Page 65 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“OK? You look like you might come any second.”

“Why does my dress look weird?”

“It’s wet. I made you walk into the pool and then step out. You’re soaking wet.”

“Why would I walk into the pool, Nolan?”

“Because I asked you to. And I told you how hard it would make me to see your dress clinging to your body like it is in the picture. Every part of your body outlined by the wet dress. Your nipples hard and peaked. Your mind spinning with anticipation.”

She bites her lip. “Keep going.”

I toss that drawing aside.

“OK,” she says. “What the hell is this?”

“Me, slapping your face. See the spot on your cheek? You have fair skin, Ivy. It won’t take much to make it red. Your ass will be the same color.”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Just wait,” I say. “It gets better.”

The next picture is me holding her face again, like the first, only this time I’m pushing my thumb inside her mouth. Her eyes are looking up at me. You can’t see me in this one either, it’s only her. My point of view.

“I’m crying, Nolan. This is sick.”

“Your pussy is throbbing, Ivy. Take my word on that. Throbbing. Because my fingers are inside you, pushing inside you. Strumming your clit in those tiny circles you like. If I had more time, I’d have drawn you sucking my thumb like it was my cock. I’d have showed you how turned on you were just thinking about what comes next. You want me to fuck you so bad right now, you’re begging.”

“I’m not. And I don’t.”

But her voice is weak. And not with fear. “Just keep an open mind. We’re not going to do any of this tonight. You’re not wearing the dress.”

She inhales deeply as she looks at me.

“Keep going?” I ask.

She shrugs.

I smile. Because I know she’s turned on.

“This one skips ahead.” She’s on her knees now, mouth open, my cock in her mouth. Her makeup is smeared so bad, it hides the mark the slaps are leaving. “What do you think I skipped, Ivy? Tell me, so when this date happens, I know what you want.”

Ivy is silent for a long time.

She stares at the drawing, studies it. Either thinking about what I asked her, or trying to plan her escape tonight.

“My dress is gone,” she finally says.

“I had to peel it off you because it was wet. We laughed about that and broke the scene.”

“Scene?” she asks.

“The… fantasy. It’s called a scene, but it’s private. I’d never want you to do this in front of anyone. For me and you it will always be private.”

“What’s next?”

I move on to the next picture, which makes Ivy gasp.

I’ve got her pushed down on the bed, face first. My hand flat against her hair, her cheek pressed so tight into the covers, most of it can’t be seen. “Fucking, of course. My way, which is hard, like I told you.”