Shit! My body wants him, every inch is crawling with a desire to have him enter and fill me, but I’m the conscious decision-maker here. I didn’t drink a whole bottle of bourbon before entering the room. This moment could destroy everything between us.
Say. Something. Now!
“Drew, we can’t,” I beg, drawing my body forward away from his touch.
He senses my resistance, wrapping his arm around my stomach and pulling me
back to him. With his spare hand, he moves to my hair and pulls the pins out allowing my hair to fall down my back. As soon as it does, he wraps his hand around my hair, twisting it into a tight fist.
“Don’t fucking fight me.”
Fight him? Why do those words sound both domineering and hot?
Go to your happy place, Zoey. Your happy place will bring you much Zen and steer you to make the right decision.
But what if this is my happy place? And it’s no longer the time I went to that Madonna concert and met that cute boy who danced to Like a Virgin with me. In my dreams he was the one, but let’s face it, he’s probably in Ibiza now wearing a pink netted singlet and handing out Barbara Streisand CDs.
“I know you’ve wanted this for a long time. I bet you lie here at night and rub your pussy begging me to find you so I can make you come.”
My skin is on fire, embarrassed by his honestly if, in fact, he thinks that, and by the thought of that exact image. Yes, I have done that, but never have I thought about Drew doing those things to me.
Now it’s the only thing I can think about.
My thoughts are brutally interrupted as he takes his fingers out and drags them to my ass. Shit, my weak spot.
Oh my God. What do I do? Tell him to back off and explain to him that if he goes anywhere near my ass, things will never, ever, be the same.
My chest rises and falls unevenly panicking at the thought.
“This fucking ass. Just like you want it, Zoey.”
I don’t even have time to process what he says, distracted by the warm saliva touching my skin the moment he spreads my cheeks. My head falls into the bed, the pillow muffling my moans and enabling my body to focus on every single touch and sensation, and although I should protest this forbidden act, I fall into his spell allowing him to have me.
His fingers circle the entrance, and then it happens.
My roomie sticks his index finger in my asshole.
This can’t be happening.
It’s so dirty, so forbidden.
And why does that turn me on even more?
Slowly gliding in and out in a comfortable pace, his moans accompanied by his desire to do this to me intensify the pleasure spreading to every part of my body. The familiar build-up is quicker than expected, and I struggle to curb the urge to let my body completely go. But resistance can only go so far, my inner beast pushing back against him signaling for him to thrust deeper.
“Fuck,” he grunts, sliding his middle finger inside.
I’m done.
It rocks me like an unexpected earthquake, every inch of me screaming in utter delight until my limbs become numb, and I collapse on the bed.
In the midst of this euphoria I’m out of breath swallowing dry gulps of air. The tiredness becomes apparent, yet I know I need to address the fact that his fingers were in my ass at some point.
In a minute.
He’s pulled away somehow without me knowing. I can’t turn around, paralyzed from the head down, the tiredness overcoming my weak body.
And like a thief in the night, his footsteps are heard, and the lights turn off.