This wasn’t about what I wanted, but about what she thought I wanted her to do.
Her eyes flickered, her composure dissolving. She took off her bra. And those breasts were gentle, her nipples pale like her skin, contrasting with her dark hair and those green eyes. She slipped off her bottoms, that tuft of hair, neatly trimmed, bared to me. My fingers itched to rub against it. To feel her skin beneath me. To slide my fingers inside of her sex.
There was no resistance to her actions. Hesitation, yes. Careful steps. But no reluctance.
She lifted her legs, her toes pointing as she mounted the hoop. She dipped and swayed her body, maneuvering around the metal ring in sensual circles, in time with the melodic music playing in the background. Her lips open. Her skin flushed. It wasn’t from the dance.
“Why do you dance for me?” I asked.
And this time, she was the one who didn’t answer. Her movements were tender and purposeful, angling her limbs in ways that showed off her skill and her body.
“To avoid kneeling for me again?” I asked.
At those words, she hung from the hoop, her body spinning with the metal. When she finally stopped, her eyes were on mine.
“Something like that,” she said.
And then she fell in a dramatic heap, crawling on her hands and knees, arching her back. She came to a stop at my feet, and she looked up at me with those hungry eyes, the same expression as when I made her lick my shoes.
The tension in the room surrounded us like the ocean filling a sinking boat. My cock twitched at those green eyes. The surrender in her gaze. Begging to be used.
All she needed was a little force.
