Chapter Three
I spent the entire afternoon fuming.
Listen, Juliet. You might be pretty, but not every man is tripping over themselves to fuck you.
He’d made me sound completely delusional and arrogant. That’s not what I’d been trying to say at all, but he twisted my words and now I wanted to throw something in his face.
I’d make him take it back. Make him admit to stealing my panties. I’d make him a pathetic, blushing, mumbling loser.
That evening, I showered, taking care to scrub my skin until it gleamed.
Afterwards, I moisturized with a delicious vanilla-scented lotion and slipped on my silk pajama dress.
It was pale purple with spaghetti straps and a low v-neck.
I loved it because it was super comfortable to sleep in, but I usually wore a robe over it around the apartment, because I knew it was revealing.
Tonight, though, I didn’t put my robe on. I twisted my hair up in a messy bun that looked effortless, yet sexy, and loosened some strands to frame my face.
I checked myself in my mirror. I looked good, my pajama dress showcasing my cleavage, the outline of my nipples obvious through the thin silk. If Ben seeing me in an unzipped summer dress made him stammer, this would make his brain short-circuit.
My gaze fell on the counter, where my towel and day clothes sat. I looked at my underwear — black cotton with lace detailing around the waistband. I hesitated. Then I decided to leave it.
Silk dress without any underwear. That was how I would get my revenge on Ben.
I walked out of the bathroom with my head held high and shoulders rolled back. Ben was on the couch, and when he saw me, he lips parted. A second later, he coughed and hastily picked up his glass of water off the coffee table.
I walked over like I hadn’t noticed anything and flopped onto to the couch beside him. “Hey! What are you watching?”
His gaze went right to my cleavage before he and fixed his eyes on the TV screen. “Just a documentary,” he mumbled.
“What’s it about?”
His gaze was still on the screen. I poked his arm and he practically jumped ten feet into the air.
I fought back a laugh. “Ben? Did you hear me?” I asked in a sing-song voice.
“Oh, uh, it’s about Mars.”
I glanced at the screen, and sure enough, footage of the red planet filled the screen.
“You like space stuff, huh?” I asked.
He looked embarrassed. “I’m studying aerospace engineering. I, um…I’d like to work at NASA someday.”
I suddenly realized that before today, I didn’t know what his major was. I felt rude for not asking sooner and momentarily forgot about my seduction plan.
“What? No way. That’s so cool.”
He laughed uncertainty. “Thanks. I thought you might think it was lame.”
“Are you kidding? It’d be incredible,” I replied. “You must be super smart.”
He blushed, and honestly, it was adorable. I suddenly wanted to kiss him.
But then I remembered what he’d said. You might be pretty, but not every man is tripping over themselves to fuck you.
I steeled myself. I needed to remember the plan.
I lay down so my head was on the armrest, my legs stretched out, my feet almost, but not quite touching Ben. I could feel my dress riding up, revealing a lot of my thighs, but I didn’t adjust it.
I watched the TV, but in my periphery, I saw Ben glance at my legs. He stared for a second, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. I liked that. I liked the power my body had over him.
We watched the documentary for about five minutes when I stretched my legs out, my feet brushing Ben’s legs.
He stiffened.
“Sorry,” I said. “Is it okay if you move over so I can stretch my legs out?”
“I’m right on the edge of the couch,” he said, sounding apologetic.
I pushed myself up on my elbows and saw he was practically squished up against the armrest.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m hogging the whole couch.”
“It’s okay.” He hesitated. “You can rest your feet on my lap if you want.”
Now, that was bold. “You don’t mind?” I asked.
“It’s fine,” he said, meeting my eyes for only a second before quickly looking away.
I took the opportunity. “Thanks,” I said, placing my feet on his legs, his flannel pajama pants soft under my skin. “My ankles have been killing me lately. Maybe it’s all the walking I do to and from campus.”
It was the worst excuse in the world, but he seemed to believe me.
“I can massage them, if you like.” He flushed. “I mean, I’ve been told I’m good at massages.”
“Would you? That’d be amazing.”
He nodded and shyly touched my feet He began at the soles, rubbing against the arch, then ran his fingers up to my ankles and rubbed them gently, yet firmly.
I let out a contented sigh that was only half-forced. He actually was good at massages. “So good,” I murmured, and let my legs part slightly, my dress riding up.
Ben’s grip on my feet tightened so hard, I winced. “Ow. What the hell?”
He was staring at my thighs. No, correction: he was staring at my bare, exposed pussy. His mouth opened and closed before suddenly he was pulled back to reality and let go of me like I was a burning stove. “S-sorry,” he said.
He glanced at my exposed sex once again, like he couldn’t help himself. “Juliet,” he said, sounding pained.
“Hm? Is something wrong?”
He ripped his eyes away to meet my gaze. A hundred conflicting emotions passed over his face. “No. Nothing,” he said eventually.
I tapped my feet against his leg. “Why’d you stop? That massage was good. Keep going.”
He hesitated. I could see a pink flush expanding across his neck. “Alright.”
“Do my legs,” I said.
He nodded, taking my calves in his hands and rubbing firm circles, his fingers pleasantly warm against my skin. It did feel really good, and feeling his hands on me…I was getting aroused for real.
“Higher,” I said, moving closer to him, spreading my legs wide enough I could feel the cool air of the room against my hot core.
To his credit, he didn’t react, except for the bob of his Adam’s apple, and the firming of his jaw.
After five minutes, I had moved close enough that I was almost in his lap. His hands were on my thighs, though his grip was tighter than usual.
I suppressed a smile and casually pulled up the hem of my pajama dress, so it pooled around my upper thighs, and let out a contented sigh. “That feels so good.”
He swore under this breath, so quiet I barely heard it, and abruptly let go of me. He sat on his hands, which, in any other circumstance, would be kind of adorable.
“Juliet,” he said, voice weak and raw. “Stop it.”
I blinked innocently. “Stop what?”
“You’re…you’re teasing me.”
I stretched my legs out, feeling the bulge of his erection underneath my knee. His thick cock, straining in his pants…the thought of it alone gave me a thrill.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured.
What happened next happened so quickly, I barely had time to comprehend it. Ben moved, shifting my body like it weighed nothing. I found myself leaning against the couch with Ben was kneeling on the floor, between my spread legs, gripping my thighs so hard, I was sure he’d leave bruises.
The idea didn’t piss me off. In fact, it was kind of hot.
“Juliet,” he said, looking up at me. Even the hair falling into his eyes couldn’t disguise the desperation in them. His cheeks were flushed. I could see the veins standing out on his arms and hands. “Please. Please .”
His gaze fell to my pussy, his mouth parting. “I can…I can see how wet you are. It’s dripping down onto the dress. Onto the couch. You’re making a mess.”
“Sorry,” I said, not sorry at all. “I’ll clean it up.”
His grip on my thighs tightened. “No. I’ll clean it up. Let…let me.” He couldn’t stop staring at it. He pushed my thighs slightly more apart. “When I spread your legs…I can see it open.” He met my gaze. “Please. Let me.”
My breath caught. “Let you what?”
“You have to let me eat it. I have to taste you.” He sounded drunk, delirious. “I’ll clean it up. I’ll clean it up with my tongue. Please. Please. Y-you have to. You have to.”
For a second, I was so wrapped up in the moment I almost forgot my master plan. I imagined saying yes. I imagined gripping his hair as he shoved his tongue into my tight cunt. It would feel so good —
No. I was here to make a point.
I reached for him, pushing a finger under his jaw, forcing him to look up at me.
“I thought,” I began, in a quiet, slow voice, “you said not every guy was tripping over themselves to fuck me.”
He stared at me, looking almost confused.
“You made me feel like an idiot,” I continued.
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Juliet —”
“Admit it,” I said.
“W-what.”
“Admit you stole my panties.”
He seemed to choke on his words. “I — I don’t —”
“Liars don’t get to eat my pussy.” I pushed myself up so I was sitting upright.
Ben dug his fingers into my legs, not wanting to let me go. “No. Please. P-please, don’t…”
I gave him a sympathetic smile. “You look so pathetic, kneeling on the floor. Here, I’ll give you a treat.” Slowly, I lifted my hand, moving it towards my hot core. I pushed a finger inside myself. Ben looked like he was going to die.
I pulled my finger out. It glistened with my juices. When I presented it to Ben, he didn’t hesitate — he leaned forward and took it into his mouth immediately, his tongue soft as he sucked and licked.
Fuck. This really was hot.
Too bad he was a liar. If he’d just admitted it — if he didn’t insult me — we could be fucking right now.
I could still fuck him tonight. But my pride didn’t allow that.
“And that’s all you’re going to get,” I told him. I stood up suddenly, and he must’ve been taken off guard, because his limp hands slipped from my legs and I was able to walk away easily. I didn’t look back as I strode to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.