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“I want you to get what you paid for.”
“And I want to enjoy what I paid for. Fucking you in some prepubescent, three second fumbling rut isn’t what’s going to happen here. I’m getting my money’s worth. Trust me. It will be my way and you’ll enjoy the ride.”
Oh gosh.
He walks over to the fully stocked bar cart on the far side of the room. He pours one glass full of champagne, and the other he cuts with half a glass of orange juice. The champagne he keeps, and the mimosa he hands to me.
As I take the glass, I realize my hands are still shaking. Clutching the crystal, I then realize it’s not just my hands. My whole body is trembling.
“I just… I just want to get it over with,” I blurt out. “I want to know what it’s like.”
He growls. Taking a seat by the fire, he signals me to come over to him, which I oblige.
Standing in front of him like an offering he’s inspecting before the sacrifice, I feel his hand slide down my hip and he guides me to sit on his lap.
“Get it over with? Let me tell you something, Princess. Once I’m inside you, you’re not going to want to get it over with.”
I reach for his cock through his pants. I can’t help myself. I can’t resist, like a moth to the flame.
It’s huge. So thick I can barely get my whole hand around it. And as soon as I touch him, he groans in the most primal, sexy, dreamy way.
His eyes close.
His cock thickens and pulses…yes, it pulses in my hand. I feel his heartbeat in my palm.
It’s so erotic it makes wetness trickle right out of me like a leaking sex faucet. Thanks to my crotchless panties, there’s no doubt he feels it too, spilling onto his tux pants.
“Let me do something, at least.” My voice is a high pitched, desperate pleading. “I’ll go crazy if I don’t. You don’t want me to go crazy, do you?”
I poke out my bottom lip on a begging pout.
He opens his eyes, leans his head back on a hard exhale, the angular ridge of his Adam’s apple catching the firelight. I lean in and kiss him there, savoring the way his stubble feels on my tongue, the way his cologne tastes.
I start to undo his zipper, but he jerks my hand away, straightening up to face me again. He pulls me closer, the fingers of his left hand at the back of my neck, his thumb pressing hard into my cheek. His eyes flickering and possessive.
“Time for you to fucking listen.” His voice is thick and low, hitting places inside of me that feel exposed. In the warmth of the room, a shiver courses through me.
I let go of his cock, frozen by the intensity in his gaze.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve done this before.”
“Bought a virgin?”
His eyes flash with a hint of temper that makes my core clench and more liquid lust soaks his leg.
“Sorry.” I nibble my lip, trying to find my balance in this tricky situation.
“Don’t be mouthy, Princess. I lead. And you follow. We clear?”
I nod and manage a tiny sip of my mimosa. The little bubbles tickle my upper lip and the tartness of the orange juice brings me back to reality. Just in time. Because I see he’s not kidding. He might tolerate some teasing, I sense, but not much. And something tells me I don’t want to dance too often on that line.
“Yes. We’re clear.” I lower my eyes in an attempt to be contrite.
“Good. Now sit down.” He glances at the chair across from him. “And let me get to know the woman I just paid half a million dollars for.”
I slowly slide from his lap and follow his directions.
“Is that all you want? To get to know me?” I ask, feeling a heavy disappointment settling on my chest.
He narrows his eyes, sips his champagne. “We’ll see baby.”
The anticipation is killing me. Killing me.
It’s driving me crazy thinking I might’ve plucked up all my courage for tonight and that he might not take what he bought. Like standing on the top of a high dive, but chickening out on the final bounce and crawling back down the steps to the pool, with everyone watching.
It’s then that between us, I notice, sits a chess board on the table in front of the fireplace. Along with a very unsubtle bowl of condoms, little packets of lube in a multitude of flavors, and morning after pills.
You know, for those of us that stupidly didn’t think this through.
My competitive spirit does a cartwheel and my plan is hatched.
“Do you play?”
He growls, and moves forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to knock the chessboard over. Instead, he grabs the bowl and flings it to smash in the fireplace.
