My nipples still ache and throb, probably because he still hasn’t released them yet. He runs his thumbs over the tips again as if testing that they’re still hard and hungry for more.
This is one of those moments I wish I could have with a real person, not a stranger or in a fantasy or in a club.
But people like me aren’t supposed to have these things.
They were stolen a long time ago, and like any missing object, it’s impossible to get them back.
Something similar to shame sinks in my chest at the thought. How come I’ve become the girl who searches for normal in places that are nowhere near normal?
I shake my head internally. I’ll have all the time to think about that later. Now, I just need to focus on my night, make my teenage mistakes, and then move along.
“Huh.” His voice echoes around me like doom. “I didn’t know nipple orgasm was actually possible.”
I swallow so hard the sound is audible in the quiet of the room.
No.
I heard it wrong.
I must’ve. It can’t be him.
It just can’t.
I reach for the blindfold with trembling fingers, my pulse roaring in my ears like a disaster looming in the distance.
The moment I pull the black cloth over my head, a gasp leaves my lips.
He stands right in front me, wearing nothing but black trousers from which a V line is peeking. He’s lean, but his chest muscles are developed to perfection, adding a lethal edge to his previously approachable appearance. His hands are still playing with my breasts even as a wicked grin curves his lips.
I feel something break inside me as he speaks.
“Bonsoir, ma belle.”
7
Ronan
I never thought there would be a day when I’d consider Teal beautiful.
She did have some sort of external beauty. Elsa calls her snow white with her tiny features, porcelain skin, and naturally red lips, but it was never quite it, you know. It’s not the type that grabs you by the gut — or rather by the dick — and refuses to let go.
As she kneels in front of me, half-naked, her gown bunching around her waist and her huge black eyes staring up at me, I see it.
Her beauty.
It’s a special type, the kind you n
ot only want to stare at but also want to trap somewhere so you’re the only one who sees it. It’s kind of sick, but it fits her.
Everything about her is beautiful, from the flushing of her cheeks, the parting of her lips, and the slight perspiration covering her pale skin to the erratic rise and fall of her chest that causes her generous tits to push further into my hands.
Her pale pink nipples are red from my ministrations, and I still can’t let them go. My dick strains against the sorry excuse for trousers, and I inhale a deep breath while taking in her confusion mixed with the scent of her arousal.
Well, fuck.
I’ve fucked more girls than I could count, and none of them — absolutely none — had this effect on my dick.
Ron Astor the Second is ready to rip someone in half, and not just anyone.