“This is what you want to do, isn’t it?” I nod at her bag of tricks. “For a living.”
“Be a makeup artist? Yes.” She hums in her throat. “Maybe this is my niche. Putting makeup on men—”
Red. A sea of red envelops me in a snap.
I pluck her up by the waist, turn, and drop her onto the bathroom counter, lunging in between her thighs while her startled yelp still hangs in the air. My chest is ripped open. In the space of two seconds, I’ve gone from amused and touched…tounspeakablyjealous. What the fuck is this acid thundering through my veins? I’m not a violent man, but my fist is itching to punch straight into the mirror behind Petra.
“You stay away from men,” I roar behind my teeth, pressing my forehead into hers.
Her tits puff up and down. In alarm. Shock.
Christ. I’ve scared her.
I’ve scared myself.
And it’s not over. My fucking hands are shaking at the thought of her in another bathroom someday with a man who isn’t me. I’ve known her for such a short amount of time and yet, I feel the urge to kill this faceless man. I want to kill all men.
I hook my hands beneath her knees and yank her closer to the edge of the counter.
Closer to me.
The soft mound of her pussy collides with my throbbing length and she squeaks, her thighs having no choice but to be open wide around my hips. I’ve wound her hair around my fist without conscious thought, and she looks up at me now, confused and nervous. I happen to catch sight of our reflection over her head and immediately, I’m sickened by my monstrous behavior.
Look at us.
I’m twice her size. Maybe more.
I’m six-six, three hundred and twenty pounds of muscle.
She’s a fragile young girl, trembling in my grip. And I’m visibly enraged. Not with her, but any man she might meet throughout her life.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, ordering my muscles to uncoil. I release her hair and stroke the length of it in apology, praying for my pulse to stop sprinting. “I don’t know what got into me, Petra.”
She turns her face up to mine, studying my face with glassy eyes. “You got jealous.”
I hesitate a moment, then nod, ashamed for manhandling this petite fairy. “Yes.”
It that a dance of satisfaction in her expression? “I want a better apology for throwing me around,” she says, some added steel in her tone. “Don’t you think you owe me that?”
That takes me by surprise, but I’m further surprised to find that my cock is getting stiffer with some kind of foreignanticipation. Eager to hear what she’s going to say. Eager for her to…put me in my place. “Yes, I owe you a much better apology.”
Why do I feel like I’m going to come in my pants?
I’m supposed to be feeling shame. Regret.
Instead, my balls feel like they’re twisted into a pretzel, my breath suspended in my lungs while I wait to hear what she’s going to say.
Petra levers up slowly and rubs her mouth against mine. “I want a licked apology.”
My groan is ferocious.
It rattles up and out of my mouth.
She takes my hands and places them on her thighs, looking me in the eye while we both slowly, slowly slide up the hem of her dress, stopping at her hips. I can’t stop myself from looking down, panting at the sight of the nude, see-through thong that doesn’t hide a single soft inch of her cunt.
“Now,” she huffs, leaning back against the mirror and opening her legs wider.
And I forget she’s nineteen
