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Carine tried to respond. Her brain hadn’t given her any real words to say, though. She had whimper sounds and enough bodily autonomy to actually tremble a little to slake a fragment of her agitation.
“We were going to boil pasta.” Heidi loosened her grip, but only to find a newer, lower one that had Carine throwing her head back and straining up onto her toes. The aggressive grasping of her cheeks tugged a pleasurable tension onto her vulva that made her semi-awake brain ponder if it needed to initiate the lubrication subroutine.
“We were going to boil pasta,” Heidi repeated and set her soft lips against Carine’s earlobe. “And then you were going to stuff that pasta and cover it all with sauce, but now I’m wondering if I was too ambitious. I’m wondering if I need to rewind and reteach you how to have a two-way conversation.”
“You’re a witch.”
“What’s that?” Heidi purred. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
She caught it. Carine knew damn well she did, because otherwise she wouldn’t have jammed her knee against Carine’s crotch and lashed the fear ofI’m-gonna-comethrough her.
Carine gulped.
When she’d been little, Carine had been addicted to choose-your-own-adventure novellas. She considered herself pretty good at guessing which string of actions would get her the kind of outcome she was in the mood for. Unlike one of those well-plotted puzzle books, Heidi was pure, Southern-accented chaos, and she knew precisely where to put a knee for maximum impact.
She circled it against Carine, agitating her pleasure sensors and jiggling the common-sense switch in her head. Logic was just out of her grasp. Every time Heidi worked her knee across Carine’s clit, a million or so more of Carine’s brain decided they would no longer be useful. Carine wasn’t certain how she was even maintaining homeostasis.
“All this for a simple question,” Heidi whispered. “And now your panties are gonna be all wet, and those pants will have to go into the laundry. You gotta learn to banter, darlin’.”
Carine couldn’t give a fuck about banter when her sinuses were doing that burning pre-cry thing because her body had been primed into launch mode. Combustion was imminent, and panties were an afterthought.
“I’m sad you don’t want to talk to me.”
Again, Carine whimpered because she had no choice, really. All she was good for was clenching, whining, and occasionally grimacing because she could hear that she was getting wet. She could hear the crotch of her panties sticking and unsticking as Heidi worked the top of her thigh brutally against her.
“What can I do to make you talk to me and not call me nasty names?”
“Mm-hmm.” That was all Carine could get out because her throat had closed, and she was shaking. She had to yank her hands up into service and put them between her body and Heidi’s to stop the torture. The woman wasn’t going to let her come with dignity. She wouldn’t have been shocked if Heidi had made her stand there all day and heckled her for being a forty-five-second orgasm slut.
Heidi breathed out one of her dominatrix sighs of disappointment. “Open your eyes, Carine, and tell me if you think I’m mysterious.”
Carine still didn’t know the “right” answer to that.
Her eyes were watering, and the edges of her mouth were spasming. She could barely stand up straight, even with Heidi’s knee returned to its usual latitude and her hands bracing Carine’s hips.
She blinked a few times to give her head a prompt to restart and took a deep breath. “I think you are. Okay? Just my opinion.”
Heidi’s eyes narrowed.
“Please don’t make me come again,” Carine said hastily. “I’m gonna squirm every time I sit down tomorrow if you do.”
“How is that my problem?”
Carine blinked again.
That…isn’t evident?
She would have rolled her eyes if she didn’t think Heidi would have misinterpreted the expression.
Of course it’s evident.
“Really. How’s it my problem that you sitting normally in a leather desk chair makes your pussy clench?”
“People should…take responsibility for their actions?”
“Like you calling me a witch?” Heidi chuckled. “You’d better be happy I have a no-juices rule in my kitchen, Carine, or else I’d bend you over that counter and show you just how witchy I can be. Don’t fuck with people who have spreader bars locked in their hope chests. You could end up having a very exerting morning.”
All Carine knew how to do anymore was blink and, apparently, dig herself deeper holes.
