I swallow. Embarrassed by myself. “Anyway, I guess I thought doing something normal would clear my head.”
His eyes stay cool as I tell him this. Then he says, “You said you were talking to one friend.”
“Yeah, I found out when I got downstairs that one of them had cancelled. So it was just the one friend and me.”
“If this is true, what is this girl’s name?”
I shake my head and tell him the truth again, “I don’t want to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll drag her into this if I do.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You think if I find out about your friend, I’ll make an arrangement with her, too?”
I suck my teeth. “To be clear, what you call ‘making an arrangement’ is blackmail and extortion.”
His eyes darken. “Blackmail and extortion? Is that what you call what we’ve been doing? What you were begging for just a few moments ago?”
“Yes,” I answer, even as my face heats with embarrassment. “Because blackmail and extortion is what it is. And my friend is a good person. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
His hands find my body again, but not to torture me this time. With a lift and a few body part arrangements, he sets me back down on his lap. This time facing him.
“Do you believe this is how I usually conduct my affairs?” he asks, his expression and voice cold. “That I arrange to fuck pageant princesses every month, the same as you calling your friends? That I would make similar negotiation with this friend of yours at just the mention of her name?”
“I don’t know you, and you don’t know me,” I answer with a shake of my head. “That’s the God’s honest truth. So no, I’m not going to risk it.”
He raises a hand and strokes my face with the back of his knuckles. “You are very loyal. Even to those to who you are not related by blood.”
I can’t tell from his tone if he considers that a good or a bad quality. But it’s not a question. So I don’t answer.
“Okay, krasotka. You can keep your friend’s name. I accept your apology.”
Thank goodness. I reach for the hem of my tank, ready to strip. This is what he’s turned me into in just a short time.
But before the tank’s even halfway up my stomach, he says. “I did not give you permission to strip.”
“But you said…” I start.
“I accept your sorry. Forgiveness is not yet achieved.”
Oh…
I sit there, dejected. Not sure what to do with my hands. Or the throbbing ache in my core. Then it occurs to me to ask, “What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?”
His answer comes immediately. One simple word. “Beg.”
“What was I doing before?”
“Submitting,” he answers.
“What’s the difference?”
A smile almost makes it to his lips. “Perhaps you should start with asking permission.”
Asking permission… I think. Then shove aside what little dignity I have left to ask him. “Can I take off my clothes?”
“No.” His answer is short and cruel.
But then he says, “There are other things you can ask for. Other things I might grant.”
I think some more. “Please, can I touch you?”
“What part of me?”
“Your…uh…thing?”
“My thing?” he repeats like it’s a super foreign word he’s never heard before. “You mean my cock, da?”
I nod. My cheeks aflame.
“Say the real word then,” he commands.
“Your cock. Can I touch your cock?”
He regards me for a cool moment. Then nods.
I’m deeply aware of his eyes on me as I unbuckle his trousers and unzip his pants.
That’s the hardest work I have to do, though. One tug, and he springs out. Completely ready to go and dripping pre-cum.
“I should make you suck,” he says. “But I won’t. Do you like that, pet? Do you like how hard you make me?”
A question. I wordlessly nod.
“Do you think your nameless friend would get me to this state?”
Another question. And I’m torn about my answer. But I have to admit, “Men love her, but she doesn’t do boyfriends, so she’d probably be way better at a five-day hookup than me. And she’s stunning. Like, way prettier than me.”
He scoffs. “Nobody is prettier than you, krasotka,” he tells me in a chiding tone. Like I’ve just tried to convince him the sky is purple. “And I am not what you think. I do not do this every weekend. No other woman makes me crazy hard like this without any effort. Only you.”
Before he said that, I wasn’t sure what my next request would be. But now it burns in my chest, obvious and clear. “Can I…can I kiss you?”
His eyes flare with surprise.
Then he nods, his gaze somber on mine.
I lean forward and press my mouth into his. The kiss is soft at first. Almost innocent. But then he cups the back of my head and thrusts his tongue into my mouth. I’ve French-kissed before, but this is different. His tongue tugs on mine like he’s trying to pull me into him.
