Her eyes widen ever so slightly before she quickly looks away as if she’s been caught doing something she is not supposed to.
I realize she is acting like she’s never seen a man naked before. Suddenly, the question hits me. Has she seen a man naked before? I know her father kept her sheltered, but she is twenty; she must have had the chance to fuck someone by now.
“Aurora,” I say her name like it belongs to me. I take a small step toward her. Her whole body stiffens. “You have done this before, right?”
“Of course,” she says a little too quickly with her tone a smidge too high-pitched.
It’s a lie.I’m certain of it. She is a virgin.Fuck. That’s definitely derailing some of the ideas I had on how tonight was going to go.
“You know I’ll be able to tell,” I point out. “Are you sure you don’t want to rethink your answer?”
She glances around the room as if she is looking for an answer hidden in my wallpaper. After a few seconds, she finally speaks. “What does it matter anyway?”
“Well, I’m not gonna bend you over the bed and fuck you from behind if you’re a virgin,” I explain. “I’m notthatkind of monster.”
If she is shocked at my crude words, she hides it well. “Then what kind of monster are you?”
“The one that’s still going to make you strip.” I’m not going to try to fuck her tonight, I decide, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. Maybe I can even coax a blow job out of her. Just the thought of her bee-stung lips wrapped around my cock has blood rushing to my groin.
Keeping her expression neutral, she starts to undress. She moves with efficiency instead of grace. Pushing the straps off her shoulders, she lets the dress drop to the floor and kicks off her heels.
When she is down to her underwear, she pauses briefly. I tilt my head to the side, looking at her with raised eyebrows.I’m almost certain she is going to fight me on this, but then she reaches back to unhook her bra. The black lacy fabric slides off her body, revealing one of the most perfect pairs of tits I’ve ever seen.
My mouth waters as I take in the perky peaks, which look like they would fit in my hands perfectly, as if they were custom-designed for me. Her dusty rose nipples are hard pebbles, ready to be played with and sucked on. I really hope she likes having them played with, because I’m planning on doing so every damn chance I get.
She dips her fingers into her underwear and pulls them down her slim legs. When she straightens back up, she lifts her chin slightly, giving me a challenging glare.
Challenge accepted.
A grin spreads across my face as I take a moment to admire her beautiful body. She really is a work of art. From her silky golden hair down to her small, delicate feet and every single curve in between, she is breathtaking.
I zero in on the junction between her legs. Her pussy is shaved bare, her lips smooth and a hue of pink. I can’t wait to touch her there, to spread her open and run my tongue over her little clit until she moans my name.
She remains standing still; only her eyes follow me as I move around her like a predator circling its prey.
When I’m fully behind her and get a good look at her back, I come to a sudden halt. Lifting my hand, I swipe her hair to the side so I can get a better look.
There are scars all over her back. Her skin is marred from her shoulder blades down to her ass. Long horizontal and diagonal lines, some white, others red and pink, suggesting their age varies.What the hell did she have to endure?
I shouldn’t care what happened to her, and I definitely shouldn’t let this affect me, but seeing that she has been hurt likethis seriously distorts the spoiled princess image I had painted her to be. I thought she spent her life in luxury, living in her ivory tower without a care. I guess I was wrong.
Feeling a little angry and a lot conflicted, I slowly walk back around until I face her once more.
“I won’t touch you tonight if you tell me what happened to your back,” I offer, keeping my voice gentle.
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stares deep into my eyes, almost like she is searching for something. Maybe she is trying to figure out if she can trust me. With this, she can. I’ll keep my word as long as she tells me the truth.
“My father would punish me for misbehaving,” she says without further explanation.
“Misbehaving how?”
She shrugs one of her shoulders. “Mostly trying to escape… although the last punishment was for stabbing one of the guards in the eye with a steak knife.”
I make a mental note to watch her around knives while also digesting that she’s tried to escape, which means her father didn’t just shelter her; he kept her locked up.
“What did the guard do to deserve your wrath?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“He was not a very nice man.” She gives me another vague answer, as if she only wants to share the bare minimum.
