CHAPTER 3 — BELLE
Where is Ajax taking me? I wonder, as I practically run to keep up with him. I tug on his hand, trying to slow him down, but if anything, it only makes him walk faster. I huff, pretending to be annoyed.
I say “pretending” because a part of me kind of likes that he doesn’t give in to my demands, although asking him to slow down isn’t exactly an unreasonable demand.
But still, I can’t push him around the way I can with many men.
That said, he’s still considerate. In fact, he’s one of the most considerate men I’ve met.
He somehow knew exactly what to order for me at the coffee shop.
And when I brought up being vegan, he gave me the shirt off his back, literally, like it was nothing.
Not to mention the way he hasn’t pressured me around sex. It’s sad that that’s even something I have to say, as if it’s an achievement, a compliment. But given how rare it is for a man to not pressure, it kind of is.
He’s special, not just because he’s insanely hot, but also because I feel safe around him, but also scared. He’s a contradiction, which is another reason why I’m kind of obsessed. I’m trying to hide it, but I don’t know if I’m doing a very good job.
I keep following him as we head towards the parking lot. He fishes into his left pocket and pulls out a black car key. He presses it, and a shiny black car in the distance lights up.
“That’s your car?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.
I don’t know much about cars, but even I can tell it’s an expensive one.
A Jaguar, maybe, or a Mercedes? It’s hard for me to keep them straight, but either way, it looks like the kind of car that costs more than my education.
He just shrugs, though. He’s not trying to show off, but he’s also not acting with a sense of fake humility, which I appreciate.
It’s something that’s always irked me about some of the men in our Christian young adult group, like Anton.
He’d wear Rolexes and whatnot, but then when people would ask him about it, he’d go, “Oh, no. This? It’s just an old watch from my grandpa,” while smiling like an egomaniac.
Whenever he was acting like that, I’d have to excuse myself, because it was so embarrassing and infuriating that I didn’t trust myself to not say something.
Thank God that’s not the case with Ajax. He’s just himself, unapologetically, which makes me feel like I can be myself. I mean, mostly. I still find it difficult to admit what I want, but that’s part of the fun of it too.
He grabs the silver handle on the right side of the car and opens the door for me. “Slide in,” he says.
I look at him and smile. “Thank you.”
He just flashes his million-dollar smile and closes the door behind me. A small burst of warmth floods my chest. I don’t know how he walks the line between savage and gentleman, but he does.
He gets into the car and closes the door.
After buckling up, he puts his left hand on the steering wheel while his right loops over the back of his seat.
His hand moves back and forth on the steering wheel as he glances back.
Damn, how does he make everything look so fucking hot?
A strand of dark hair falls on his forehead.
Before thinking, I reach up and brush it back. He pauses and looks at me and smiles. It’s tender. My heart flip-flops.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and he returns to backing up. Within a minute, we’re out of the parking lot and on the road.
“Windows up or down?” he asks.
“Down,” I say.
He nods approvingly and puts down the windows, and the wind whips my hair. It’s making a mess, but I don’t care. I feel free.
“I love this side of you,” he says, grinning at me cheekily. I smile.
Just then, a particularly big gust of wind—or is it just air because we’re driving so fast?
—hits me, lifting up my dress. For a split second, my entire pussy is exposed.
Luckily, we’re basically on a highway and everyone’s going so fast that I doubt anyone could see, but I quickly grab the hem, pulling it down.
Ajax reaches over with his right hand and grabs my wrists, somehow with only one of his hands.
“Let daddy see that perfect pussy,” he says.
I squirm in my seat, but he grips my wrists tighter. I could always say red. I know that.
I look around. Cars are driving past us.
Well, actually, we’re driving past cars, seeing as we’re going faster than almost everyone.
I see a few people glance over, but it’s not like they can see what’s going on anyways.
They can’t see the car seat. Still, just knowing that I’m out here exposed, I squirm again, and he grips tighter.
“Stay still,” he says. “I don’t want to get into an accident here, okay?” He gives me a look like he’s a disapproving parent, and I almost laugh.
“I’m going to let go of your hands now,” he says slowly. “And you’re going to play with yourself, okay? If you don’t, I swear to God, I will pull over on the side of the road, bend you over the car, and spank your perfect little ass, okay?”
I blush and nod. He releases my wrists and grips the steering wheel with both hands. I reach under my dress and begin to slide a finger inside.
“Dress up,” he says. “I want to see.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue,” he says. “Do what daddy says.”
My insides twist, and I feel a tingle in my core. I clench my legs tightly and lift up the dress.
“Good girl,” he says approvingly, and the warmth between my legs intensifies. “Now touch yourself.”
I begin to rub my clit with my thumb while I slide a finger inside me.
“Mm,” he says. “I love watching you like that. You have one of the most perfect pussies I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” I ask. I didn’t intend for the question to slip out, but it did.
“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. “Why? Do you not believe me?”
I guess I hadn’t really thought of it, but I also had never thought of myself as having a good pussy, whatever that means.
“While I love your embarrassment, sweetheart,” he says, “we’re going to have to work on this humility thing. That’s not going to work for me. Now keep touching yourself.”
I continue touching myself, and as I do, he leans over and runs his hand across my breast. He does it quickly, so his thumb just grazes my nipple. It’s enough to make it stiffen.
“Fuck, Belle,” he groans.
I laugh. “You’re doing this to yourself.”
He chuckles. He knows I’m right.
“Almost there,” he says. He puts his hand back on the steering wheel and focuses on the road. “Keep going. I want to watch that little body writhing on the passenger seat.”
I increase the tension and feel pleasure starting to build.
“Stop,” he says.
My eyes flash open. “What?”
“Stop.”
I glare at him, and he smiles.
“I hate you,” I say.
“You love it,” he says. “We’re here.” He puts the car in park and turns it off.