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“Who says,” I said, “that I want to fuck you?”
She blushed, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. She was getting angrier, and I knew I only had a few moments before she ripped herself from my grip and told me to go to hell.
“Who says I want you to fall at my fucking feet?” I asked her, coming closer to her pouty lips, my own mouth just an inch away from hers. She parted her lips needily, and the softest of moans escaped her. “Who says I don’t want you to fight it? I like girls that struggle.”
Her face blanched and I briefly wondered if I’d gone too far, but then the color returned to her cheeks and I knew I had her.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I asked her, and she looked away. Pretty blue eyes on the floor, long black lashes spidery with mascara resting against her cheeks. I reached up to her face and my finger slid across her forehead, pushing back a strand of hair that was out of place. “I’d like to see you cry.”
“I haven’t cried since I was a child,” she said, raising her head and jutting her chin out.
“Proud of that?” I smirked at her. She looked confused and it made me chuckle. “Anyway, I’m about to head out. Enjoy the painting. I’m sure it’ll be the centerpiece of your shitty apartment.”
I expected her to lash out at me, but instead, she stifled a giggle.
“That painting’s fucking hideous,” she admitted. “I was only trying to start a conversation.”
“I’m glad we agree on something,” I told her. I decided I would hang the painting in my apartment once she moved in. Because I knew she would. Then I could tease her about it relentlessly. “Money well spent, then.”
“How can I make it up to you?” she wanted to know, and her flirty attitude was back, all fluttering lashes and luscious, slightly parted lips.
“I’m sure you can think of a way,” I said, just as the corridor filled with people. They were getting their coats, the last few visitors leaving. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”
“Yeah,” she replied, her eyes glued to mine. Her pupils were huge.
“Then go,” I said, and she shook her head no. “You’ll get in trouble,” I added.
She considered my words for a moment, and then finally looked away.
“You must think I’m some…” she started, and I cut her off.
“Come back to my place and cry some pretty black tears for me,” I said. Her eyes returned to the floor and she was fidgeting with her fingers. She was biting her bottom lip nervously.
“Got a boyfriend?” I asked, and she shook her head no.
“Parents waiting up?” Another shake of the head.
“Like girls better?” She smiled at that, and shook her head again.
There were still people milling around in the hallway, and someone bumped against her hard, so I pulled her against me. We moved behind a rack of coats and she intertwined her fingers with mine. I gave her a surprised glance, but she still wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she lifted the hem of her black pencil skirt and pushed my hand between her legs.
I sought out the wetness of her panties. I didn’t comment on what she’d done, just slid my fingers along her soaked pussy lips. She was shaved bare. Smooth. And wet as fuck.
She didn’t make a sound, her eyes focused on the floor as she pushed me deeper, past the fabric of her lingerie and inside her cunt. She didn’t gasp, or mewl, or beg. She was tight. Unbelievably, impossibly tight. She just pushed me deeper and deeper, until my fingers met with resistance. And then she did gasp.
She was a virgin.
I tried to pull away but she thrust her hips on my fingers, grinding down on them as deep as she could go without breaking her pussy open.
“Please,” she begged. “I want it. I really, really want it, sir.”
I traced my fingers along her hymen, leaning closer to whisper in the shell of her ear.
“You want me to have this?” I asked her softly, my voice indulgent. She nodded, gasping again when I stretched her unopened pussy around two fingers, her pussy lips open and exposing her sweet clit. “You want my fingers to break you in?”
“Please,” she said with a little moan, her body pressing close to mine. “I want that, yes. Please, please.”
“No,” I told her, pulling my hand away.
She sighed when I put her panties back over her pussy. They stuck to her, wet with her juices and exposing the shape of her pussy. I pulled her skirt back down and she glared at me as I raised my hand to her lips, smearing her own cunt juice all over her mouth.
“Clean them.”
Her blushing was adorable, and she turned her head to the side, denying my request. I could’ve been a gentleman, but then again, when had I ever been a gentleman when it came to fucking?
