“No, you jerkoff, it didn’t.”
“No.” He shook his head. “But it did turn you on, right?”
I paused. “What?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”
“I heard you I just—
He stepped closer, brushing a thumb over the hill of my nipple. I hadn’t felt aroused in weeks. I remembered the way desire could demolish all other feelings in one clean sweep. “You didn’t think I’d noticed?” He took my chin between his finger and thumb, his voice dropping an octave. “I know you.”
I started to speak when he dragged his tongue up my throat. My legs gave out. I caught myself against the counter. He crowded me against it. “You love that I see you for what you really are.”
“What am I?” I murmured. “Tell me.”
He hesitated, but I was in a hurry so I shoved my tongue in his ear. He groaned, “A fucking slut.”
He didn’t bother taking off my shirt or pulling my pants all the way down and they hung like a rope around my thighs. Lifting my ass onto the oven, he said, “I should’ve known you’d like that.” Shifting my underwear to the side, he shoved himself into me, my head hitting the cabinet. “But who knew fucking me wouldn’t be enough. You want my girlfriend too.”
I didn’t even know if this was true. According to my vagina, my liquid legs, it was.
He cupped my breasts. “For once, I want to share you.”
I started to gasp but he caught my mouth with his. “Oh? You like that?”
“Yes,” I choked.
“You’re such a slut letting me fuck you on my stove. Should I turn the flame on?”
I nodded, losing language. Why was he being so mean to me?
I loved it!!!
He talked in a taunting purr: “Does it turn you on thinking of me inside of her? You like sharing my dick with her?”
Basically: I lost it.
“You like sharing me?” I said.
Tristan paused briefly. Without answering, he lifted me off the stove and turned me around with clumsy urgency, like he’d forgottenhow to touch me. The counter pressed against my stomach with a soothing sharpness. He slowly wound my ponytail around his forearm then pulled it so that the crown of my head was on his shoulder. I turned toward him, and he leaned down further, our faces close together, his breath hot in my ear. We paused, suspended like this, eyes deadlocked.
“Tell me it’s mine,” he rasped. He pressed his forehead to my temple. It was hard, warm. “Tell me that pussy’s mine.” He was trying to sound light, but the demand came out grating.
“So, you want me to lie?”
He exhaled, dropping my hair. I straightened as he stepped back, pulling up my pants.
“It’s just something people say during sex, you know.”
“Well, I don’t really say that.”
He paused. “I don’t get you.”
He was reaching into the fridge for an apple. This incensed me, the way he bit into it so casually.
“What’s that mean?”
“Out of all the guys you’ve been with, you don’t have a preference, a favorite? Not even deep down?”
