Page 53 of The Deal
“I want you to check me now,” I say, my voice soft, deliberate. “But not my pussy because we know that cherry’s been popped. I want you to check my ass cherry. You ever think about that, Kent? You ever wonder if you’re the first man to fuck me there?”
His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jump. He’s breathing heavy, like he’s just run a mile.
He stands, rounds the table in two strides, and hauls me to my feet. He crushes my mouth with his, hands tangling in my hair, his whole body shaking with want.
He pulls back, lips just touching mine. “Are you sure?” he growls.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say, and I mean it.
He grins, wicked and slow. “You know there’s no hymen in your ass, right?”
“Of course not,” I giggle. “So what are you going to do?”
Here, Kent’s eyes go dark and intense.
“The only way to know is to taste it. If another man’s been in your ass, I’ll know. A man’s semen can stay in a woman’s anal canal for months. Do you have another man’s semen in your asshole, sweetheart? Or is it clean and fresh, ready for Daddy’s tongue?”
I shiver, every nerve ending lit up at his filthy words.
“I don’t know, Daddy,” I whisper-pant. “Why don’t you find out?”
Kent’s blue eyes flare, and then drags me up the stairs, his hand a vise around my wrist. My heart is hammering, my brain gone fuzzy and light. The deal is out in the open now, and I want nothing more than to give him what he wants.
I want to belong to him, completely.
And now, I will.
Upstairs,the house changes. The light goes blue, then gold again, then vanishes into shadow as Kent drags me down the corridor and through the open door of his bedroom. My bare feet slip on the waxed wood, but his hand keeps me upright, his grip a leash and a promise. The room is warm but the air is thin, like the walls are closing in around us, like there’s not enough oxygen to feed both our hungers at once.
Kent’s bedroom looks nothing like the showpiece spaces on the rest of the main floor. No cold art, no abstract furniture; it’s all shadow and density. Heavy velvet curtains wall off the night, just a rim of sodium streetlight leaking through the crack at the edge. The bed is the centerpiece, a wide black rectangle with sheets the color of dark roast, the kind of cotton that gets softer with every wash and never loses the memory of sweat or skin. There are no knickknacks at all because that’s the way my man likes it. Spartan and spare, all angles and lines, just like him.
There’s a single lamp on, its shade the color of honey, casting an oval of soft light across the headboard. There are candles too—three fat ones, all the same off-white, currently unlit, the wax pooled and glossy at the rim. The air is thick with their leftover scent though, something resinous and sexual. The only other light is the blue of the clock on the far wall, numbers ticking down in the dark like a time bomb.
He lets go of my wrist only long enough to shut the door and twist the lock. Then he’s on me, hands spanning the width of my hips through the oversized flannel, the pressure so sudden it steals the air from my lungs. He kisses me again, but this time it’s not a question. His tongue is in my mouth before I can evengasp. His teeth graze the edge of my lip, not enough to hurt but enough to make my knees go soft. I reach for his belt but he catches my hand, pins it against my lower back, and then lifts me clean off the ground. I squeal, but he’s already walking, carrying me like a prize to the bed.
He drops me on the mattress and the bounce is so hard I nearly roll off the other side. Kent follows, crawling over me, his body huge and heavy and hot. He looms above me for a second, breath coming in ragged, and then he tugs at the flannel shirt, working the buttons open one by one. The air kisses my skin as it’s exposed—shoulder, collarbone, the curve of my breast—and everywhere he uncovers, he leaves a trail of heat, his mouth and tongue following the path of his hands.
“Oooh!” I cry out as he tongues a hard nipple. “Mmm!”
But Kent means business tonight. He pops off the nipple before leaning over to lick the other one, and then kneels at my knees and peels the leggings off, slow enough to be a tease but fast enough that I don’t get cold. He balls them and throws them at the far wall, then runs his palms up my shins, over my thighs, to the soft under-curve where my legs meet my body. I’m bare for him, and wet already, and when he looks down at me, it’s like he’s staring at an answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life.
“Good, you’re not wearing panties,” he rasps, his voice like dark molasses. “You know Daddy’s rule: no panties when you’re in the house so that your pussy’s always fresh and open for me.”
It’s true because Kent likes to fuck me whenever and wherever he wants, and access to my sweetest spot is of utmost importance. As a result, I never wear panties anymore, and myman fucks my cunt regularly, leaving me with trails of come leaking down my thighs on a regular basis.
But Kent has more than just my pussy on his mind tonight. He strips off his own shirt, then the rest, until he’s naked above me, all hard muscle and dark hair and the kind of cock that makes you shudder before clenching your thighs together in need. He’s beautiful in a way that’s almost frightening—bigger than I remember, more animal, and when his hands settle on my hips, I feel claimed.
He turns me over with a single, smooth motion, belly-down on the bed, my arms folded under my head. The cotton is cool against my cheek but the rest of me is burning. Kent kneels behind me, his hands on my ass, kneading the flesh and squeezing the soft mounds.
“Fuck you’re so fucking curvy,” he rasps. “Just like a woman should be.”
Then, he helps me so that I’m on all fours, and spreads me with his thumbs, exposing everything. The cold air over both holes makes me clench. I want to say something clever, but all that comes out is a whimper.
He bends down and breathes in, long and slow, and then he parts me again, bringing his face right to my ass. I giggle, a nervous hiccup, and try to wiggle away, but he growls—actually growls—deep in his chest. “Stay put,” he commands.
I shiver and go still. The anticipation is torture.
Then, he puts his mouth on me, right on the tight little knot of my asshole, and licks. Just the tip of his tongue at first, circling, teasing, tasting. I gasp, the sensation so sharp and intimate that my whole body jolts. He licks again, firmer, then flattens histongue and drags it up and down, making sure I can feel every inch. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, and when I try to bury my face in the sheets, he just licks my asshole harder.
