs together."
Leo crawls. Climbs. I'm close behind, pulling her braid loose, still smoothing my hands over her ample ass and thighs. The refined leading the blind. She reclines on the bed, all goose bumps and snatched breaths, her back arching as she raises slender arms. The act shoves her breasts up beautifully.
Soon, the moment will come when she stops being a girl and morphs into a canvas. Ah, fuck. So close.
Both my tie and the box come with me as I swing up next to her. I flick it open, find the tell-tale flicker of silver, fish it out so it sits right on top of the tissue. Then I set about binding her hands to the head board.
Leo closes her eyes as the tie hits her wrists. It is the most cliché of lovers, licking before it bites, and she winces when I tug it tight for the knots. When she's uncomfortably restrained, I climb over her for a kiss; another light tasting that quickly bursts into riot. So this is where my appetite migrated to; flesh. Leo. Her.
"Now," I pant into her neck. "Now, I..." I grope around for the box, but I can't resist taking one of her flushed pink nipples into my mouth, suckling on it, ushering a scrape of a yelp from her throat. We're a mess already and I haven't even got her panties off.
Jesus. H. Christ.
"You're a fucking distraction," I mutter.
She giggles, all dry and ironic and almost drunk. "From what?"
"I have to concentrate. Stop trying to fuck with me by being so fucking gorgeous."
She waits for me to kiss her other nipple and then arches further into my mouth, sighing with pleasure. Whatever she claims, she has waited for this. For my cock. For me.
But I need to keep her in her place. The silver trinket in the box seems to crawl toward my fingers, begging to be used. I pull my face from her breasts and rise up over her. Stare down. Hold my hand up, turn the blade before her black button eyes.
"Tell me what this is," I whisper.
She gulps. "A knife."
"A scalpel. Your scalpel. It was bought for you and it wants you, Leo. Almost as much as I do." I watch her features grow still as I place it on the flat of her belly. It warms in her heat, rises and falls. "It's part of you. See?"
Panic is upon her now; there's a tremble to her jaw again, a visible pulse at the hollow of her throat. "Aeron. Be gentle with me."
A grin claims my mouth, so wide that my dimples feel like piercings. "You're going to learn not to ask me that."
"But I've never...I haven't done this before, or pain, I've never..."
"Never, never, never," I murmur, still watching the scalpel. If she moves too fast, it will tumble down between her pretty legs and slice through her panties. "Tell me how I'm meant to be gentle with a scalpel."
"Smart arse," she mumbles.
"Yeah." I plant a kiss on her firm hipbone, right along the band of her panties. "One of those...Goddamn, you smell good here." Desire is the absinthe, obsession its bullet; don't you remember, grasshoppers, that you can't stop either of them? Give in. In. Ah. I bury my face between her closed thighs, inhaling, imbibing. That lemony scent I once caught on her bra; it's alive and well here, but stronger, slick. Like gin and tonic with lime.
Leo moans again, pushing herself up into me.
"Oh, I see. You like that?" I peer up at my tied mess of a girl. "You like the thought of my tongue between your legs?"
"Uhuh." There's no shame in her voice, only longing. "Please."
"Mmm." I hook my fingers under her panties and start to tease them down. This is for me as much as Leo—though I've touched and tasted her pussy, I've yet to see it. And I want a thorough look. Once I've pulled the panties down her legs, I lean over to flick the lamp on, sending the glass pebbles ringing like bells, and golden light across her flinching face. Once I've placed the scalpel back in its box on the bed, I come back up to pull my nails down her tied arms, to trace the outline of her lips with my finger. I finish with a wet kiss. "Do you trust me?"
She brushes her lips to mine. "Do you trust me...?"
An abyss sprawls between us; words that should remain unsaid. Then we're pressed so close that my eyelashes tangle with hers, my vision blurring into the lamp light that spatters her skin like syrup. "I'll lick you the way you want. But then I get to fuck you the way I want."
She makes a muffled sound against my cheek.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're gonna beg me to cut you instead. I promise."
Her giggle ripples up again; she can't take it seriously. This will change.
Is it bad etiquette to tell a girl you've been imagining her pussy since you stole the notes from her gynaecologist?
I feel my way down her body, spread her thighs wide. Settle my gaze on the sparse taper of her pubic hair, her swollen outer lips and glossy pink slit. With a thumb either side, I pull her apart, wait for her intake of breath. Then I peel up the hood of her clit. Exhale over her. When she writhes, I draw my thumbs down and press them past her slippery vulva, biting my tongue as her pussy swallows them whole.
Leo cries out and holds herself still, so full of my fingers, full where she's tight and wet—wetter than when I forced myself on her in this same room. That time, I had a gun; now I have a surgeon's knife, and she pays it the respect it deserves. I want to reward her obedience with an orgasm that tears through her like shards of glass and leaves crimson echoes in its wake.
The lamp light catches all the pretty pinks and reds of her pussy, and the shadows make every inch of her feel more forbidden than before. Her tanned thighs are smooth and untainted, and she utters little hmphs as I rub my stubble along the sensitive skin there, ushering blood to the surface in flushed, scattered clouds. Up close and stuffed with my thumbs, she looks obscene; more so when I spread her out completely, revealing pillowy inner flesh. I dip my tongue right in and lick along all I can reach, 'til I plough through stickiness that tastes like water and wine. My groan bounces off the confined space of her, makes everything simmer and vibrate, then on the way out, I bump her clit unintentionally—she jumps like I'm packing a thousand volts. Delicious.
