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Those bastards deserved it and so much more.
Yara came here to start fresh – to get away from her terrible father and her hard life, and she expected to find escape in a quaint little New England town like out of the movies. And instead, the first thing that happens to her when she steps off the bus is a group of men assaulting her.
I gave her a studio apartment, but it’s not enough. I’d give her the world if I could.
I’d give her all nine inches I’ve got morning, noon, and night. No doubt the last thing on her mind right now is sex, and I feel guilty as hell even thinking it right now, but I am a man, and I’m dying to know what she looks like under those jeans and that sweatshirt she was wearing.
I open my eyes and look down to see I’m hard as a steel bolt. Using some soap, I lube up my hand and begin slowly stroking myself, picturing what Yara would look like standing in front of me just as naked, using her hands on me as I explore the curves of her body.
I’d move up her thighs, on the outsides first, then cup her ass and squeeze it as I kept my eyes on locked hers to watch her reaction.
“Play with my balls,” I’d tell her, and she would. I’d already be on the verge of blowing my load, so I’d move up and stroke her perfect tits before pulling her close. Then, right as I was about to come, I’d thread my fingers through the back of her hair and bring my lips to hers.
But I wouldn’t kiss her. I’d whisper right into her mouth and tell her, “I’m gonna come all over you, baby.”
My little fantasy is enough to get me there quickly. I shoot a load all over the shower wall. And boy is it a big one too. The first shot splashes against the tile with an audible splat, and I have to brace myself as I empty my balls with an orgasm far more intense than I was anticipating.
“Fuck,” I groan, gritting my teeth as my cock flexes, pumping my seed everywhere. This may be the work-contamination shower, but I still have to fill my hands with cups of water and use them to clean the tiles off before I finish and grab my towel. “Jesus,” I mutter as I dry off and begin to trudge slowly upstairs toward the bedroom.
That was intense.
I don’t think I’ve had an orgasm that heavy purely from jerking off since I was back in high school. What has this girl done to me? There’s a window in the hall that looks out over the driveway to the garage, and part of me stirs inside just knowing she’s out there,inthere, so close and within reach, yet so far away.
When I step into the bedroom, I see Delilah laid out on the bed in her favorite set of lingerie and try not to audibly sigh. This isn’t going to go well.
“Hey, mister,” she whimpers, tilting her chin down and running her tongue across her lower lip as she makes sexy-eyes at me. “All clean? Because I think it’s time for us to getdirty.”
This is classic Delilah – let her anger get ahold of her, take it out on me, and then try to pretend it didn’t happen by making up with sex. She figures all men are justthatprimal that we’re that easy to manipulate. I can’t even explain to the guys at the shop why I resent a tactic like this. To them, I should just shut up and stop complaining. But none of them even understand why I’m with Delilah. They all think it’s my own choice.
“You look nice.” I lie, trying to keep my tone level. I can already feel the tension in the air as I hang my towel and quickly go to the dresser to grab some fresh boxers. “But, uh…maybe another night?”
Delilah clears her throat. “Another night?”
Yeah, thisdefinitelyisn’t going to go well.
“I got up early, ya know? And it was a hard day at the shop, and I just—”
“Lyle,” she snaps. “You know you can’t lie to me. What’s going on? Does this have something to do with that girl from today?”
Shit. Think fast.
“I jerked off in the shower.” I blurt out, giving her a dose of ninety-percent truth. She’s quick, Delilah. It absolutely does have something to do with “that girl” from today, but I’m going to leave that part out of my explanation.
Delilah’s jaw drops, and she sits up, gawking at me like I just told her I murdered twelve people at the Drunken Mug Pub downtown.
“You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head, knowing I’ve just popped the top off an argument or possibly even an actual fight that could lead to a phone call from her dad. Either way, it’s still better than exposing the truth about the gorgeous young woman I’m sheltering in our studio.Thatcould lead to something serious, like a group of his guys paying me a little visit after work.
“Why!?” Delilah’s shouts. “Why would you do that, Lyle? Why the hell would you jerk off when you have a beautiful woman waiting upstairs for you in your bedroom?!”
I shake my head and sigh. I’ve gotten used to her rants and outbursts, but am wondering what Yara is thinking if she can hear her from where she is.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, keeping it simple. But it doesn’t matter. Delilah isn’t listening. She’s already up and stuffing her legs into her pajamas and grabbing whatever she needs to go downstairs and sleep on the couch. Most girlfriends would kick the guy out of the bedroom and tell himhe’ssleeping downstairs tonight, but not Delilah. There’s something much more dramatic to her about going downstairs and suffering on the couch – the cold, uncomfortable couch, while I’m upstairs in the nice warm, comfortable bed.
“I’m sleeping downstairs,” she mutters, brushing past me in a huff. “Enjoy your nice big bed tonight.”
I just watch her go, thinking as I hear her trudge loudly downstairs, what I could be doing with all this extra space in the bed tonight…
