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My heart is thrumming in my ears at how close he is, and I feel my entire body begin to tremble. A tingling in the base of my spine makes me bite down on my bottom lip. Hard. Oh fuck, I feel like I’m gonna come.
“What were you going to do with this?” Skylar asks, and I swallow so loudly my throat clicks.
I’m not nervous. No, I’m horny as fuck. Have been since I sat down at the table and tried to regulate my breathing.
It only made my dick harder.
“Nothing,” I say and then attempt to move past him, but my jutting cock brushes against his thigh. The sensation of him against me feels just like a hand caressing my shaft.
He must feel it too because he takes a step back, his eyes swiveling down to my crotch.
“Don’t fucking look at it,” I say.
“Look at what?”
That just grinds my gears, making me see red.
“You know you see my dick. It’s right here. It may not be huge, but you can fucking see it!” I grab on to it and jiggle it a little.
Skylar glances down at it, then back up to my face, and arches an eyebrow. Like he thinks this is all a joke.
Well, whatever. Fucker can go lug his big dick around. I need to get off so I can behave with a little decorum. Moaning like that from just touching a rope is ridiculous.
I need to get myself under control. As much as I can.
Grabbing some lube from my bag, I stomp into the bathroom and slam the door. Then I stand there, staring at myself in the mirror, watching as my unkempt hair falls over my forehead. I’m going to chop this shit off as soon as I can get ahold of some scissors. Going to shave my head.
My chin drops to my chest and I glower at my dick.
“You slut.”
It bobs its head at me in acknowledgment, and I hiss.
“And listen, you’re not small. You’re average.”
I reach down to grab it to put myself out of my misery when I notice that the bar on the shower door is slightly loose. I don’t even second-guess myself. I just move toward it and wrench it from where it limply holds on to the glass, gripping it in both hands.
I’m not going to really hurt him, but I am going to fucking make him realize that I’m not messing around. Maybe make him bleed a little.
A nice puddle of blood would make me feel loads better.
I charge out of the bathroom, the metal rod clutched in my hand, my mind solely focused on my mission as I aim at the back of his knees and swing, hitting him squarely in the back. A grunt escapes me, my muscles straining from the force of my blow.
But he doesn’t even falter or flinch. Fucker doesn’t even give me the satisfaction of a huff. He just turns around and grabs on to the damn thing, tossing it across the room where it lands with a clatter.
Without a word, he grabs on to me by the shoulders and pulls me up against his body. My hands land on his biceps, feeling them flex beneath my palms. They’re so damn big, so fucking powerful. He could put me in a headlock and crush my skull with them.
“I should have cut you instead,” I spit, and he reaches up and fists my hair, pulling on it roughly, forcing my head back.
My neck is exposed and my throat works at the thought of those teeth sinking into my tendons there. I’d scream, claw at his eyes.
Would probably do all sorts of things I’d regret later.
“You want attention?” Skylar asks, and I breathe out a long, shaky breath.
“I want you to go to hell.”
His fist tightens in my hair painfully, and my scalp stings.
