She eyes me carefully, and she sighs, giving in. “If you want to get in my pants again, you, Sir, will need to remove them.”
I go to do that, then pause at the thought. I continue but realize it’s cold, and I am still wet.
Yanking my once dry and pressed white business shirt off, I toss it aside. I use a tea towel to dry off, then I discard it. As I stand bare-chested in my navy suit trousers and damaged, wet Italian shoes, I peel off her pants. As I do, she squirms in pain.
“Don’t move,” I growl as more blood leaks out of her.
“Don’t keep commanding me like that.”
Our eyes meet, and we eye fuck each other for a split second. I lose focus and shake my head. “See, that’s why it wouldn’t work,” I say huskily.
“You just need to learn control.”
“You too,” I growl as I unzip her pants. I suddenly think about tasting her again.
She is wearing white lace panties this time, and they are cute. I groan without trying to. As I avoid her eyes, I pull her leather pants down the rest of her perfect, long legs. As I look up to avoid the white panties, I find her eyes. They’re worse.
“And don’t you steal those, they’re my lucky ones.”
“Well, they’re doing a great job.”
“Ha, funny.”
We both try not to laugh, and I place her leather pants on a pantry hook. It makes for a disturbing image, and I try to refocus.
“How’s it look?” she asks, trying to check the back of her thigh.
I roll her carefully over and stare below her hot butt. Again, it’s hard to focus.
“Do not check out my butt!”
“As if,” I lie.
I stare down at where blood runs from a wound. “You need stitches,” I say, calculating. “Likely six, and now.”
“And you know that because?”
“I’ve done a lot of remote traveling. The Himalayas. The Andes. Being able to fix broken bones and the likes means survival. Can we move on?”
She looks nervous.
“Look, do you trust me?”
“You are kidding, right?”
“Do you want a deep cut, or do you want tidy stitches? Answer me.”
“Tidy, bossy!”
“Good, then be nice. Or, using stitches, I can write anything. Anything that will be on you forever. Just like a tattoo.”
“Like?” she asks nervously.
“I have not thought it through, but perhaps 'Once tight pussy.'”
She laughs, as was my plan, and as she does, I pull out the piece of metal.
“Ahhhhhh!” she screams.
