Cruel Summer

His fingers move higher, carving little circles into my flesh.

“Mouse, look at me.”

I squeeze my eyes so hard, it feels like my lids are going to meld right together.

His finger slides over my already wet underwear and a moan leaves my lips as my clit throbs.

Fuck.

My panties are roughly shoved to the side and before the cool air can even breeze across my skin, Maximo’s fingers are in me.

“I said open your fucking eyes, Winter.”

My eyes snap open, another moan leaving my lips as Maximo’s fingers curl inside of me. My hips move forward, wanting more, only for him to completely pull his fingers out of me.

He tilts his head to the side, watching me. “Funny, it’s almost like you want me, want this,” he says, as his finger slides over my clit.

I keep my lips sealed shut but spread my legs wider.

He laughs and humiliation washes over me.

What in the hell have I come to? Or better yet, who do I want to come on?

Maximo is the worst, nothing will ever change that.

But sometime in the last couple of months, my body has gone from cringing away from his touch to craving it.

“Now, tell me what you want, little mouse,” he says, his fingers teasing my entrance but not dipping inside.

My throat and mouth are dry, and I open my mouth to force the words out, but nothing happens.

Maximo’s fingers leave me completely and he leans back on the bed once again, his hands behind him the same way they were when I came in. I have to place my hands on his thighs to keep from slipping without his hands to support me. He only watches with a blank expression on his face.

“If you can’t say it, then you’re going to have to work for it,” he says.

His hand comes up and I try to move away, but I’m too late as he pushes me off of his lap. I crumple to the floor with a thump, pain moving through my arm. I sit up, rubbing at the painful spot.

The unmistakable sound of a zipper moves through the room. I tilt my head up, watching as Maximo shoves his pants down his hips. They hit the floor with a swish.

His hard cock juts up.

Commando then.

He leans forward, a finger tapping my chin before lifting it up and forcing me to look him in the eye.

“Get to work, Winter.”

He removes his hand and for the love of god, I wish he hadn’t.

Because as long as his hands aren’t on me, it means I have a choice. I’m the one who gets to decide whether or not I move forward. There’s no one forcing me into it, leaving me without a choice. It means that later on, I won’t be able to look back on this moment and justify it by saying that Maximo made me do it.

The choice is all mine.

And maybe it has been the last few times, but today is the first time that it's really hitting me. Maximo didn’t trap me in this room, I had time to run, but I didn’t. Maximo didn’t make me walk over to him, my feet did it on their own, willing accord. And he may have pushed me onto the ground, but I’m the one raising up onto my knees, my hand reaching out to wrap around his shaft.

His member is hard and hot in my hand. I stroke the flesh, my thumb grazing over a bulging vein.

“If I wanted a hand, I’d use my own,” he says.