I never thought an asshole like me would ever fall in love, but at last here we are.
EPILOGUE
The guitar feelsheavy in my arms. I’m trying to pretend it’s not taking all my effort to keep holding it up, but it feels like it’s made of two tons of iron. My fingers strum it with little thought. That part doesn’t hurt. My fingers have gotten plenty of practice ignoring the pain that came from flexing them playing with Prue’s tight little pussy almost every night.
I’d ignore death to get to touch her.
She sits on my brand-new coffee table, naked, watching me.
It’s hard to care about the fact I nearly died on the floor to the side of her, when she looks so fucking hot, watching my fingers strum over the strings.
I’ve been avoiding practicing. Too scared that after three months of recovery and physical therapy, I’d have lost my touch. Not trying meant I’d never know if that was true or not. I’d rather not know that my whole music career is over than have to face it.
But my little torturer saw right through my avoidance. She laid the terms of her conditions out at dinner. A meal shecooked, as she continues to try to learn life skills she didn’t think she’d ever need. All of which she is good at.
The terms were simple, she was going to strip down to nothing, but I couldn’t touch her until I spent at least thirty minutes practicing.
So here I sit. An erection is growing beneath my sweatpants, my favorite guitar is pressed into the scar across my chest and the girl I love naked in front of me. I try to focus on moving my fingers in the correct position to a song I’ve played a thousand times.
My mind does most of the work, but I’m too lost on the sight in front of me, the contentment in my bones, and the blood flowing to my cock to care if I make a mistake or not.
“You aren’t even looking at your fingers,” Prue says, rolling her eyes for the billionth time since I met her.
“My fingers are hideous compared to you.”
“You are so fucking cheesy.” She laughs. “Now, the terms were you have to practice guitar for thirty minutes before you can touch me.”
“I’m well aware of the rules my evil girlfriend laid out.”
“But I never said I couldn’t touch me.” She smirks.
“Why do you enjoy torturing me?” I groan as she lets her fingers rub circles around her peach-colored nipples.
“Because you let me.” She shrugs.
“Fair point,” I say, letting my fingers fall into the rhythm of some cheesy song Wes wrote for some girl that isn’t his girlfriend or mine, but fits the moment regardless. “Can I finally fuck you?”
“I don’t know, can you?” She raises an eyebrow, letting her other hand drop between her thighs, stroking her little pussy.
She has been withholding sex, choosing to ride my face or suck my cock. She says it’s because the doctors say I’m not ready for strenuous activity, but I’m not buying it. I swear it’s somekind of punishment for the fact I let her ex shoot me while she laid handcuffed to a bed in San Francisco.
Apparently, finger fucking her and eating her pussy doesn’t count as strenuous, nor does choking her with my cock.
So, I have yet to feel her pussy again. I’m dying to have it wrapped around my cock, but I’ll wait as long as she desires, simply grateful she lets me touch her at all.
“I like this song,” she moans softly, making my cock throb. “Who is it about?”
“Some girl Wes used to date.”
“Oh.” She gasps as she slides a finger inside her cunt.
“You can take two of mine, add another.”
She eyes me with a wicked grin. “Doesn’t matter how many I take, just thinking about your cock is enough to get me close.”
“Not close enough to actually let me fuck you, though.”
“Fuck,” she groans, grinding herself against her hand. “But I want you to. It’s just the doctor…”
