Chapter 20
Raya
How can I want what he’s demanding of me and want to refuse it at the same time?
I lick my lips as I stare down at the silicone penis but then I have to lift my eyes back up to him. I regret telling him not to touch himself because at least if he was, he’d be a little distracted with his own pleasure instead of analyzing every movement of my body.
“Get it ready,” he urges, and I don’t have to guess what he means.
I close my eyes as I touch myself, noticing the change in his pattern of breathing.
I slit my eyes open to see what he’s doing.
His hands are tangled in the sheets. His grip so tight, his knuckles are white.
And I know he’s hurting, not touching himself.
I know it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted in the shower and nothing has changed.
Slickness coats my fingers as I tease and toy.
I avoid my clit because even as deranged as this is, I can’t deny how much I want it.
What would his hands feel like on my skin?
I keep going back to that thought over and over, day after day.
And I want to fight it. I want to refuse to think about it.
I don’t want my head imagining such things.
It makes me just as sick and twisted as he is.
But the blame is no longer there, the excuses that would normally run through my head as I mentally pointed the fingers at my parents.
I could have been more rebellious. I could have fought against their rules.
I could have been unconcerned about the chance of news outlets getting a picture of me going wild, but I didn’t.
I think it’s time to stop blaming everyone else for everything I feel like I’ve missed out on in life.
He doesn’t let me refuse. Or maybe he does with the threats in his voice.
The warnings he gives me with his eyes because that’s all it takes to get me into motion.
I touch myself longer than I need to, wondering if this is the time that I should stand up for myself, but I don’t open my mouth to complain.
I think refusing to do it would be worse with the way that my body is demanding I bend to his will.
I want it. There’s no denying it, I realize, as I pull my fingers free and look down at the black toy standing there.
It’s as if the thing is reaching up to me.
It’s proud and unflagging. I can only imagine how good it’s gonna feel.
I spread my legs as I reach for the bedpost and I fight the urge once again to tell him that it’s okay if he touches himself while I do that.
It would be a confession I’m not ready to make despite his ability to read those desires on my face without me uttering a word. His own arousal leaks from the tip of his penis and I take a little pride in that. I take pride in the fact that I’m able to turn him on enough to make him weak.
My tongue sneaks out, licking at my lips again, and that pleases him as well as he watches my mouth.
The power I feel in this situation right now is divine, but I know it will be short lived.
I know that if I waste any more time, I’m gonna force his hand.
He’ll either command me with words or he’ll command me with his hands.
I don’t know which one would be better or worse.
I don’t know which one I desire the most. And maybe it’s a combination of the two.
Maybe he could tell me to do it and when I refuse, he’ll make me.
God, what would his hands feel like on my shoulders as he pushed me down on that toy.
A tingle races up my spine. My eyelids go half-mast and that control I was so happy with now feels like a loss of control. My need for him is a weakness.
And I have to wonder if it’s him or the situation. If it were another man, would this be different? If I weren’t a captive in his house? If I were at Jackson’s parents’ place, playing out this same scenario, would I still feel the way I do right now?
My nose scrunches up as I picture it, and the answer is a simple no, I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t want Jackson’s hands on me. I could hardly stand the brush of his lips on the back of my hand the night that I was taken.
I can still feel the sense of relief that he took a phone call and walked away even after what happened next.
Does that mean that I want to be here, that I’m okay with what’s happening?
Would the outcome be the same had I talked to this man in the surf shop instead of walking away?
He doesn’t seem like the type of man who would be okay with what my parents would consider an indiscretion.
He doesn’t seem like he would fall in line with the demands of sneaking around with a woman like me.
I don’t think it would be enough. I don’t think that what I could give him would ever be enough. I could give him everything and I imagine he’d still ask for more.
My thighs tremble from the strain of just hovering above the toy. A low moan escapes my lips as it brushes my sensitive flesh but then the thought hits me and I stop. It takes a lot of effort not to laugh when a growl slips out of his mouth.
“What’s the fucking problem this time?” he snaps, and it’s clear that he’s barely hanging onto his control.
I can’t help but wonder what it would mean if he actually lost it. I can’t help but wonder if he would release me or if he would hurt me. I can’t help but think about the two very different reactions my head has with both of those scenarios.
“I don’t even know your name,” I tell him.
His upper lip twitches in irritation, his hands gripping the sheets even tighter. “You don’t need to know my name.”
“I beg to differ.” I stand, feeling the instant relief in my muscles, and take a step away.
His eyes comically dart from me, back to the toy.
“If I’m going to fuck this cock,” I say, swallowing because the dirty words don’t feel right in my mouth.
“Then I’m going to need your name.” I stop short of crossing my arms over my chest because the action may be just a little too much for him to handle.
“Liam Stone,” he says without hesitation, but then he growls again when I continue to stand there.
I need a second. I need a little time to run his name through my mind. I repeat it over and over in my head before his next growl sets me into motion. I bite my bottom lip in anticipation of how it’s going to feel as I resituate myself above the toy.
I don’t feel sexy at all as I have to look down and hold the thing in my fingers to line it up right. But then I squat a little lower, one hand gripping the bedpost.
The first couple of inches forces that moan I was trying to hold back out of my mouth.
The next inch makes my mouth fall open, and I watch him, pleased at the way that he shifts and angles his head so he can see a little better.
He’s entranced much the same way I feel when I’m watching him in the shower.
“Do you want me to picture that it’s you?” I whisper. His cock jerks against his lower abdomen. “Are you imagining it’s your cock I’m sliding… Oh God,” I moan when I take the thing fully inside of me.
It makes me feel full and a little achy but not in a way that makes me want to stand and refuse. It burns in a way that makes my body beg for more and so I give it exactly what it needs as I stand and then lower myself back down. I do this over and over, slow and steady.
“Jesus,” he grunts but I'm no longer watching him.
Paying attention to him when my body feels this good just isn't possible.
He doesn't complain as I tilt my head forward, my jaw still hanging open in awe at the way it makes me feel.
I watch it, that toy that less than ten minutes ago felt like a weapon, as it brings me the most pleasure I've ever felt before in my life.
I don't speed up when my body urges me to.
I want to take the scenic route with this orgasm because I know it's going to leave me drained.
The urgency for relief slams into me and I have to release the bedpost with one hand and stroke myself between my legs.
My head angles back, my eyes unseeing, my breath hitching.
“Fuck, that's it, Raya. Don't stop.”
I couldn't if I tried. I would probably claw and scratch and scream if he demanded that of me.
There's no way to stop this. No way to impede what's coming, and as the first wave of orgasm hits me, I risk a glance in his direction.
The power of my release doubling when I watch his cock jerk, cum jetting from the tip.
The man didn't even have to touch himself to come.
He didn't have to stroke his length or tug on his balls the way I know that he likes.
Watching me was all that it took, and that says a lot about what I needed to know.