There is the sound of a zipper, and I stop breathing. Waiting quietly for what comes next. I need to be mentally prepared. And I am not mentally prepared.
“Open your eyes,” he demands.
I open my eyes. Slowly. Hesitantly. He is right there. Solid cock in hand, next to my face. Swollen and throbbing with his want for me. I try to force my legs shut again, to prevent him from seeing the lie between my thighs. The arousal I don’t want or need.
I can’t control it.
His fingers grip my thigh and pinch.
“Don’t try to hide the truth,” he tells me. “I can smell how much you want me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
“No.”
“You will take me, Bella.”
“No,” I say again.
“You will take me,” he repeats. “Or you will die.”
I glance up at him, so close I can almost make out the lines of his face. His mouth. He is rigid. So, so rigid.
And I don’t believe him.
Maybe I just don’t want to. But I don’t believe he will kill me. I sense the struggle within him. I just don’t yet know what that struggle is.
He watches me study him… and he doesn’t like it.
“Suck me like a good girl,” he tells me. “Get me nice and wet.”
I breathe out and do as he asks.
I draw him back into my mouth, sweeping over the velvet exterior of his heavy flesh. The salty taste of his arousal coats my lips and tongue.
He doesn’t let me have control. The moment he’s inside, his restraint is gone.
He cups my head and thrusts deep, hitting the back of my throat and choking me. I gag around him, and he grunts out his satisfaction when spit drips over the sides of my lips and down my chin.
“Yes, my Bella,” he praises. “Good girl.”
His approval eases my nerves and encourages me. I relax into him and let him use my mouth. But the better I do, the more tumultuous he becomes. With his pleasure comes his wrath.
The next words out of his mouth are not praise at all. He calls me a lazy slut and tells me to go harder.
I do.
He grunts and then asks if I think I’m too good to suck his dick. I tell him I’m not. He rubs his cock all over my face, smearing my spit along with it. He tells me I need to do better. Learn faster. Do as he asks. But all the while, he can’t stop groaning. And I rise to every one of his challenges, meeting them with determination. Because I can hear the lies in his voice. How much he doesn’t want to like it.
It chafes at him. And it gives me power.
He must know that I know. Because he shoves my face away, allowing his own hand to take over as he glares down at me from above, telling me I couldn’t suck a dick if my life depended on it.
I open my mouth to argue, and he squeezes my face in his palm to shut me up.
“Play with yourself,” he orders again.
But I already am. Nothing is happening. If he thinks I will come, he really is insane.