14. Myla
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Iknew Judge was into some kinky shit, and I don’t mean the normal kind of kink like BDSM. I mean the unusual kind, and I have to admit, I’m into it too.
He rubs circles around my breasts and up the center of my chest before massaging each one, not touching my nipples, which are erect and achy for attention. Is this part of the massage, or is he purposely trying to drive me insane?
This isn’t how I thought my night would go at all. I was terrified when Cory lurched for me, and I knew I was in trouble when he reared back to hit me. I was lucky I didn’t lose consciousness and was able to think fast by stabbing him in the neck. Nothing went as planned, which meant there was a higher chance of a mistake.
The whole ride home, my anger grew at how badly I fucked up. All I wanted was to shower and go back to rotting in bed. That’s all I have the energy for if I’m not surveilling a target—tucked away in bed with my curtains drawn and the world a safe distance away.
Then, my adrenaline spiked for the second time that night when I thought someone had broken into my apartment. I should’ve known it was Judge. He has a knack for showing up at the worst, or maybe the best, times. It irritates me that my first inclination when I saw him was to fall into his arms and have him make everything better. But I’m not that girl, and I can’t possibly accomplish my goals by becoming that girl. This only works if I remain strong and independent.
Then he put his hands on me and I gave in, just a little. I can be strong and independent and still accept the most relaxing massage I’ve ever experienced. I’m tense, and I deserve this. However, as his fingers drift closer and closer to my nipples and my core winds tighter and tighter, I think I’ll be relaxing in a whole new way, very soon.
“When I was in India learning about Hinduism, I was introduced to Tantra,” he says, dragging his fingers up my breasts until he reaches the peak, then repeating the movement. “My only knowledge of the word was what was presented in boys’ locker rooms. So basically, I knew nothing. I was surprised that it actually has nothing to do with sex. It’s about performing rituals and practices in order to attain a higher level of consciousness. It’s about liberating yourself from physical and mental bondage.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It is. Very complicated. Which is why I’d never claim to be an expert or even especially knowledgeable, but I have lent some practices to my life, like connecting with my breath and yoga. Westerners tend to bastardize Eastern religions and cultures, so it was important for me to travel and learn from experts.” His eyes remain trained on my breasts despite the conversation we’re having. It’s odd how unsurprised I am. I tried hard not to get to know Judge, yet he snuck in anyway.
“You do yoga?” I ask, my back arching when he plucks my nipples.
“I do. Not as much as I should, but it’s a way for me to search for inner meaning.”
“Maybe there is no meaning to anything.” My words are breathy as he finally—freaking finally—cups the entirety of my breasts and massages the oil into them.
“You could be right. No one has definitive answers, but I think not believing that our presence on this earth has any importance is sad.” He moves on from my breasts, using circular motions to rub lower from my abdomen to my pelvic bone. I’d never guess that it would feel good, but it does.
“I actually find it calming. Like I don’t have to live up to some predetermined standard because nothing matters, and one day I’ll die, and soon after, no one will even remember me.”
“It’s your life. The only correct code to live by is the one we put on ourselves.”
“I guess.”
“Anyway, my point is that there are Tantric practices that involve sexuality and creating intimate bonds. One of them is a yoni massage.” His hands skim down to my inner thighs, where he kneads the muscles. “The purpose isn’t to orgasm, though it’s perfectly fine if you do.” He pushes my thighs up and out until my hips lift off the mattress, almost in a frog pose. “If this becomes uncomfortable, let me know.”
This position puts all my lady bits on display while he’s still fully clothed. Something about that feels erotic and turns me on. He lowers to his ass and positions himself as close to me as possible with his legs open and crossed over my thighs.
With slow motions, he massages down my labia, all the way to my asshole and further to my butt cheeks that he takes a second to knead before stroking upwards, back to the top of my pussy.
I ‘m up on my elbows in a heartbeat, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”
“I told you: a yoni massage.” The sheepish grin he gives me is so innocent and pure that my heart skips a beat.
My cheeks heat. “Judge, this is weird, even for you.”
“Just lie back and relax. Like everything else I’ve done, this is meant to relieve stress and tension.” He repeats the slow stroke down and back over all my private bits.
“Fine.” I fall back to the bed, allowing him to proceed, but it’s a fight not to snap my legs closed. It’s one thing for a man to be down there trying to get me off. It’s a whole other thing for him to be. . . fuck, whatever it is he’s doing. All I know is that by the end of this, he’ll know my cooter better than I do, and that’s unsettling.
Closing my eyes, I move what he’s doing from a sexual column in my brain over to the medical column. This isn’t meant to be arousing, so I need to treat it as such. Minutes pass, and eventually, I get used to the feeling. He must sense it, because he chooses that moment to move on.
“What kind of pressure do you prefer?” Both of his hands cup my pussy, his thumbs resting on either side of my clit. He digs his fingers into my pelvic bone, and I can’t help the slight zing that runs through me. Apparently, I haven’t separated this into a medical column after all. After a few seconds, he lightens the pressure until I can barely feel his touch.
“Harder. I want to feel it.”
His thumbs move down between my labia while his other fingers settle just under my ass, his pinkies resting right on my asshole. God, this is so strange. Only his thumbs move up and down on either side of my clit and inner lips. His pressure is firm but not painful, and if I can get past how awkward this is, it actually does feel good.
“How is this?”
I drape an arm over my eyes, hiding myself. “Good.”
“Be sure to tell me if anything is uncomfortable or painful. That’s the opposite of what I’m trying to do.”
“If there’s one thing I know about you, Judge, it’s that you’d never intentionally hurt me. But yeah, I’ll let you know.”
I can’t see him, but I know hearing it would make him happy. “That pleases me to hear.”
After one last stroke up, I lose his touch and pop back up on my elbows, disappointed that it’s over. The disappointment soon vanishes when I find him reaching for the coconut oil. He pops the top and trickles some down my slit. Even with it being my own body, I can recognize how arousing the sight is and my clit tingles in response. My eyes move up to his but catch on something before they get there. Judge is aroused too. His hard length rests to the left and down his thigh, the outline pronounced through the fit of his jeans.
“That looks painful.” I nod to his issue. “You can take your pants off, you know.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t like being the only naked one whenever I’m with you.”
“That’s not what this is. It’s a massage. I shouldn’t even be hard, but everything about you and your body turns me on.” He pinches the fat at the top of my inner thighs, and I open my mouth to scold him, but he beats me to it. “I love how this padding cushioned my legs when I fucked you hard.” He tugs on the tuft of hair above my pussy. “I love how your pubic hair holds your scent so when I eat you out and my nose is buried in it, I can’t smell anything but you.”
“Judge—”
“I’m not done.” He takes my inner lips—something I’ve always been self-conscious about—between his fingers. I hate how thin and flappy they are. “I love how these lips hugged my cock, and when I pulled out, they dragged down my length, and fuck, it felt so good.”
“Judge—”
“Now that I’ve been inside you and know how you feel, I can’t help but get hard, even though this is supposed to be all about you and relaxing. I should be able to control myself,” he rambles.
“Goddamn it, Judge, shut up.” I finally get through to him, and his mouth snaps closed. “It doesn’t bother me. Matter of fact, I’d be offended if you weren’t turned on. So please, at least undo your pants. I’m fond of that particular body part and don’t want it to die off due to lack of blood flow.”
He grins and wipes his hands on the towel before taking my advice, but not only does he take off his belt and unzip his jeans, he pulls them down below his hips. His white boxer briefs leave even less to the imagination, and my mouth waters at seeing the outline of the most perfect dick I’ve ever encountered.
“Can I continue?” he asks.
“Please.” I flop back down.
His touch backtracks, starting all over with the slow strokes up and down. After that interruption, I didn’t think I could get back into what he was doing, but now that my body knows what to expect, I find myself relaxing into it once again. He repeats everything he did previously, then switches to a new movement. His thumb and pinkie rest on either side of my outer lips, while his first finger and ring finger rest on either side of my clit. That leaves his middle finger on top of my clit. His hand glides up and down easily, thanks to the coconut oil, and on each downward stroke, he rubs a circle around it. Every part of my sex is stimulated, and I lose my fight to keep this from turning sexual.
It feels so good, and my arousal drips from me and my clit pulses. I glance down my body and see he’s wholly focused on what he’s doing, meaning there’s no way he doesn’t see what he’s doing to me.
“Can I enter you with my fingers?” he asks, very clinically.
“As long as this ends with you making me come.”
He smiles at that, meeting my eyes. “I can arrange that.”
His middle finger slides right in, but he stops at about an inch deep. Taking intentional deep breaths, he presses up and holds the pressure. Obviously, I’m going to have to wait for that promised orgasm. I find myself subconsciously syncing my breath to his as he treats my pussy like a clock, circling his finger and stopping at each hour to press into my inner flesh.
“That was a reflexology technique,” he says, replacing one finger with two. He curls them up, finding my G-spot. He holds the pressure for a minute before stroking that same spot with a come hither motion. My pussy clenches around him as a sudden burst of pleasure courses through me.
“What’s this technique called?” I grit out.
“I believe the technical term is finger-fuck.”
My body is on fire, every nerve ending tingling with a toe-curling sensation as his expert fingers manipulate my clit. He knows exactly what he’s doing, applying just the right amount of pressure and speed to drive me wild. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he switches things up, thrusting in and out until he creates a suction that makes my pussy throb and pulse. As I pant and moan, I hear the wet sucking sound between my legs, and I feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge. The urge to pee only adds to the intensity, but I trust Judge completely. He may have some unconventional desires, but I know he’ll take care of me. With a deep breath, I give into the sensations and let him lead me toward an orgasm like no other—one that will leave me spent and trembling in ecstasy.
“I want you to come all over my fingers, Myla. Do it. Let your pussy squirt all over me,” he says. The hand that’s not trying to make me rocket off the bed skims up my body to tweak a nipple. He tugs roughly, even painfully, but it’s exactly what I need.
Bearing down on his fingers, I let loose all my inhibitions. I white-knuckle the comforter at my side, my head lifting off the bed as lightning bolts of pleasure spread through my body. Pressure builds behind my ears, and I’m vaguely aware of someone screaming, only to realize it’s me.
My hips buck off the bed, and my thighs quiver as I hold onto the fleeing pleasure for as long as I possibly can, not worrying about the spray that’s splashing against Judge’s arm. Thank God he rolled up his sleeve, or he’d be soaked. When my lungs burn because I’ve held my breath for so long, I have no choice but to relax and sadly let go of the most aggressive orgasm of my entire life.
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” I breathe out, completely blissed out.
Judge laughs, his movements slowing until he doesn’t move at all but keeps his fingers inside me. “That good?”
“You have no fucking idea.”
“Goddamn, I love feeling your inner walls spasm around me after you come. I love knowing I’m the one who made you feel good.”
“Are you going to fuck me now?” I ask. That might’ve been a monster orgasm, but I want more. I want him. That thought terrifies me, but I tuck it away for later. Much later. After I’ve come again, later.
He removes his fingers only to rub circles around my pussy, spreading around the mixture of my cum and the coconut oil. “You want that, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“I’d do anything for you.” He lifts up onto his knees and pushes his boxer briefs down, freeing his cock, but not before I see the wet spot from the pre-cum he’s leaking. Judge is working with a seriously impressive unit. It’s not too long or big, with a slight upward curve that’s made to please a woman. The veins running up and down the length are sexy as sin and make me want to trace them with my tongue.
He rolls up the soaked towel and tosses it aside before moving closer, taking himself in hand and squeezing his rigid length from root to tip. A drop of pre-cum appears, glistening in the candlelight. I expect him to drive right into me, but instead, he drags his tip up and down my slit while the thumb of his other hand strums my clit, teasing us both.
“I wish you could see how we look together. It’s beautiful.” He rolls his hips as he slowly pushes in until we’re fully joined before pulling out the same way. “You’re so wet.”
Glancing down, I see how thoroughly his cock is coated. Fuck me, I’m so gone for this man. I’ve only read about the things he does to me in the romance novels that a few of the girls I worked with owned. They liked to read the sex scenes out loud for us all to laugh at because of how unrealistic they were. Turns out, all that and more can be true if you do it with the right person.
He throws my right leg over his shoulder and falls forward to his hands. The position opens me up wide for him. Even knowing how intimate it’ll make this, I grip his shoulders and gaze up into his blue eyes. His upper body is still fully dressed—black button down, white collar, and all—but with the open and honest way he looks down at me, he might as well be naked because I see all of him.
“I want to kiss you, but I don’t want to hurt your lip more than it already is,” he says.
I touch the spot, having completely forgotten. “It doesn’t hurt.”
He dips down and plants a gentle kiss next to where my skin has opened. “It will if I kiss you. I just didn’t want you to think I don’t want my lips on yours while we—while I fuck you.”
“It’s okay.” I know what he was about to say, and I’m glad he stopped himself because I would’ve put a stop to this. Being face-to-face is already more intimate than I’m comfortable with. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, but I also do nothing as we stare deep into each other’s eyes as he moves in and out of me.
Sweat beads on his brow, and I know it’s taking a lot of effort, but he keeps a steady pace. He’s usually so expressive, I should be able to make out what he’s thinking or feeling, but I can’t. Or maybe I just don’t want to know because it’ll be all the things I’ve been denying.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers. “Make yourself come. I want to feel you.”
I lower a hand between us, rubbing circles against my clit. It’s more swollen than I’ve ever felt it, and the mix of stimulation and feeling his cock dragging in and out of me has me close to coming again in minutes.
“You feel so fuckin’ good. You’re so tight and wet. Can you feel how hard I am for you?”
“Yes. God, you fit me so perfectly. Big enough to fill me but not so big it hurts. You’re just right.”
“Are you there yet? Can you come for me? I can’t wait to pump you so full of my cum, it drips out of you for days. Do you want that, sweetheart?”
The tender term of endearment after such filthy words is such a dichotomy, much like the man himself. Judge straddles every line, balancing precariously between two worlds. He’s in the club but doesn’t participate in club business. A man of faith, wrapped in a collar but refusing to claim the title of priest. Even his belief in God is ambiguous, not tied to any particular deity. Judge embodies neutrality, a human manifestation of Switzerland itself.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Judge slams into me, his balls slapping against my ass. “Do that again.”
“My girl likes it hard,” he mutters until I come apart all over again, screaming his name while I squeeze his cock. “Fuck, Myla. You’re like a vice around me. You’re making me come.”
I curl my fingers into his hair, my chest heaving as I come down while it’s his turn to come undone. The controlled roll of his hips has given way to fast, relentless thrusts, and if I hadn’t just come, watching his control slip and his desire take over would have wrenched another orgasm out of me.
His cock pulses inside me as he does exactly what he promised. He curses as he fills me so full, it leaks from my body and creates a wet, sloppy sound, no doubt puddling on the comforter. I don’t even care because watching him come apart because of me is magical. Eventually, his movements slow, and he releases my leg in order to collapse on top of me. He tucks his face into the crook of my neck, his fast, warm breaths tickling and making me smile.
“That was good,” I say and wrap my legs around him. His softening cock is still inside me, and I want to keep it there for as long as I can.
“So fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against my throat, the vibrations making me giggle. Once he realizes what power he has, he hums against the spot right behind my ear, creating the same vibrations. A full belly laugh, carefree and happy, erupts from me as I squirm. This might be the first time I’ve laughed since that day all those months ago. I stop short, all humor bleeding away. Feeling the mood change, he lifts up on his elbows. “What just happened?”
I shake my head vigorously, unable to speak. Covering my mouth with the back of my hand, I fight off tears.
“Jesus, Myla. Tell me what just happened.”
My legs drop, and his cock slips out of me, leaving a cold emptiness behind. The desire to cling to him dissolves into pure disgust, and I want nothing more than for him to go. It doesn’t make sense, even to me. How is it a bad thing that I’m learning to feel happiness again? But in my broken mind, it’s as though if I’m not consumed by anger, then I’m somehow absolving those monsters of what they did to me. As if my fleeting moment of joy could ever justify their heinous actions.
It scares me to be happy.
“Tell me, beautiful, please.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. It’s such a sweet gesture that the tears I’d been holding back burst free.
“I don’t even know,” I say in all honesty.
“There has to be a reason. You were happy, you were laughing, and then something changed. What was it?”
My lower lip quivers with the realization. “I laughed.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I haven’t laughed since it happened, not in any real way. I forced myself to laugh when it was socially expected, mostly for my sister’s sake, but it was fake.”
“You’re gonna have to break it down for me because I don’t see the issue.”
I shove him off me. “I need you to go now.”
“Myla,” he says, pushing off me with confusion written all over him. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand. You just have to go.” I’m not ready to let go of this anger and if I spend any more time with Judge, that’s exactly what’ll happen. If I don’t even the score before I heal, I’ll end up resenting him.
“I won’t leave you, but I’ll give you space.” He moves to tuck his shirt in and do up his pants but quickly realizes they’re wet with a whole cocktail of body fluids and leaves the fly undone. “I’ll be in the living room when you want to talk. And Myla, we will talk.”
“Just go.” I sniffle and draw my knees up to my chest, not caring about the mess between my legs.
His expression is worse than wounded. He looks shattered, like I’ve crushed his heart into a million pieces. A surge of self-loathing washes over me, but I push it aside and harden my jaw. The hate consumes me, unleashing all the demons that reside in the dark corners of my mind. They are my constant companions, always there to torment and haunt me—the devils I know so well, whispering their poisonous words and reminding me of my darkest moment.