He probably doesn’t even have a date. He’s probably lying. He’ll probably sit here alone like a miserable bastard and finish reading A Christmas Carol while I lie awake in bed, tormented by thoughts of him being intimate with someone else.
As I reassure myself that he’s lying, my anger begins to subside.
The errant thought crosses my mind that just in case he does have a date, I don’t want to leave the bastard hard-up.
My tone a little sweeter, I tell him, “Well, then, I won’t keep you too late.”
His face freezes momentarily, unprepared for that response.
Then I close my eyes and rub myself against his the massive bulge in his underwear. “Won’t you let him out to play? I may not be experienced enough to satisfy you, but I’ll be a good warm-up,” I offer playfully.
His blue eyes narrow on my face and he realizes, “You don’t believe me.”
I don’t want him to know I don’t believe him. I don’t want him to take it as some kind of stupid challenge. He said he wouldn’t behave that way the other night when I thought I caught him with someone else to spite me, but this wouldn’t be out of spite. It would be out of some other thing—I’m not sure what yet.
“I believe you,” I tell him, toning down my reaction a bit.
His disbelief is clear in his tone. “You believe I’m going to fuck someone else tonight, and you’re still riding my cock?”
I shrug innocently. “The date may not go well. Surely you won’t want to fuck her then. Especially if you’ve already fucked me. I just want you to be satisfied enough to make good decisions.”
Cal stares down at me, shaking his head. “You’re fucking crazy.”
He might drive me crazy, trying to figure out how to play his stupid games.
Or, he might have, but in an unexpected move, he leaves his pieces on the board and quits the game.
I’m confused as he pushes my hands off him and climbs off the bed, bending to retrieve his clothes.
I watch with uncertainty, then start to sit up as he pulls his dress shirt back on. “What are you doing?”
“You have to go,” he says flatly.
I frown, pushing myself up to a sitting position on his bed. “Why?”
“Because I really am going out with someone tonight, and you think I’m playing games with you. I’m not. I’m done with this. It can’t go any further, and you’re clearly willing, so the intrigue is gone.” Flicking me a gaze as dismissive as it is hurtful, he says, “I thought you’d be more of a challenge.”
Hurt swells up inside me at his casual cruelty, but I shove it down. “You don’t mean that.”
He looks down as he buttons his shirt back up. “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t,” I say, more annoyed. “You’re ju
st trying to hurt me, and that’s really fucking mean, Cal.”
Lifting his gaze to mine, he says, “I never said you could call me Cal.”
Shaking my head, I ignore his comment. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you.” He buttons the last button of his shirt. “It can’t work.”
He’s making me so angry, I’d like to smack him. I had all these fantasies of us having such a nice, pleasant evening together, and here he is, ruining everything.
I’m still wet, too. The stupid bastard had to jerk me around in every way possible, and now my body is as confused as my heart.
I sit there for a moment, debating what to do. I have rebellious fantasies of climbing underneath the soft bedding he sleeps under each night, burrowing my naked body into his spot, and getting myself off. I wonder how long he could last, standing there watching me touch myself, hearing me cry out as I pleasure myself in his bed.
I think it would probably work, but I couldn’t bear the humiliation if it didn’t. I sit there a moment longer second guessing myself, unsure when I’ll be alone with him next—if at all.