“How was the food?” he asks.
“Good,” I reply, my gaze flicking from his lips to his eyes.
“The cake?”
“Amazing.”
“Good.” He nods, pleased with my answer. “If you weren’t so intoxicated right now, my hand would be up that skirt of yours.” It’s then that he finally breaks eye contact and looks down at my skirt. I bite my lip and spread my legs just a little. He smirks but makes no move to touch me.
Pity, really.
TEN
ARLO
Confidential — Personal Use Only
OBSERVATIONS:
She seems more forthcoming when she has consumed alcohol.
Noticing this, I wonder how much her openness is influenced by lowered inhibitions.
It must be the alcohol in her system that’s making her reconsider as she sits there, looking so much more relaxed, like a fucking goddess. Before, I didn’t think she wanted anything but business from me, but as I’ve said, her body language is so closed off, she’s a difficult one to read. But right now, as she spreads her legs just a little in that tight skirt, I can read her just fine.
It’s fucking difficult not to slide my hand up between her thighs and see if she’s wearing panties or not. My guess is that she’s not. Which makes me even fucking madder that I’m restraining myself around her. That’s one thing about me—I don’t restrain myself around women. Ever. Some would say it’s cocky, but I understand what women want. Most of the time, they want to come first. Men are eager, and some are just so enthusiastic they don’t think about the other person’s pleasure. I like to watch a woman come undone under my hands, even more so when I degrade them. But what I really enjoy is watching them break.
It’s sick. Fucked up. Twisted.
I know where it all comes from.
I understand it.
I wouldn’t be the esteemed and accomplished mental health professional that I am if I didn’t understand my own motivation for needing to break a woman and, at the same time, watch her come from pleasure.
Some hate it or appear to hate it. But they keep coming back for more.
I wonder what Cora might be like.
Would she let me tell her what a bad fucking girl she is? Let me break her apart and watch as she tries to put herself back together.
I’d like to find out. That much I do know.
“What’s with the beads?” she asks, nodding to the beaded length wrapped around my hand. I’ve seen her eyeing it a few times, but she didn’t ask about it until now.
“I like to use it to choke the women I fuck,” I tell her, then sit and wait for her reaction.
Her green gaze, like the color of a new leaf in spring, bounces from my face to my hand as her breathing ever so slightly changes at my confession.
“You fuck a lot of women?” she asks.
I lean forward, so close I can smell the wine on her breath. Her lipstick is almost nonexistent compared to what it was earlier.
“Do you fuck a lot of men?” I retort, remaining in her space. Most women would pull back, but she stays still, challenging me.
“I’ve fucked a few men.”
“Have you enjoyed it?” I ask, and she nods. “Have you been choked before?”
