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End. It.
Screw him. I didn’t end it. Aiden and I are on the same side. As long as I keep benefitting him, he’ll do the same.
I even paid a visit to a certain girl who’s been writing him love letters. Cole, not Aiden. Who the hell even writes love letters anymore? Is she from a century ago or something?
Anyway, I told her he has a condition, you know, like a dick condition. She thinks he can’t get it up. I only meant that he’s a dickhead, but hey, as long as it worked, I’m not complaining.
Then I caught myself smirking when she walked away, thinking no one will get to see his dick anyway. That’s when I realised I’m going off track again. I’m sabotaging any sliver of a relationship he has with the other sex.
He’s making me lose my sanity along with my better judgement.
The wanker.
And yet, the only images that keep playing in my head are of yesterday. Me against the table while he yanked my dress up.
My hand sneaks down my stomach and to between my thighs. I’m wet, and it’s not just because of the water.
A shallow breath leaves me as I thrust a finger inside. I’m still tender and a bit sore.
I recall the way he spanked me while he held me down by the nape. He took my will, my choice, and I got even wetter for him.
My nipples pucker, painfully so, and I close my eyes and roll my head back. I twirl one tight bud between my fingers and tug on it. A moan tries to escape, but I trap it in like I did when he was touching me. His hands and body and chest covered me whole until he was all I felt.
I remember the first time he thrust into me, the force of it, and add another finger, tumbling over with the power of the thrust. I imagine it’s him, pounding into me, whispering dirty words into my ears, telling me I’m his, and my pace picks up.
My pounds turn harsher and I’m hurting my nipple, pinching it with my fingernails until it screams in pain.
I’ve touched myself before, and he’s always been the image I’ve pictured. Him half-naked by the pool. Him sweaty and rugged and freaking delectable after practice. Him running and scoring and being a god on the field.
But I’ve never wanted to inflict pain with it.
After yesterday, that’s all I want. The slight sting of pain that comes with pleasure. The power that comes with being completely at his mercy.
I plunge my fingers quicker, my moans filling the silence of the bathroom.
Oh, God.
The force of whatever is building inside me frightens even me. My legs tremble and my poor nipple begs to be put out of its misery.
My eyes roll back, causing my lids to open a little.
That’s when I see someone.
No. Not someone.
Him.
In the middle of my bathroom.
For a moment, I think he’s a manifestation of my imagination. That I somehow thought about him hard enough I managed to bring him to life in 3D format.
But then the rest of the scene registers. He’s naked.
There’s not one piece of clothing covering his body.
I’ve
always wondered about how he’d look naked and it escaped me every time.
