She’s breathing fast. “Sorry.”
“Are you nervous? Are you realizing how easy it would be for me to hold you face down and bang your hot little ass?”
“I realized that a long time ago. You won’t.”
“How do you know?” I shout through my teeth.
“You would have done it by now,” she says, firming her chin. “You’re just trying to distract me. Scare me, so I’ll stop asking about uncomfortable subjects. Well, joke is on you, buddy. I’m from New Orleans. I don’t scare easy.”
My heart threatens to capsize.
This girl.
She’s one in a million.
One in a hundred million.
My wounds are not safe from her. She’s coming for them. But I’ve been protecting them for a long time and I’m not ready to have them sutured. No. I want to stay angry. I want to remain betrayed. To let go of that pain would mean forgiving those who fucked me over and I refuse to do that. I refuse to move on and allow the memories of my imprisonment fade. At my lowest points, my anger is what kept me alive and if I let go of it, the lack of rage will surely kill me. Won’t it?
I’m giving Cindy my most menacing glare, but she isn’t flinching in the face of it. God, no. She looks even more determined. And I’m shocked as hell when she leans in and kisses me, slowly, thoroughly, purring in the back of her throat. Just when I’m reaching the point of no return, ready to toss her down on the bed and hump, hump until I go blind, Cindy pulls back. “Come up one more floor with me. The one just below the deck.”
I start to pant like a dog. “What do I get?”
Her palms mold to the sides of my face. “What do you want?”
My hands trace up the backs of her thighs to massage the supple cheeks of her ass, the harsh sound of my groan filling the bunk area. “Everything. Everything I can’t have.”
Cindy regards me for several seconds in charged silence. “I don’t know a lot about m-men, but I know they’re always talking about…” Her face reddens. “C-couldn’t I use my mouth on you?”
Before I know my own actions, I’m surging to my feet, coming up between her thighs and lifting her off the ground. Her cunt presses down tight to my hardness, her feet dangling a couple of feet from the floor. And she whines, her head falling back on her shoulders. I bounce her once, twice and that whine turns into a whimper. “What don’t you understand about my cock being too big to fit?” I take several steps and pin her against a wall, rolling my hips, capturing her gasp with a hard kiss. “You think that doesn’t include your mouth? Your throat?”
“I…I…”
“I bet you struggle to wrap that little mouth around a popsicle.”
She labors to breathe. “What else can I give you?”
“You will strip,” I respond, my voice unsteady at what I’m suggesting. “You will give me a striptease. And then you’ll let me talk you through an orgasm. You’ll lie down naked in front of me and finger fuck that wet-ass cunt for Daddy. I’m going to jerk off all over you while you do it.”
Cindy’s head lolls to one side, as if the knowledge of what we’re about to do is too heavy. Maybe it is, because I don’t know what happens afterward. The more time I spend with Cindy, the more ways she lets me in physically, emotionally, the less likely I am to let her go. And yet when she slides down between me and the wall, strutting to the staircase and beckoning me with her eyes to follow, I support my heavy, aching cock in one hand and trail after her like a lovesick fool.
Chapter Five
Cindy
One floor down from the top deck is where the storage rooms are located, along with the kitchens and locker room facilities. My pulse is zinging in my veins as I walk toward a room marked “laundry” and push open the door, finding a large space with washers and dryers around the perimeter, a low table positioned in the center. It’s likely used for folding clothes…
But apparently I’m going to be using it for an entirely different purpose.
You will strip. You will give me a striptease. And then you’ll let me talk you through an orgasm. You’ll lie down naked in front of me and finger fuck that wet-ass cunt for Daddy. I’m going to jerk off all over you while you do it.
If you told me this morning that a man would be saying these words to me, I would have responded by vowing to make it his last day on earth. Those words coming from any other mouth would sound vile, but from Butch…they simply don’t. Maybe it’s his utter desperation or the way he looks at me like I’m an angel being beamed down from heaven. But when he speaks to me that way or calls himself Daddy, my knees threaten to buckle from pure, never before experienced lust. Because he’s not saying those things to assert his alpha status. He’s telling me he needs me. He’s impressing upon me how much with his eyes, his touch, the earthquake in his voice.