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“It’s been three weeks,” I whispered.
He finger fucked me. “What are you gonna do to earn it?”
“What would you like?”
He used his thumb to tweak my clit.
My hips jerked, and I whimpered.
Okay, learning…that was a reward.
Nice.
“Can you stay still?” he asked.
No way.
“I’ll try.”
“You’ll need to stay still. Perfectly still.”
Oh boy.
My pussy clenched again.
A noise sounded in his chest.
“Be good,” he warned, still finger fucking me.
“Okay,” I wheezed.
I heard his chuckle.
In the end, I tried, I really did.
But I couldn’t pull it off.
I had to be bad.
So when Hale left me in bed to go get a cloth to clean himself from me (both the first and the next), my ass still stung.
But the rest of me feltgreat.
* * *
It wasafter I sat wearing Hale’s OP shirt, no panties (at his decree), drinking wine and watching him cook (incidentally, dinner was smushed, seasoned, roasted brussels sprouts with a balsamic glaze, baked salmon and lemony quinoa).
That all happening after he’d given me a full tour of his fantastic beach house.
We were back up in his room.
Not true.
We were upstairs on his personal balcony. He had a bucket chair up there, tucked in a corner, big enough for two.
And he hadn’t forgotten dessert this time. Lime yogurt cake with whipped cream and lime syrup.
It was insane.
