Page 2 of Renegade
“Oh, baby, you feel amazing.” His face is wreathed in smiles as he thrusts into me several times. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about him. I barely feel anything! After a few more minutes, I decide it’s time to change tactics. “Fuck me from behind,” I whisper.
“Um…sure.” He pulls out, and the problem is instantly apparent. His cock is only half erect, looking sort of pathetic encased in the condom.
He looks at me apologetically. “Mr. Peen doesn’t like condoms.”
I stare at him blankly. “Who?”
“My dick. My main man. He doesn’t like to be restrained. He likes to be free.”
“Well, that’s not an option,” I say flatly.
“Of course not,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He pulls the condom off. “But maybe you could…you know…” He gestures at his limp dick.
“Give you a blow job?”
He sighs with relief. “Yeah. That might help.”
The thought of taking his spermicide-flavored dick in my mouth is slightly repulsive, and I hesitate, trying to choose my words carefully. Although why the hell I care is beyond me. This is clearly not going to be the fuck I was hoping for. I sigh. Unfortunately, they never are. But this one will go down in the books as one of the top ten worst.
“Or, maybe I could, you know, go down on you if you’d rather?”
“Sure. Why not?”
He plants himself between my thighs and takes a deep breath, then starts lapping at me like a dog with a licking problem. “I’m going to get so dirty with you,” he mutters.
A martini at the bar at LaGuardia would be a hell of a lot dirtier, and definitely more satisfying, than this, but I figure I’ll give him one last chance. I close my eyes and focus on my fantasy. In my mind, my faceless guy is opening my thighs like he owns them, his fingers parting me as his tongue teases me ever so gently before…
I’m vaguely aware of the door opening, and then an audible gasp.
He jumps up guiltily.
“Mom! What are you doing home?”
“Mom?”Horrified, I stare at the well-dressed, chic-looking woman with perfectly coiffed blond hair standing in the doorway, the shock on her face mirroring mine. Then she clears her throat and visibly relaxes her features into a cool mask of studied nonchalance. “I was going to see if you wanted dinner, but it appears you’ve already eaten.”
The door closes again with a soft click, and time seems to stop as he and I stare at each other for a long minute.Fuck. My. Life.
Time resumes, and I scramble off the bed, grabbing my clothes from the floor.
“Wait. You don’t have to go,” he says.
“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. You still live with your mom?” I can’t keep the disbelief, or the disdain, from my voice. “How old are you?” I demand.
“Twenty-four. I could get my own place, but New York is expensive. I’d have to live in a studio apartment!” He says it like it’s a fate worse than death. “It works for me living at home.”
“Right. I can see that.” Taking my clothes, I go into the luxurious bathroom and close the door, locking it firmly. I have to get out of here. And I am never,evergoing to date again. Or have sex. I’m going to devote myself to work and building my business and spending time with my friends, and one day, I’ll buy a house and get some cats and an epic collection of sex toys. I’m used to taking care of my orgasms myself anyway, since no guy seems to be able to get me off. I’d thought it was a flaw, but with my new no-dating plan, it’s actually evolutionary genius.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s lying on the bed naked, his cock once again standing at attention, and I wonder if he’s been stroking himself while I was in the bathroom.
“How about that blow job before you go?”
“Are you fucking serious?”
He scrambles to a sitting position, his cock slowly wilting. “Maybe?” He gives me that lopsided grin of his again, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to deck him. Or burst into tears. Without saying another word, I turn, open the door, and march out of the bedroom. His mother is sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, speaking on the phone in a hushed voice. She stops talking when she notices me.
“Sorry I can’t stay for dinner, but I’m stuffed.” I grab my bag and portfolio from the hallway with as much dignity as I can muster. Holding my head high, I march out of the apartment.
…
