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If I don’t want to take her cunt, I need more than just fucking her mouth. But what?
Suddenly, I know what I have to do.
Never one to question myself or delay the inevitable, I retrieve my phone from my back pocket and send a slew of texts to a new group chat including half a dozen people, as we walk into the dark hall.
My father had every wall in the house painted black five years ago. I don't need to ask why: he didn't want to move, but he tried his best to remove everything about my mother's presence after she left. It worked. The house looks nothing like the one I grew up into. Modern art hangs on the walls, the furniture is minimalist, cream with gold accents. My mother would have hated it. She was all for her pastel colors, princessy upholstery, and frilly nonsense.
"Hungry?" I glance at my unwilling guest. I need to run the new direction of our little soiree by her, but she’s wound too tight to hear me right now.
Expressive as ever, she's taking in the house with awe and appreciation. I've never been in a trailer, but it must be quite the change."Huh?"
"Are you hungry?" I rephrase. "You just got off from the strip club, right?"
I'd know. I was there, waiting for her in the VIP lounge. Her refusal to come to me confused me hours ago but now I get it. She's not selling herself there, otherwise she would have been relieved of her hymen long ago. I bet the prissy princess keeps to the official no-touching policy, does her work and gets out, staying as far from the lounges as possible.
A stripper and a virgin. I chuckle. She couldn’t be more of a cocktease if she tried.
"How do you know that?" She sounds defensive.
I shrug, heading to the kitchen. "I know everything about you, princess.”
"Yeah, right."
She has reason to doubt me.The numbers of time I’ve met her can be counted on one hand, and I wasn't even completely certain of her name yesterday, but after reading a file longer than the average epic fantasy novel, she's probably the person I know best in the world.
Morgan Elise Brown, born 27th of May, nineteen now, elder daughter of two poor, uneducated young parents with records. Her mother popped her out at seventeen—the father had been thirty at the time. But they got married, so all was well in the eyes of the law.
Despite the kind of background that usually leads to a troubled kid, she kept her nose clean, maintained good grades—nothing exceptional—and so did her little sister. Willow's the more academically inclined of the two; where Morgan coasts, Willow dominates, getting straight As across the board in everything except PE.
Nothing in her family's financial information shows how the unemployed parents paid their bills, but their rent and utilities have been processed on time consistently for a couple of years, which tells me that Morgan's the one keeping a roof over their head—such as it is—and food in the pantry.
She needs a halo, an all-inclusive vacation, and a good fuck. Not necessarily in that order.
I open the fridge and pull out a beer first, then start to scan the neatly stacked shelves for an obvious snack. I can see some full meals prepared by the chef, but I'm in the mood for something simpler.
"So, food?" I prompt.
Her stomach growls, called out, and I hear it clearly, though she must be ten yards away. She's barely risked a step in the kitchen.
"I’ll take that as a yes."
"No."
I lift an eyebrow.
“I don’t want anything from you. We're not friends. You're just an asshole coercing me into sex."
She’s inexplicably trying to annoy me, thought that wouldn’t in her best interest.
"Right now, I'm the asshole feeding you." I point to one of the four bar stools at the blue-black marble kitchen island. "Sit."
I find croissants leftover from this morning in the bread basket, so I preheat the oven and proceed to cut four of them in half. By the time I've sliced some ham and cheese, the oven's ready. I slide the unopened beer across the counter without bothering to offer—she’d say no—and get another one out of the fridge.
"Can't we get this over with?" she snaps.
I grin. "So eager, princess."
The thing is, she's right. I'm stalling, which isn't like me. I should tell her I’ve changed my mind right now, and inform her of what’s about to happen.
