Page 71 of Shamefully Trained

I froze.

Then, to my utter humiliation, he used his thumb to gather the saliva from my chin and pressed it slowly back against my lower lip. “Open.”

I opened.

He slid the thumb into my mouth, and I suckled reflexively. The taste of myself and him together was so intimate and degrading that my knees nearly gave out beneath me.

“Good,” he said softly. “Very good.”

He drew his thumb out, and for one terrible moment I thought he might be about to come in my mouth then and there, without permitting me any pleasure at all. Instead he took a step back, looked down at me, and said, “You’re going to keep kneeling while I sit.”

He moved to the chair by the window and sat with effortless authority, one leg spread slightly, his cock still hard and heavy against his hand. He looked impossibly composed for a man who had just used my throat. I remained on my knees where he had left me, breathing hard, trying not to stare and staring anyway where I was allowed.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing with two fingers.

I shuffled forward on my knees until I was between his thighs.

He rested his hand on my head. “Do you know what I like about you, Alex?”

I felt my eyes go wide. “No, sir.”

“You resist in your mind,” he said. “Your pride puts on little speeches inside you. I can see them unrolling behind your beautiful eyes. But your body tells the truth almost immediately.”

My face flamed.

He tilted my chin up. “Would you like to tell me I’m wrong?”

I couldn’t. Not with my mouth still wet from him. Not with the thong damp and clinging and my nipples aching and my whole body thrumming with a need I had not chosen but could not deny.

“No, sir,” I whispered.

His thumb traced my lower lip again. “No. You wouldn’t.”

He gave a faint smile then, one that made my stomach turn over. “Why do you think I chose white for you to wear tonight?”

CHAPTER 22

Alex

In the moment, in the face of such an apparently reasonable question, I had no idea why I suddenly chose to rebel. The answer came out of me with a coolness I didn’t feel.

“I don’t know.”

Even as I said it, I knew it as a lie. White. Innocence.

Wedding night. Surrender.

Surrender, on her wedding night.

White for the kind of use my sponsor had prepared me for, with his hands and his toys and his calm, relentless certainty. White because tonight, I felt sure, he meant to take my ass for the first time.

The lie sat there between us.

The glance I risked at his face, then, showed me that Porter’s expression hadn’t changed much. Something in the room changed, though. A degree of softness vanished.

“You do know,” he said. “Look at me.”

I lifted my chin a fraction. “No, I don’t.”