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His gaze burns into mine. My breathing accelerates. I don't know what to do. Should I fight him off?
Maksim said not to fight him.
Maksim said to indulge him.
Maksim said to please him.
“Believe me, you wouldn't want me hitting you.” With his free hand, he cups my sex over the jeans.
I cower and turn my face to the side so I can hide in my long hair, my core tightening. I remember the orgasms last night, all, too, well, and I can't tolerate that I liked them.
He rubs me there with the tips of his fingers. Even with the jeans between us, it feels good. I pulse for attention, the crotch of my jeans dampening with my arousal. It makes my toes curl.
Why do our bodies react against our will?
“You like that, don't you?” he whispers, softly kissing the side of my face. “And you hate that you like it.”
Can he read my fucking mind?
Looking back at him, touching his nose with mine, I make damn sure I don't break our gaze this time, even while I feel like I'm drowning. He has to know I'm strong willed if nothing else.
“Are you sore?” he asks. I'm not sure if he's mocking me or genuinely concerned.
Raising his eyebrows, he beckons me for an answer.
I nod minutely.
“I thought you might be,” he whispers. Grabbing my hips in both hands, he yanks me up off the ground, making me yelp in shock. “Don't be frightened. I'm not gonna hurt you.” He presses one knee against the wall between my legs and sits me there, my legs dangling freely on either side of his.
My ass feels bony against his masculine leg and a little sore with the pressure of sitting down.
I don't know what to do.
I instinctively reach out for balance and he grabs my hands; runs his fingers through mine. I lose my breath at the warm contact, trembling, desperately looking up at him.
What is he doing?
To answer my question, he puts my palms on his smooth face and makes me hold him, controlling my balance like this. His hands completely cover mine.
I can't breathe again.
Not once does he blink while staring right through my soul, his blue eyes full of desire. I feel so weak and small, at his mercy, and I know I look scared out of my mind.
I can't stand this!
“No one has ever been gentle with you before, have they?” Bowing his head, Charlie kisses my lips and fire races through my veins. “Have they?” he repeats because I don't answer him, speaking against my mouth.
I turn my face so I don't have to kiss him but he ‘tuts’ at me. My entire body trembles. I don't want him sodomizing me again—it gives him too much power over me—so I face him. He pecks my lips, chipping away at my will... making me want him in this fucked up endeavor of allure...
I detest that I want him. It's crazy. I should hate him—and I do hate him—but right now the desire is stronger than the hate. I can feel it in my body.
I open to say something—anything to stop this—and he takes full advantage, just like he did before. Delicately touching my tongue with his, he has me moaning and melting again, gripping his jaw in a desperate attempt to make love to his mouth.
All my anger—all my hate—it vanishes.
It seems I lose focus when he does things like this to me. I'm not myself.
He hums deeply, then he forces his sodden tongue right into my mouth and massages unholy across mine. I can taste real, bitter coffee on his tongue and Charlie's natural flavor. It's such a sexy contrast of flavors.
