Entrapment (Morelli Family 7.5)

I need to watch her, so even though this will be the third position change (and I’d like to finish in this one), I pull out of her body and roll her over onto her back.

She isn’t fighting me tonight. She certainly didn’t initiate, but tonight when I climbed into bed beside her, she seemed less like she wanted to die than usual. When I began touching her, she didn’t even ask me to stop. That’s something, I suppose.

There’s no struggle as I push her knees apart so I can move between her legs. She has cooperated through each position change instead of uselessly trying to divert me tonight. I appreciate that. Struggling can be fun, but not every damn day. Now that I can look at her, Mia holds my gaze steadily, but still does nothing to participate. Her hands rest on the bed at her sides and never touch me. Her legs, while spread to accommodate me, do nothing to hold me there. Her pussy abandoned the team a while ago, though. Even though she tried not to respond to my touch beforehand, she was wet enough that I could ease inside without hurting her. I didn’t call her on it. It’s not her fault her body’s reacting. I could be a dick about it, it fits my mission right now, but blaming her for something that isn’t her fault goes against my personal principles. I don’t mind lying when it serves me, but the mere idea of uttering this lie makes me feel like Vince. Yuck.

I focus on her again and I can’t help smiling faintly. She narrows her eyes suspiciously in response but doesn’t speak. She seems to think if she does her best impression of a dead fish, I’ll lose interest. She’s wrong. At least as I slide my cock inside her now, she doesn’t bother looking like I’ve betrayed her. I have a hunch she’ll give a little more tonight if I push for it, so I tell her, “Hold onto me.”

She tentatively brings her arms around my body. I lean in to kiss her. She doesn’t fight me on that tonight, either. When I break the kiss to look at her, she keeps her eyes closed. Her grasp on my back tightens ever so slightly, strained breaths slipping out of her. I cock my head curiously, watching her face as I pump in and out of her body.

Is that pleasure? I think it is. A few experimental thrusts later, I can match her body’s reactions to the sensation of my cock inside her and my thought cements itself. Her mind may not want this, but her body’s into it.

I should make her come. I love watching her come and I’d really like to be the one responsible. Not sure I should pile on like that today, though. I already made her give me head and pleasure herself for my entertainment. If I give that final push, she might crack. Whatever flashes of pleasure her body is experiencing right now, her mind hasn’t caught up.

But could she? Maybe she could. I would’ve said no, that’s an unreasonable expectation after what I’ve done to her, but now I have the mental image of her tenderly pressing her soft lips to the scar on my thigh. Wanting to heal my hurts, even as I continue to hurt her. Maybe she is fucked up enough to care about me—or think she does, at least.

Given her youth, general inexperience, and natural inclinations, it would probably be pretty easy to control her with sex. I could train her to be a slave to my pleasure—and by extension, her own. If I own her pussy, I could own her heart.

A hostile takeover would be exceptionally easy to pull off with her.

Hm.

I don’t push her tonight with an orgasm she doesn’t want, though; I just use her body for my own pleasure and then yank her into my arms while I recover.

She doesn’t pout at me tonight. I generally pull her back against me, but tonight she’s facing me, curled up against my side. I love that she’s not bothering to wear clothing to bed already. Even physically sated for the moment, I draw pleasure from looking at her.

I’m thinking about her perfect breasts, but Mia seems to be thinking about something a bit deeper because she suddenly says, “Tell me something about you.”

I bring my gaze from her breasts to her eyes. They’re more intense and focused than is typical, like she’s on some kind of mission. Maybe I’ll indulge her. “Like what?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she says, “I don’t know, whatever you want to tell me. I just don’t know a lot about you. I want to know more.”

Smiling faintly, I inform her, “There’s a lot you don’t know, yes. Give me a more specific idea of what you’re looking for.”