He’s teasing me. Using me. Showing me what I can’t have—what I don’t deserve.
A wet sensation touches my upper thigh and it takes me a minute to realize what it is, then I jump backward, embarrassment flooding my veins.
His lips are red and moist when he looks up at me. Then something seems to snap behind his mask. He stands quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
“C-can I—”Oh God, I can’t believe I’m about to say this.“Please can I have a tissue?”
Even behind his mask I can tell he’s frowning. “Why?”
I look off to the side, balling my fists. “Um, I…”
In the corner of my eye his gaze drops, then climbs slowly back up my body.
“Look at me.”
I ignore his command.
“Pfeiffer,look at me.”
I respond this time, turning hesitantly to face him.
“You’re aroused,” he says, with surprising softness.
My cheeks are so hot they’re about to melt off my face.
“I would like a tissue.Please.”
“No.”
No?He just wants me to drip all over his nice clean floor? Does he want to humiliate me? Work me up so hard I come apart, then he can laugh at me, do whatever sick and twisted thing he wants?
“Put your hand between your legs.”
“W-what?”
He repeats the words so gently that this time, I obey.
“Now find your clit.”
“I know where it is,” I mutter, embarrassed.
A smirk rumbles at the back of his throat. “Then rub it for me,cucciola.”
His voice goes dry, betraying a crack in his composure. It makes me want to drive him to the edge, somehow.
I would’ve thought stripping naked for him would be the most embarrassing thing I’d ever do, but I was wrong. Fondling myself while he watches surpasses it by a mile.
My pussy is so wet it makes a sucking sound as I move my fingers, but— God, it feels good.
Having his masked face bearing down on me while I finger myself feels raw and dirty. I know I’m going to regret this the instant I get out of here, but for now, I don’t want to stop.
He wets his lips and lowers them to mine. They brush briefly but he doesn’t kiss me. I’m not sure how I’d react if he did. Regardless of how good this feels, I still hate him for using me this way.
His hands remain deep in his pockets, his lips coasting hot breaths over mine as I work myself into a molten puddle of need.
“Tell me how it feels, Pfeiffer,” he rasps. “If I can’t touch you, I need you to tell me. Tell me how your pussy feels in your fingers.”
