“Do me,” she says, and puts her hands on his chest. She fingers it sensuously.
He is still not sure that any moment, she would not spring ‘rape’ on him. He feels as though he’s in a viper’s pit, and any way he swings, he’s bound to get bitten.
He whispers, “What if you yell ‘rape’ again?”
“I’m not going to yell ‘rape’.”
She grabs his crotch and begins to massage his flaccid penis. He doesn’t know what tricks she has picked up over the years, but she’s good. Really good. His flesh tickles with the hot onrush of blood into it, filling it and lifting it swiftly above his groin.
He decides to take the plunge. He puts his hands on her waist. Can he pull this off? He has mixed emotions where she is concerned. On one hand is his extreme guilt at what he has subjected her to in the not-so-distant past. Those memories of sweet Adie juxtapose severely with the cold, composed bitch before him now – the one who manipulates people like chessmen on a board.
She raises her face to be kissed, and he obeys – remembering how she tasted the last time, all those years ago.
She murmurs, “I will consider your request if you really, really please me.”
A cold hand grips his chest as he willingly spirals into the mess he created. So she still wants me. Or maybe not. Maybe this is part of a grander design that he is not yet privy to.
There’s only one thing he is sure of. He will be f**ked every bit as badly as he would be in prison. But it doesn’t matter, because he will be doing it for Sam.