"Come on, baby. I was just teasing. Here,comecloser. Put this hand around my waist, and this one on my cock. Now point it at the toilet."
I'm squished up against Amos's side, practically hugging him with one arm as I hold his cock—a red, angry looking,hardcock. It feels nothing like I've imagined one would. Even in my fantasies, I always envisioned a smaller one, not one where my fingers barely meet. And I've seen my fair share of porn, but a penis on a screen doesn't even begin to compare to one in real life.
"Hold it harder. When I start to pee, it'sgonnajump a bit at first, so aim the head lower than you think you should. There you go. Good girl."
Oh, God—this is so embarrassing! I don't even want to know if he's looking at me or his cock.
A twitch or two, and then he starts peeing. It's the weirdest thing. And I mean theweirdest. I can feel the force of the stream as his whole shaft jumps like he said. If I hadn't aimed lower, there would be pee all over the toilet rim. Twenty seconds later, and he's still peeing full force.
The longer I hold him, the wetter I get between my legs, strangely enough. This is actually pretty arousing, holding him while he pees. I feel...empowered. Like I'm making him do it, even though he's the one making me hold it.
Amos’s voice grounds me. "Give it a shake, then put me back in. There you go, baby girl," he praises as I awkwardly shake it up and down and stuff him back into his briefs.
God, that was weird. But electrifying. He picks up the hand I used and brushes a soft kiss across the palm while gazing deeply into my eyes. He seriously gets off on this.
And who am I to talk? Ikindaliked it, too. But I can’t give in so soon.
I can’t.
Pullinghisshirtdownso it protects my thighs from the coldness of the chair, I settle in and sip my coffee as I watch Amos make breakfast for us.
"Cutting board... Where's the damn cutting board?" he mutters. Shouldn't he know where he keeps it? Oh, wait.Of coursehe doesn't. Because he only just finished building this place with his family. "There you are." Palming an avocado, he gives it a firm squeeze before placing it on the wooden board.
The man must either not trust me around the knives yet or he has a cooking fetish. At this point, I'm not sure which is the better choice. I normally don't eat anything for breakfast that requires me to do anything more than open a wrapper to get it ready for consumption, so to have two homestyle breakfastsback-to-backis surprisingly nice.IfI don't take into account the fact that I'm stuck here because I'm too chicken to try to run from a man who says I'm his and he's going to marry me.
A kiss to the corner of my mouth makes me flinch. I must have drifted further off into my thoughts than I realized.
"Breakfast for my Mercy. Just let me know if you want more and I'll get it for you."
Looking at the square plate as it slides in front of me, I internally grimace. The eggs are over easy—not my favorite way of eating them. One single poke and all the yolk is going to run out like a golden river and contaminate the wheat toast and avocado slices.
On the plus side, it seems as if he's going to let me feed myself, so I tuck away my annoyance. Turning the plate so the sides are straight, I cut a piece of egg white and bring it to my mouth.
"Do you like it?"Amos watches me like a hawk as he sits beside me with his own plate. Couldn't he have sat across from me? The heat radiating from his body is enough to make me combust.
I stop, egg piece dangling on the fork. His tone is eager, as if he'll be disappointed if I don't. I shove it in and hurriedly swallow it down. "Yes."
Headtucked,I focus on carving the whites away from the yolk without puncturing it. I can still feel the weight of his gaze on me. Awkwardly, I eat as much as I can, not knowing whether to drag my feet or not. Not knowing whether it's safer to stay here at the table or try to explore the house.
"Too salty?"
"No."
"Would you like some more coffee?"
"No." Can't I simply eat in peace?
"Juice?"
I stare at him in reply. "Aren't you going to eat?"
His eyes drop down at his plate as if he'd forgotten it was there. With a little tug of his lips, he digs into his with gusto. It's easier for me to finish my own with his attention off of me. The silence is almost companionable, oddly enough.
After we finish and he loads the dishwasher with the dirty dishes, he takes my hand and drags me back down the hallway. Worry instantly creeps up my spine the closer the bedroom gets.
"No, please..." I try to pull my hand from his but he only grasps it tighter.Surelyhe's not going to—
"Here you go, baby." He leads me to the closet and opens the door. "What do you want to wear today?"
