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Patrick slipped his hand into his boxers.
“Look,” Sydney said. “I meant to tell you. If you don’t wanna stay with him, we can make room for you in the living room. You’d need to bring your own blankets and stuff, but you can have the floor on the other side of the coffee table…”
He was naked now. Hanging his clothes over his chair, never looking away from me. He was the mountain of muscle I’d expected — broad, bulky — but more than I could have guessed. His cock was thick, veined, raging hard. Taking his clothes off didn’t make him look more vulnerable, the way I felt. It made him look more powerful.
He walked up to me, closing the distance between us. One finger tipped up my chin. The single touch ran through my whole body.
In a very low voice, too low for Sydney to hear over speaker, he said, “Get off the phone.”
I stared at him. Then I cleared my throat. “I should get going,” I said cheerily to Sydney. “I’ll call you if I need a place tonight. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about. He seems like a nice guy.”
“He sounds kinda boring, but okay. Enjoy.” She hung up.
I dropped the phone in my purse. Patrick let go of my chin, but my knees were starting to shake again.
“On the bed,” he said, equally softly.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“You can get on the bed, or I can put you there.”
My legs took me to the bed. Juices trickled down my thighs. As I lay down on my back, Patrick reached into his coat pocket. When I saw the stack of bills in his hand, my body tightened.
“No.” I sat up.
He climbed over me, his knees planted between my legs.
“How do you know you won’t like it if you don’t try it?” His voice was persuasive.
Slowly, I lay back.
A stiff bill slid over my collarbone. I moaned. I couldn’t help it. The ticklish touch actually felt good. Immediately another bill stroked the other side of my collarbone.
“This is messed up,” I panted. “You’re messed up.” My breasts, my whole body was exposed to his calculating gaze. I couldn’t close my legs with him between them. He was so collected, only my glances at his stiff cock told me how much this was turning him on. And I was glancing at it a lot.
I inhaled sharply when one bill teased the curve of my breast.
“Tell me something,” he said softly. “No lying. Did you fake it with your boyfriend? The one you never came with?”
“None of your business,” I gasped.
“Tell the truth.” His eyes captured mine. I couldn’t look away. “Did you pretend you were getting off with him?”
“Yes.” Jesus, it was like he’d pulled the word out of me. I felt every difference between the textures of the two bills sliding over my bare skin. “But I — never mind.”
“But then you touched yourself after he was gone, right? Or maybe when he was asleep next to you. You came all by yourself, playing with your hot sweet pussy and your little clit, aching for release, not making any noise, so he’d never, ever know.”
I glared, clenching my fists, furious at hearing this guy speak my truths.
“Am I right?”
“Yes,” I hissed.
“Good. Let’s do this.” He threw the bills aside and picked up two more. My toes were curled, my hands grabbing Patrick’s comforter, soft against my back and ass. I was spread open to his gaze, my legs apart, naked and exposed. He could see everything, see how wet and juicy I was. My skin burned with embarrassment.
One bill, crisp and brand-new, maybe the one that had been inside my panties, made my skin tighten in goosebumps and I wriggled away from it. Patrick tossed it on the pillow and began with another one. Then another. He leaned over me, the dim bedside lamp highlighting his massive body from the side, watching me. I tried not to cry out as he slid twenty-dollar bills over my neck and collarbone, down my arms and over my wrists, around the swells of my breasts with a little extra attention. My nipples were two dark pebbles.
Touch me,I refused to say. Touch me with your hands.
