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This woman is nothing more than a means to an end for me.
An inconvenience that has been in my house for over two weeks, disrupting everything.
And why has she been disrupting everything?
Because I can’t get her out of my head.
I stop playing with the clamps and walk away for a moment.
“Biology,” Shelby shouts out.
It hits me that she must have thought I’d stopped playing with the clamps because she wasn’t answering my questions, rather than because of my own stupid doubts and frustrations pulling me away.
Taking a deep breath, I flick one of the nipple clamps, and I’m not sure whether it’s to reward her or punish her. I think the lines are becoming blurred. This woman crashed a two point six million Ferrari, and I don’t care.
“That doesn’t surprise me. I know you care about animals.”
“I do. They are much nicer than humans.”
“I’ll give you that.”
“What was your favorite subject?” Shelby asks.
No one has ever asked me a question like that before. When I was growing up, all my father cared about was my progress with the extracurricular lessons he arranged for me, covering topics such as fighting, swindling, and illegal activities in general,
“I think this one might surprise you. I enjoyed art. I don’t mean creating it, but I liked researching artists and forming my opinion on their works.”
I’m shocked at the frankness of my answer. I’ve never even told Max what I’ve just told Shelby. Although he probably knows already. He knows me better than I know myself.
I must stop this conversation now.
I return to the nipple clamps and pull harder on them.
“Art. I don’t believe that,” Shelby continues, so I pull even harder.
She gasps, and I thrust my free hand in-between her thighs, pushing aside the fabric of her panties to expose her sex. I refuse to answer any more questions.
“Dream career, if not a vet?” I part her folds and run a finger along her slit to the nub of her clitoris that’s waiting desperately to be touched.
“I’ve never considered any other careers, apart from being a waitress. I’ve never been allowed to have those kind of dreams. What about you? What if you weren’t a mafia boss?” Her response is breathless, her orgasm approaching rapidly.
Don’t answer.
Don’t answer.
“I wanted to be a pilot when I was younger. I love flying.”
Shit!
I have to stop this.
I move my hand quicker. Rubbing her clitoris so fast I don’t give her a moment’s respite as one orgasm rolls into another.
“Eaton, please,” she cries out with exhaustion.
Leaving the clamps still attached to her nipples, I remove my fingers. Her orgasm is glistening all over them.
“No more questions.” My voice is strict, unwavering. “I ask them. You answer. Understood?”
