Chapter 23 #2
“Oh?” I ask, kissing her temple and then the joint of her jaw. “Behind how?”
I don’t know if she realizes she’s doing it, but her head tilts to give me better access to her ear and the stretch of neck below it.
“I mean everyone else has already negotiated this stuff with themselves by my age, probably fifteen years earlier than that even. They’ve negotiated how they’re going to follow or not follow the rules about sex. About having babies. They’ve decided how much guilt they’re willing to live with.”
I drag my mouth over her neck and she shivers.
“Let me take all the guilt,” I say against her skin.
“Let me carry the blame. I’m making you do it, aren’t I, my little bird?
” My hands find her waist, warm through the thin, ribbed fabric, and then her hips.
My thumbs slip under the tank top to rub at her soft skin. “You don’t have a choice. It’s all me.”
Her next exhale is shaky. “I don’t know…”
I turn her in my arms and then pull her back against me, one arm banding her in place while I reach down to find the button of her jeans. She squirms.
“Do you feel like you have a choice right now?” I ask into her ear.
“Do you feel like you should be blamed for this? Am I making it easy for you to get away?” I hold her even tighter as I unzip her jeans.
I shove my hand into her open pants, into the worn black cotton that hides her cunt.
“Am I playing fair? Am I giving you a chance to weigh the moral outcomes of fighting me off versus giving me what I want?”
I nip at her earlobe as I find her clit.
The sweet little nexus of nerve endings is already engorged.
When I go lower, she’s slick, slick, slick.
Just like at Evelyn, just like in my truck and up against my wall.
I don’t know if it’s me or the fucked-up dynamics of consent, but even in the kinky spaces I’ve visited, I’ve never played with someone with such an immediate response to violation.
“You could tell me that the deal is off,” I muse as my fingers work between her legs.
Her hips chase my hand, pressing forward or down, wherever she can get the most pressure.
“You could say, I’ve had enough, Ry, and I want to leave, and I’d let you leave.
Anytime, at any moment, even if I’m up to the hilt inside you.
Is that what you want? You just have to tell me.
Say, Ry, I want to leave, and I’ll stop fingering you.
I won’t pull these jeans down. I won’t bend you over that workbench.
I won’t make you face your evening prayers with a pussy full of cum. ”
I move back up to her clit and she gasps. When I slide my other hand up to cup her breast, her nipple is stiff against my palm. She’s so slippery that I can hear my fingertips working over the needy place in her jeans.
“But then again, I’m not being very nice, am I?
I’m playing with this darling cunt while I’m asking you these questions and making it feel so nice, so how can any of this be your fault?
How can you carry the blame? The sins are light for me, Birdie, so give me as many as you’d like.
Agreeing to be mine. Liking my hand down your pants.
Hoping I make you come again. The condoms. The pills.
The way you feel when you think about being my live-in release valve. ”
She’s breathing so hard now, whimpering, squirming, but not to get away.
“The way you feel when you think about being used for sex. When you think about the studio at Evelyn with your face against the chalkboard and your skirt shoved up around your hips.”
She goes rigid and breathless in my arms and then releases with a series of gasping shudders, her hands clawing for the arm wrapped around her ribs and then clinging to keep herself upright.
I slide my fingers into her tight hole to feel it squeeze around me, grunting at the feeling, my entire body tense and straining.
I sink my teeth into her shoulder in a desperate attempt to make myself wait, just fucking wait.
But oh my God, this is so hot, she’s so fucking perfect, so wet and soft around my fingers, holy shit—
“Ry,” she breathes, and that’s it—that’s as much as I can take. Hand still between her legs, I nudge her forward, and we walk in tandem to the workbench. When we get there, I pull my hand free and then press her hands flat on the surface.
“You can say no or stop if it makes you feel better, if it makes you feel like you tried so hard not to be bad,” I tell her. “But if you say you want to leave, I’ll stop that very moment. Got it?”
She nods, dazed.
A nod isn’t good enough for this first time. “What do you say if you want me to stop?”
“That I want to leave.” Her voice is breathy. I wish I could see her face and see what she looks like cum drunk, but it’s too good having her like this in front of me: hands braced, ass out.
“And what will happen if you say no? Or don’t?”
“You’ll keep going.”
“Why?”
“Because you won’t stop unless I say that I want to leave.”
“Smart girl.” I move my mouth over her shoulder to her neck, putting my hands over hers.
I press my erection into her cute, denim-clad bottom and breathe in the smell of apples and wood.
“So you see, it’s not your fault. You’re not to blame.
The devil made you do it, and there was no angel to save you, was there? ”
And then I pull her pants down.