And she does, she takes every drop, every bit of what I give her.
It’s the best blowjob anyone’s ever given me.
Except, it was more taken than given. And the second I’ve finished spilling inside her, the realization fully rushes over me.
Oh, god. What have I done?
Flooded in guilt, I can barely look at her.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and make a dash for the bathroom. I clean up quickly, tucking myself away when I’m done. Then I scrub a hand over my face and brace my other on the countertop.
Leaning over the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. “You’re an asshole,” I tell my reflection. “Whatever she accuses you of, you deserve it because you just raped that woman’s mouth. She didn’t say yes. You just took what you wanted. Happy?”
Worst thing is I am happy. Even tainted with regret and shame, I still really enjoyed it.
Asshole is too nice of a reference for what I am.
I heave a sigh as I wet a washcloth. I need to clean her up. Need to apologize, even though assault isn’t something you can just say sorry for. I need to try to make amends even as I’m certain that I’m going to hate myself for this for a long, long time.
And what if she presses charges?
I can’t even think about that. I’d deserve it, but I can’t think about that shit.
After several deep breaths to psych myself up, I venture back out of the bathroom. I keep my head down, staring at my shoes, unable to look at her.
“Genevieve…” I trail off. I don’t know what to say next.
I brave a glance in her direction. She’s on the floor, her back against the wall, her legs splayed in front of her as though she were a ragdoll that was thrown across the room and this was how she happened to land.
I did this to her.
Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? After violating her downstairs, I follow it up with this?
But then I study her face—really study it. And the expression she’s wearing doesn’t say traumatized. It’s a much more familiar look, one I’ve seen on plenty of women in the past.
Holy shit!
“You liked it.” It’s not a question because I’m sure of the answer.
Still, she confirms. “I liked it.”
A roller coaster of emotions rumbles through me. I’m overwhelmingly relieved. And surprised. And delighted. And a little confused.
Also, I’m cautious. “Are you going to make a pizza comparison now?”
Her lips creep into a smile. “Better than any pizza I’ve ever tasted.”
“Good. Good.” I mean, pizza is still a lame correlation, but it was good sex, and I’m just glad she knows it this time.
Which begs the question…
I cross to her and squat so I can wipe at her mouth with the washcloth. “What changed?”
I’m desperate to know the answer. Because I’m pretty sure a lot of what I just did to her would have been considered rapey if whatever it was that has obviously changed hadn’t changed.
Though, as much as I want to know, I have to confess—it’s difficult to concentrate when her breasts are so near and so naked. A fantasy forms in my head of her tits covered in my jizz. It’s mind-blowing to think about. Sure I’ve given a pearl necklace or two in my time, but I’ve never wanted to see a woman bathed in my cum like I want to see Genny.
I’m so distracted by the image that I almost forget what I’d asked when she responds. “Are you going to make me talk about it?”
I pull my eyes up from her naked breasts to answer. “I think you’d like it if I did. You like to be bossed.” Somehow I make it sound like a statement, but it’s most definitely a question. I’m still feeling out this thing that happened between us, trying to come to grips with what exactly we both liked about it.
Seeming to understand my need, she answers, “Yes.”
Which is awesome, because I liked bossing her. I liked it a lot.
I boss her again now. “What else?”
She looks away before answering. “I guess I liked it when you pinched me. And maybe when you pushed me to my knees. I really liked the way you held my head while you…” She blushes and her skin goes pink from her cheeks to the tips of her nipples.
“You like it rough.”
The tentative way she nods tells me she’s just working this out herself.
Well, that makes two of us. Because I had no idea how thrilling it could be to dominate a woman. Like driving on a clear night down the highway in my Bugatti. It’s a rush like no other—handling something as it moves that fast. Feeling it respond.
I brush my hand across her face, tracing the crimson in her cheeks. “I liked when you opened your legs for me, and I didn’t even have to tell you.”
“I liked how you didn’t let me speak.”
“Which time?”
“All of them.”
God, she’s perfect.
I stand and hold my hand out to her. “Come here.”
She lets me help her, and as soon as she’s on her feet, I capture her wrists and bring them above her head, pushing her back against the wall. After shifting my grip to one hand, I use my other hand to trace my thumb across her bottom lip. It’s plump and swollen from the way I made her take me. It’s such a fucking turn-on, I’m already getting hard again.
“I’ve never been like this with anyone before,” I say, sticking my thumb between her lips.
She tightens her mouth around me and sucks, sending electric shocks down my arms and thighs and to my cock.
I pull my thumb from her lips slowly, prolonging the hum of desire in my veins.