Lily
Fake it till you make it, they say, and I fake away, willing myself not to shiver as I watch the intensity in his golden eyes.
“So many possibilities,” I purr. “What would it take?”
I’d like to paint myself as a self-sacrificing saint in this story but the truth is a lot more nuanced than that, especially as heat gathers between my legs while I watch his ridiculous, lean, perfect body stalk to me.
“I owe you a kiss,” I remind him. “And a couple of blowjobs. So it can’t be that. What else could the almighty Hector Cross desire?”
I don’t remove my top, I just leave the sleeve down my arm, sliding my fingers to the hem, next, before lifting it a few inches off my gin.
I’ve never felt as powerful as I do in this moment, his attention entirely on me. I have a feeling the house could be on fire, and he wouldn’t stop watching.
“One hour,” he states.
I tilt my head.
“You’ll do everything I say, everything I want, for one hour, and Barbie and I’ll even give her a hand. How’s that?”
One hour.
I feel my insides clench at the sheer possibilities.
What would he do to me? I know, of course: sex.
But that simple word can mean so many different things, particularly with the kind of man who demands blowjob in a lounge full of people.
How, what, where, how much? The only thing I’d have control over is the timeline.
It’s a little past four. I’ll be over by ten past five, whatever he does.
“Fine.”
I tense as I agree, my mind coming up with so many depraved thoughts.
I already know Cross is into showing off with his friends.
Would he take me downstairs, display me to all the sharks?
Would he cause me pain? Some guys are into spanking, flogging or worse.
Would he want something I haven’t done before, like taking my ass?
My ex asked and I said no. I’m not supposed to say no now.
My cheeks are aflame with the wealth of possibilities, and to my shame I can’t deny that heat pools between my legs at the thought. One hour without any say as to what happens to my body. I should hate the concept.
I don’t.
Cross closes the distance in three steps and without warning, lifts me up in his arm as though I weigh nothing. I suppose the pile of flexing muscles before my eyes isn’t just for show.
So, my first guess was right. He’ll take me down to the breakfast bar and display me while his friends laugh over breakfast. But instead of heading out of doors, he walks to his luxurious, modern en suite.
I blink in surprise as he lowers me to a bench in his humongous shower, large enough for the hockey team, before setting up the multiple jets of his shower.
I stare, dumbfounded, my eyes fixed on the dips right above his ass.
His body is fucking ridiculous. Shoulders twice as wide as mine, a slender waist, budging muscles everywhere. He’s not missing leg days either—though that shouldn’t be surprising for a hockey player, regardless of how awful his team is.
“You can strip or drench all your clothes,” he tells me, keeping his back to me.
Oh.
I’m supposed to get home in an hour. I can’t have wet clothes.
Disconcerted as hell, I undress quickly, hesitating once I’m seated in my panties and bra. He’s still in his white boxers. Am I supposed to get completely undressed?
Before I can find an answer to that conundrum, Cross pulls me to my feet and under the many powerful jets of hot water. I gasp as they surround me, coming from the walls and ceiling.
The shower in my dorm room is perfectly adequate, but it has nothing to the pressure of the water, practically massaging my taut muscles.
It’s only when I feel softness on my wrist that I open my eyes, remembering I’m not alone. I’m still a little tipsy, and very tired, too slow to comprehend what I see.
Cross is massaging some scented foam into my skin, starting at my hand, his strong thumbs digging into me.
I moan when he reaches my shoulders, my head dipping down. He knows what he’s doing, attacking every bit of tension I earned either studying behind my computer or sewing my cosplays.
Cross unhooks my bra, and I’m too relaxed to feel uncomfortable. He continues his skillful labor, thumbs digging, stretching, massaging. I bite my tongue to stop myself from whimpering, my hands pressing on the steaming glass to help me balance myself. My weak knees need the support.
My panties go next, sliding all the way to the wet tiles, and those maddening thumbs find knots I was never aware off in my buttocks. There’s no restraining myself. I scream.
Cross washes and massages me with a clinical precision that has nothing sexual, I realize, as he finishes my vulva and continues to my thighs.
I am confused.
“My turn,” he demands once he’s done with his magic on my feet.
I blink up at him. He’s made me as boneless as an overcooked noodle and now I’m supposed to do the same? I wouldn’t even begin to know how.
Grateful for feeling so very good, I’m willing to try. Except how am I even supposed to reach his shoulders? “You’re too tall,” I grumble.
Rolling his eyes, Cross sits on the bench.
That helps.
I’m by no means a professional masseuse but I copy what he did to me, doing my best to feel tension through his skin as I work his musky foam over his shoulders, biceps and triceps and many-ceps.
I am completely naked in front of a man who’s just at eye level with my tits, but I don’t let that bother me, kneeling to attack his thick thighs, his shins, his feet.
“You’ll have to stand so I can do your ass,” I say once I’m finished, willing myself no to stammer.
Cross’s eyes are molten gold, equal part amusement and heat as he stands. Three heartbeats later, I realize he won’t make things easy for me. I’m supposed to be the one removing his boxers. I’ve done my best not to properly look. The drenched white fabric leaves little to the imagination.
Little isn’t the right word for the thick, hard length pressed against him. The moment I roll the fabric past his hips, his cock bounces, pointing straight at my mouth.
“That’s familiar,” Cross teases.
I groan at the embarrassing memory of the last time I saw his cock, half tempted to suck it just to show him I could actually do it well. But this is his hour, and that’s not what he asked for.
I wash his ass, his balls, the length of his cock, before standing, satisfied to have done my best as part of our bargain this time.
Though why he only asked for a shower when he could have done anything to me, I can’t even begin to guess.
I don’t have my phone or a watch, but I’d guess most of the hour’s gone.
Maybe he just likes it.
Cross bends down and once against lifts me up into his arms, though this time we’re skin to skin and I can’t help being conscious of his hard cock right against my leg.
Uncaring of how wet we both are, he lets me down on top of his bed, right at the edge, and proceeds to get on his knees. He spreads my legs wide and all my muscles tense as he brings his mouth right at the apex of my thighs.
Fuck.
Cross wields his tongue with a unique mastery, curling, dragging along my folds, twirling around my clit.
My ex tried to go down on me twice and lost patience when I didn’t immediately praise him like he was a god sent to all womankind.
Cross devours my cunt like it’s his favorite delicacy and he could spend forever between my thighs.
I whine, I moan, I whimper, my back arching, my hands seeking his thick silky hair.
I have never felt like this in my entire life.
Cross relaxed me so much in that shower I can’t bring myself to feel any shame or hesitation; I just feel.
And he’s unleashed his proficiency in the art of eating pussy mercilessly.
Liquid heat pools inside me as tendrils of arousal energize my entire body down to my curving tiptoes.
I’m going to come harder than ever, harder than I ever have with a cock, a vibrator, or my own fingers.
My hips move up and down to feel more, but Cross’s hands pin them into place as he takes his time.
That’s when an alarm rings.
Cross immediately moves up to his feet, leaving me, legs spread, eyes wide. I stand up to stare at him.
He grins, retrieving a fancy watch from his black bedside table.
“The hour’s up, love,” he tells me. Then the asshole has the gall to wink.
I watch him walk around his room, to a chest of drawers where he retrieves clean boxers and a shirt, before putting on gray sweatpants.
“See yourself out when you’re ready,” he tells me.
Then he leaves the room.
I blink in confusion, still in the exact same position he left me.
It hadn’t occurred to me that this was a game until now. But clearly, the dick won.