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“I feel cold,” she says, pouting at me. Her doe eyes drive me nuts, and I hope that I don’t fall victim to them. I stalk toward her, feeling awfully protective of her naked skin. “Please, keep me warm?”
“Of course.” My hand grips her thigh, squeezing her creamy flesh. “Where do you want me to make you warm? Show me. Be a needy doe for me.”
Ivy lies back down on her bed, and I watch her chest rise and fall with deep breaths. I make her nervous. She’s afraid of me, and I’m hard, like she is the first human being ever to fear me. Biting her lip, she lifts her skirt for me.
I memorize her pretty pussy. There’s no traditional porn in this godforsaken country. The state forces its citizens to go to clubs and sex stores if they want sex. We’re allowed to sext, but it’s frowned upon. I could hand my number to some girls, and I’d get instant pussy pictures, but all those pussies have nothing on my therapist.
Her trembling excites me, and I give her what she wants. I touch her pussy, finding her wet and ready for me. I’d fuck her right away, but she’s been a good girl. She deserves a little attention. “You want me to fuck you warm?”
“Yes, please.”
“What do you call me?”
“Mr. Winters, please. Fuck me.” She writhes while my finger rubs her clit. I dip a finger into her, and she’s tighter than imagined. I prepare her tight little hole. I don’t want her to bleed. I’ve got3013on my mind, but I don’t like blood on my, or her, sheets. It irritates me. Fylox and Kamila may be up to some kinky shit with knives and whips in their free time; my men have told me horrid stories from the security cameras’ footage, but I’m not that guy. Knowing what they do in their private time makes it hard to face Fylox’s father whenever he brings the Castro family to Katantia for a vacation. “Mr. Winters?”
“Have you been imagining my dick in your pussy every time you’ve said that name to me?”
She nods shamelessly, and I’m thoroughly amused. Pressing into her harder, I make her come with my fingers.
I don’t bother undressing her further. I unbutton my shirt while her pussy glistens at me, openly inviting me to dive into her. I leave my dress shirt on, and I undo my pants. One last time, I check her pussy with my fingers. Then I make her lick off her juices from my fingers.
Her folds welcome me as I adjust myself on top of her.
Ivy’s doe eyes disturb me. I’ve been around her for years. Those eyes have always been there, but I only took notice tonight.
I bury myself into her, and she takes it. When her eyes produce my favorite tears, I drink them. I play with her clit, anything to get her to relax. She’s tight like a vase, sucking the life out of my cock.
She shifts and squirms beneath me, trying to accustom herself to my length inside of her. Every movement she makes gets me one step closer to filling her up with the hot come she’s after. At this moment, it’s just us. This is risky. I can’t allow myself to connect like this. I need to cut whatever urges are growing inside of me.
Everything about her is needy. I’ve got needy at home, in the palace. I don’t want it, but I let her cling to me, hold me tight with her arms around me. She’s still in her lacy bra. It scrapes my skin. I’d much rather have her tits pressed against my chest, but I can’t find it in me to multitask right now.
We find a rhythm, and she gives me sweet moans for how my fingers play her. I make sure that she finishes first, and then I empty myself inside of her. Her face changes the moment it happens. She has her doubts, and I can read them from a mile away. I kiss her pretty lips to distract her.
She’s just a fuck, but I’m not going to be mean about it. What do I get out of it if I have a grumpy therapist?
“Stay here,” I instruct her. Relying on my memory, I guide myself to her bathroom. There’s no disarray here, and I find what I came for instantly. The order she applies to everything in her life makes me feel at home. It’s a treacherous feeling, and I shouldn’t get used to it.
I clean up, take a piss and return to my doe. She’s shaking again, but she hasn’t moved from her spot. With a warm cloth in hand, I approach her. She flinches at the sight. I kiss her just below her belly button. She can relax now. I’ve got it covered.
“That feels so good,” she tells me. Her breathy tone is everything. “Thank you.”
I discard the cloth, and I briefly contemplate what to do. The last time I did this, a couple of years ago, I left right away. It was purely physical at the time. I’m glued to this bed. Suddenly, I feel too heavy to move out of here.
“Can you hold me?” she asks, and her voice breaks. There are no tears on her pretty cheeks, and I’m grateful. Her tears are addictive, and if I consume them too often, I’ll get hooked.
I help her out of her clothes. Pillows fly all over the place, landing on the floor next to the bed. I feel the urge to fold my dress shirt and pants, but instead, I just toss them away. It takes a moment until I can focus on something other than my compulsion.
She gets me under her covers, and she presses herself against me.
It’s a strange sensation. I feel her radiating content. She falls asleep in my arms.
My brain can’t shut off. I spend the night reciting my soldiers’ names over and over again. Important numbers. How many visitors is the palace expecting?
Minutes drift into hours.
My son. Fuck! I didn’t watch the game.
CHAPTERSEVEN
