Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
P ussy was a living, breathing organism of its own. Each had a unique scent, flavor… elasticity . Like a snowflake or flower petal or brush stroke. And I indulged in all of them. The shape or size didn’t matter as long as I was the first one to tear into the packaging. And this girl’s was as much the same as it was different somehow.
I couldn’t put my finger on it— excuse the choice of words… or don’t. But something about the way she stared up at me from where I now had her sprawled out on the bedsheets, my cum barely dried on her lips and back, had my cock hard all over again. There was the innocence I enjoyed, of course. The inquisitiveness that came with doing something she knew she shouldn’t. But there was also a hint of defiance. A need to both comply and disobey warring with each other beneath the surface.
She liked to be my good little girl at the same time some deeper part of her was dying to be my perfect little slut instead.
That was new, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she did in her bedroom, late at night, when no one was watching. Did she fantasize about a man like me climbing through her window and taking her in her sleep? Was her virginity as much of a burden as it was my prize? And why the fuck did I care?
I didn’t. I was just curious. The girl had piqued my interests the moment she sat at my table and lifted a challenging brow in my direction. She was asking for trouble and she’d found it.
But that wasn’t all she found. She found pleasure too. Hours and hours of thigh-quivering pleasure.
The moment my hand drifted from the curve of her waist, over her soft thigh before brushing along her cunt—wet and fluttering with need—I had to remind myself this was a marathon and not a race. The finish line signaled the end of our evening and I just wasn’t ready to step on the platform and hold that trophy over my head.
No, I wasn’t ready for the experience to be over yet.
She squirmed beneath my hold, no matter how soft or hard I teased at her swollen clit. She was overstimulated, her pretty pink nipples stiffened to peaks that were just begging to be squeezed and twisted. Licked and sucked.
I bent forward, keeping my body weight trained on one arm as I closed my mouth over the flesh of her left breast while my free hand continued to stroke and torment. She was a wanton little thing now that she’d experienced her first few orgasms, her whimpers just barely audible as she tried to bite her lower lip and keep them in.
Thing was, they weren’t hers to keep. They were mine. I’d earned them and I wanted to hear them. I wanted to hear all the sounds I could compel her to make with just a simple twirl of my finger, nip of my teeth, lap of my tongue.
I stilled my movements, gliding my hand back up the length of her body until it reached her chin. Grabbed her jaw and pried it open. “If I wanted to fuck a church mouse, I would have joined the priesthood, sweetheart,” I grunted, and waited for my meaning to sink in.
It didn’t take long. Girl might have been a shit poker player but there was more than air upstairs. She was sharp and eager to please. Which meant she was teachable. Thank fuck.
The little moans she was making grew louder but not too loud. As much as I didn’t want that church mouse, I didn’t want a porn star either. Or a performance. I didn’t want anything I didn’t deserve. I didn’t count cards or cheat my way to the pot. It wasn’t about inflating my ego. I was self-aware enough to know I had flaws. This just wasn’t one of them. I was good at what I did at both the table and in the bedroom. Everyone was gifted with certain abilities, indulged in certain vices. Pussy and poker were mine.