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“So, let me clarify this”—I push my hips forward; she whimpers—“I’m a little confused. You really don’t want me to be reasonable?”
“No,” she yelps, biting down on her lip.
I walk my fingers down her skin to the crease at the top of her thighs, stroking across the lace of her underwear, relishing the feeling of her becoming stiff beneath me. “I see.” I bite my lip, pushing past the material and slipping through her drenched pussy. “Carte Blanche?”
“Yes!”
The power is mine again, and it feels so fucking good. It feels like us. “Well, now you’re just giving me mixed signals.” I feel her desperation as well as I can hear it. “I love how wet you are for me.”
“Please, Jesse.”
And she begs. Yes, she begs.
I push my finger into her, inhaling with her as I do. “Soft, hot, and made just for me.” I pull the cups of her bra down. “My mark is fading.” I latch on and start refreshing the bruise. “We don’t want you forgetting who you belong to, do we?”
“Ohhhhhh.”
“Do we, Ava?” I work her, bite at her boobs, at her flesh, and she gives me all the sounds as I give her all the words she craves when she’s at the mercy of our passion. Perfect. She comes hard, all over my hand, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her mouth hungry for mine.
I don’t give her a chance to recover, my own blood raging, my dick painfully hard. Not ideal when we’re seeing her parents. I need a release.
I help her off the bed and lift her to my chest, and she wraps her arms and legs around me, clinging on, avoiding the center of my back. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts right now. It’s a first.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I walk us out.
“My office.” I’m yet to have her on my desk, and since I can’t have her on her back, it’s the perfect opportunity.
“Wait,” she blurts.
“What’s the matter?” I stop at the door, looking at her in question.
She points back at the dressing room. “Take me to the wardrobe.”
She wants me to fuck her in the dressing room? “Why?”
“Because we need a condom.”
My recoil is unstoppable. “What?”
“Weneeda condom.”
“I don’t have any.”
“You do. In the wardrobe.”
Oh fuck. She knows. Or is she just suspicious and hoping I’ll confess? Never. I’m struggling to believe I did it myself. She’s not taking her pills right now. She’s missed plenty over the weeks. But a condom? “Ava, I don’t do condoms with you.”
“Then we don’t have sex.”
Say what now?“Excuse me?” Why the hell does she look so amused?Jesus Christ.Was she searching for her pills or condoms? Does she think I took her pills, or doesn’t she? She doesn’t appear all too mad if she thinks I did. Does that mean she’s open to babies? I am so fucking confused. And now she’s saying we’re going to abstain. Because, assumingly, she doesn’t want to get pregnant. “You heard.”
And what did I hear, because I’m getting all kinds of mixed messages here? “For fuck’s sake.” I go back to the dressing room and get the condoms. “This is ridiculous.” A fucking condom? I would say I’d pull out, but I could never deprive myself of the incredible feeling of coming inside her, and then she’d be pissy. Or would she? I don’t even fucking know anymore.
“You know, my mark is fading too,” she says as I carry her down to the study.
“It is?”
“It needs freshening up.” She’s trying to appease me. God love her, it’s working.
