She could feel her eyes widen, because no. No.
But that new voice, that get-out-of-your-own-way voice, whispered, Yes. Do.
“Tell me,” he repeated. “I don’t care what it is. Tell me I’m a shitty kisser or you’re worried my dick’s too small. Tell me you want me to tie you up and lob tennis balls at you. Tell me you’re worried about flesh-eating bacteria. I don’t give a shit what you say, but you’re going to tell me.”
“Tennis balls?”
“Tell me.”
May gathered her courage.
“I was thinking … I wanted you to kiss my—” She closed her eyes. “My breasts.”
Silence.
Her lids opened to incredulous staring.
“What, is that so weird?”
“You couldn’t say that out loud?”
“Well, it wasn’t just that. I wanted you to … suck my nipples, too.”
He watched her for a moment, and then he sat up to one side. “Take off your bra.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
She obediently lifted off the bed and undid the clasp, then eased it off her arms. When she had it free, she handed it to him. He tossed it over his shoulder.
“Now your underwear.”
Heat crept into her cheeks, but she did as she was told, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pushing. She had to sit up halfway to untangle her feet, which created fat rolls that he must have seen, and she hated that, but whatever. Whatever.
She handed him the panties. He lifted and inspected them, smiled like an evil, evil person, and threw them on the floor.
“Say pussy.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Say pussy. Or is that not what you call it?”
What did she call it? She didn’t call it anything. All her sex words were for other people’s body parts. Ben had a cock, when she let herself think the word, but pussy? In reference to herself?
“I—I’m not sure I want to.”
He laid his hand on her stomach and rested it there. Leaned closer. “Say it anyway.”
This was dumb. She didn’t like it. She wouldn’t say it.
He couldn’t make her.
“No.”
Ben smiled. It was a depraved smile. How had she not realized before how depraved he was? She was in trouble.
“Somebody really messed with your head, didn’t they, May-Belle?”