Page 46 of Taking Turns

He steps away. His fingers pull out of my throbbing, wet pussy. My hand slips off his huge, fat cock.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “We’re so close.”

He pets my head again while his other hand tucks his cock away and zips up his pants. “I know, Chella. But the rules, love. I’m sorry, but the rules of Taking Turns say I’m… not allowed to fuck you. I’m not allowed to make you come. You’re not allowed to make me come.”

“What?” I ask. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He laughs. “I’ll excuse that slip in language because I kinda set you up here.”

“Smith.” I breathe in short, quick pants. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t talk about the other rules. I can only tell you mine. And rule number one of our relationship is no fucking and that also includes no touching.”

“That makes no sense,” I blurt.

“It does, love.” He pets my hair again, like I am a lost, sad dog. A very sick, lost and sad dog. “You’ll see that it does. Now be a good girl and go get ready for bed. It’s late now. We’re having an early breakfast with Quin and Bric so I can give them a report on how tonight went. And you have work after that. So go on. Go upstairs and take a shower.”

I.

Am.

Speechless.

“Chella,” Smith says, raising his voice. “I just told you to do something. When I give an order you will acknowledge me and then carry it out.”

I just stare at him. “Where are these rules?” I demand. “Were they in the contract?”

“The contract stated your role was to make us happy. And these rules make us happy. End of discussion. Go upstairs and get in the shower.”

I let out a long, disgusted sigh. Stand up. And walk away before I slap his fucking face.

It’s a game. It’s a game. It’s a game.

I run his words back in my head as I climb the stairs. The rules of Taking Turns say I’m not allowed to fuck you.

Or touch me. He said that too. What’s that mean? He can’t make me come? I can’t make him come? Which means… we masturbate a lot and then we leave each other hanging?

“That rule is fucking stupid,” I yell.

“Last time, Chella,” he yells back from below. “Last time I’ll let you get away with talking back. So be ready if you choose to do it again.”

“Fuck you,” I say. But I say it quietly.

When I get to the bedroom there’s lingerie laid out on my bed. Just a soft pink chemise. The bust is made of lace and it has a flirty skirt that drapes down to just above my hips. There’s also matching panties, same color.

I hold it up and look at it. Kinda sweet. Not what I expected from this freak, that’s for sure.

“Why aren’t you in the shower?” Smith asks.

He’s standing in the doorway and I take a moment to appreciate him. He’s fucking handsome. Tall with those broad shoulders. I can’t see the muscles in his upper arms or back, but I know they’re there. He has a shadow of stubble across his perfectly square jaw that wasn’t there earlier in the day. I watch him watch me.

“I asked you a question.” he says.

I look back at the lingerie in my hands. “I was looking at it.”

“You don’t get an opinion,” he says. “So you don’t need to look so hard.”

“Can we talk about these rules?” I ask.