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“Reign —”
“And while I’d fuck my fist, watching you smell your hair,thinkingthat I’m fucking your braid, I’d imagine that you were saving it for me.”
My heart slams inside my chest, really, really loudly.
Or maybe it’s his heart.
Thundering inside his chest and reverberating inside mine because we’re basically one body right now.
“I wasn’t,” I tell him, quickly, urgently, fearfully, knowingexactlywhat he means.
“I’d imagine how it would feel to take what’s mine.”
“It’snotyours.”
It’s not.
It’s not.
It’snot.
It never was. It never will be.
But the place between my thighs doesn’t seem to care. The place between my thighs is buzzing. It’s alive and pulsating. And I don’t know how to make it stop.
And what he says next doesn’t help either.
“You’d be tight, I knew that.” Letting go of my braid then, he spans my torso, squeezing it as a whole, as if proving a point. “Iknowthat.”
My spine arches. “No, I’m —”
“Knowing my luck, you’d probably be sewn shut.”
“That’s —”
“Knowing my luck, Echo, you’d probably start crying at the first sight of my dick.”
I scratch his neck. “I will not start crying.”
“You’re a crybaby,” he tells me. “You’ll cry.”
“Iwillnot.”
“You’d probably start bawling at how big it is.”
“It can’t be that big.”
“How thick and angry.”
“Why would it be angry?”
He squeezes my ribs again, making me gasp as he says with clenched teeth, “Because of you. Because of how tight your pussy is. How tight and small, two sizes too small for my dick. And how it wants to get in. It wants to fucking pound its way into your tight pussy hole but can’t. It has to be patient.”
I’m squirming something fierce now.
At his generous use of the p-word.
Somehow, I still am able to say, all primly, “Patience is a v-virtue.”
