Her body freezes, shoulders hunched to make her even shorter, and she’s already tiny compared to me. When she thaws, her body trembles. Her eyes try but can’t seem to look directly at me.
She reaches for her pocket, and I grab her wrist, marvelling at how easily my fingers encircle it. Feeling the tremors vibrating across her skin.
I laugh as she tugs, the movement as consequential as a mouse wriggling. I grab her opposite wrist, forcing it behind her back until I can hold them both with the one hand. Then I cup her cheek, bending until our foreheads kiss, exultant as I tilt my head further to rub against the wetness streaking her cheeks.
When I pull my head back, she tries to speak, mouthing the words with no sound coming from her throat. My fingers stroke gently along the curves and planes of her face, my thumbstopping a tear in its tracks and lifting it to my mouth so I can taste its warm salty goodness.
“Please,” she whispers as a new surge of heat warms my body. “I need to go.”
Our eyes connect, hers pleading while my eyelids grow heavy with lust. I could force her to her knees, letting her beg before I smother the words with my cock. We could stay standing, my free hand wandering over the curves of her body, delving between her legs to see if her cunt is as wet as her face.
I’ve got two hours. I can do everything.
Right now, I feel like a refractory period is for losers. I can’t imagine taking more than a minute to get hard again, not when this level of enticement is on offer.
So, I push her onto the bed, wrestling her into position, my body crushing her underneath its weight.
For a few moments, she appears stunned, then the girl opens her mouth to scream and I’m there, soul jumping with delight as she takes door B and lets me have the best option, the exciting option, the option that lets the cruel debacle of my deepest desires bust free of its chains.
My hand clamps across her mouth as her eyes widen, as her body tugs and pushes and shoves to get away from me.
“No screaming,” I say in a teasing voice, gaze fixed to hers, watching to see how the words land.
Andgloriouslyis the answer. They land in the exact right way, fresh tears welling, spilling from the corners of her eyes, gravity tugging them straight down the sides of her face, dripping into her hairline, into her ears.
I have to lift my hips away so I can’t grind against her, a fraction away from climax. I force disgusting thoughts into my mind until the surge of arousal ends, then stare into the wide blue expanse of her eyes, entranced by the flecks of slate greyin their depths, the scattering of pastel blue highlights twinkling through the shimmering lake above them.
“No talking at all,” I add, then switch the hand I’m using to cover her mouth. “If you utter another word, this is what happens.”
I pinch her nostrils closed, enjoying the flash of fear, her pupils enlarging until they swallow her iris whole, leaving just a thin blue band to show there’s colour there at all.
She tries to move her head but can’t. I feel her hands scrabbling against me, trying to hit, trying to land a blow hard enough to dislodge me. The efforts are pathetic compared to my strength. I laugh as one lands, jerking to the side as it makes my ear throb.
And her lower body bucks against me, trying to throw me off and succeeding only in rubbing me into a state of excitement that engulfs most of my consciousness. The longer her air’s cut off, the more frantic her efforts become and the less successful.
But she doesn’t give me the two-blink signal; she’s happy to continue the game.
When I let go, she tilts her head back, heaving in breath after large breath, the sobs lost beneath the panicked gasps. Still no safe word.
For a second, with the bright colouring of her hair mostly obscured, a spark of recognition flickers in the back of my mind.
Along with it, the thought that it’s the same girl. The girl from class.
But I shove the preposterous idea away. Whoever the girl in my English class is, she’s not a hooker. She’s not charging five thousand for the next two hours, minus whatever cut Stevenson takes for himself.
“Uh, uh, uh,” I caution when her lips part again. “Not a word, remember?”
Her lower lip trembles, her tongue flicking out to lick along its upstairs neighbour, then she gives a small nod.
“I’m putting your arms above your head. Keep them there.”
Tears flow but she nods again, sniffing through a nose that’s becoming stuffy, swelling redder with each second she remains crying.
“Good girl,” I praise her because credit where credit’s due and she’s not justgood,she’s fuckingmagic.
With her self-immobilised, I strip off my shirt and unbutton my jeans, watching as her eyes flick to my cock, then jerk away, choosing to stare at the wall instead. Even when I’m completely nude, she doesn’t look at me. I have to grip her chin between my fingers to get her to focus.
Because I want her eyes on me while I unwrap her like she’s the gift a benevolent Santa left under the tree. It’s almost as enjoyable as the delights revealed as I peel her dress and underwear from her body.
