I remain seated, forcing my breathing steady. Her gaze crawls over each mark peeking at the edges of my side. She leans closer, as if she wants to touch them. The idea sends a unsettling chill through my body that causes me to fidget, just for a moment.
Her voice softens without meaning to.
“What... what happened to your back?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” I dismiss, not moving from my chair.
“But it looks bad—”
“I said it does not concern you.”
She swallows and tries to look away, but her gaze jerks lower, against her will... to my loose fitting gray sweatpants. She stares longer than she intends. Embarrassment flushes across her cheeks. She tries to recover, but I saw it.
Like it.
I reach across the table, catching her wrist with minimal effort. She gasps as I press her palm against my hard stomach. Her hand is small against my body, warm, soft in a way that makes my jaw tighten.
The darkest whisper sounds.
Take her. Bend her over the table. Tear her virgin hole. She’s yours to use.
My eye twitches and pulse jumps, but I keep my expression flat.
Maybe if the voice asked nicely.
Nobody tells me what to do.
Well, sometimes.
She is... pretty. Hair messy. Cute curiosity. The way her pants stretch around her hips so tightly.
I snarl at myself.
Since when does taking a woman interest me. Much like last night when my cock awoke from a deep sleep. Sure, whores once sucked me off on occasion, but not for years. My interests lie elsewhere more each day.
Yet, she has clearly lit a match I need to snuff.
I grip her wrist tighter and inch her hand slightly lower.
I stay still as I watch her eyes widen, watch confusion ripple across her face, watch fear gleam back at me. I hold her hand firmly.
“Staring is rude,” I say. “Touching is better if you are curious.”
She shakes her head, frantic.
“I’ll move your hand lower so you can feel your first cock?”
She yanks back with such force she knocks her chair off balance. The terror that flashes across her face is raw. Honest.
Delicious.
But surprisingly, it’s disappointing, too.
Most virgins have some curiosity about men. Perhaps she has none.
“I have zero sexual desire for you,” she snaps, voice cracking. “Especially after you microchipped me like a dog.”
“An early wedding present,” I say, calm. “But I will give you space today. You seem... hormonal.”
