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No one had seen me before. Because I’d worked at that. At looking ordinarily attractive. Perfecting a glossy surface with expensive clothes and shoes. Like I was just one of the many beautiful, shallow women in this city. Like there wasn’t something dark and hungry inside of me. Something wrong.
He knew that.
It was impossible for me to know he knew that, yet I couldn’t deny it.
He took up what seemed like the entire interior of the car, his legs long and powerful. Now that I was in an enclosed space with him, he was that much bigger than I’d first thought.
I was petite, barely 5'5?, and I’d worked hard to make sure I stayed in a size four. Not because I cared about the impossible beauty standards patriarchal society forced upon women, but because I needed to control everything about the façade I’d created lest it all fall apart.
I fucking loved the size difference between us. How easily he’d be able to subdue me. Dominate me.
My panties were already soaking wet at the mere thought, my thighs parted in invitation.
I knew he saw that; I knew he sensed how willing, how fucking eager I was for him. But he waited those five minutes. To drive me crazy. To send a message, that he was in control.
He was testing me. Finding out whether I’d submit to him. Whether I’d wait for him to make a move.
Though I’d left my submissive days behind me, I would’ve waited an hour until he touched me. I would’ve clawed my skin off my thighs instead of moving to run my hands along the bulge in his slacks.
But he didn’t make me wait an hour.
His hand moved quickly. Not so quickly that I didn’t have time to register what he was doing, time to refuse if I so wished. He was giving me the opportunity to back out in the few seconds before he touched me. Silently asking for permission with the miniscule pause. Daring me to speak, to force myself to clutch on to conventional rules about sex and strangers. But I didn’t speak. So his bare hand hit my thigh. There was no hesitancy, no asking of permission, no games. He moved it upward, quickly and purposefully to brush the edges of my panties and then…
Inside.
I was already quaking with need and unable to restrain myself from letting out a moan of pleasure, my hand finding the ‘oh shit’ handle in the car to steady myself.
He was not fingering me like a man who’d watched a lot of porn and had no familiarity with female anatomy or pleasure. Rough, probing, rubbing in all the wrong places.
No, what he was doing was a fucking art. He touched me with confidence, with the right amount of pressure, in the right fucking places.
Initially I’d closed my eyes, on reflex, out of sheer pleasure, but I forced myself to open them. My body jerked as I found his icy irises, cold and hot at the same time, intent on me.
The cords in his neck were defined from marble, tight, sculpted. He was holding himself taut while his finger moved fluidly inside of me, watching as I sped toward climax. I was anxious, desperate to feel him, touch him, but I was paralyzed, unable to do anything but cry out as he pushed me over the edge.
I kept my eyes open the entire time, throughout the aftershocks, while he pulled his fingers out of me and brought them up to his mouth to taste me.
Though I felt as if I had been broken apart, there was no time to consider this. To rest. This was him warming me up. Readying me. We were barely past the starting line.
I knew that because his cock was straining against his pants. Because his eyes promised a fuck of a lot more than finger fucking me in the back of his car. But there was more there. Some kind of challenge. Something that the dark, starving part of me responded to. And though I was ready to submit to him in any way—in every fucking way—I also wanted to show him that I could take control too. That I could meet him for whatever he had in mind. That I was unlike any other woman he’d been with. I wanted to shed the skin I wore so well, show him what was on the inside.
My limbs prickled with sensation and I was able to move in the direction I wanted ... toward him. He watched me do so, legs splayed out in invitation.
The back of the car was roomier than normal, giving me more space to work with. It would’ve been awkward otherwise, with his size and the fact that we were in motion. I barely noticed the bumps in the road, the stops and starts or the sirens blaring past, the sounds of the city passing us by. Nothing could penetrate the dull roar in my ears.
