21. The Checklist Goes On #2
But I can feel the future unspooling between us, tight and bright as a wire, and for the first time all day, I’m not nervous at all.
I’m ready to be his.
The hallway is short, maybe ten steps end to end, but with Trevor’s hand on mine, it feels like a tunnel to somewhere darker and more absolute than anywhere I’ve ever been.
His grip is gentle, but there’s no option of pulling away, and when he stops at the door to my so-called bedroom, I feel my legs go boneless.
The room is a shoebox: it has that same airless, windowless vibe you find in server rooms and walk-in coolers.
Still, it’s mine, and this is where Trevor wants to be.
He closes the door behind us, lets the latch click, and then turns to face me.
He takes his time looking, which is worse than if he had just rushed me. His eyes linger on my face, my hair, the way I’m clenching and unclenching my hands at my sides. He doesn’t move for a moment, just lets me squirm in the silence.
“You’re scared,” he says, and he says it softly.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
He smiles. “Liar.”
But there’s no meanness in it. He steps closer, raises his hand, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. I can feel the pads of his fingers, rough and hot. His palm grazes my jaw, then settles on the curve of my shoulder.
“Relax,” he says. “You’ll like it.”
I nod, but it’s barely a nod at all.
He doesn’t rush. He takes the buttons of my dress one by one, working from the top down, and with each one undone I feel a tiny flick of cool air on my skin.
His fingers are steady, clinical, but there’s an undercurrent of hunger just beneath the surface.
By the time he gets to my waist, the fabric is loose enough that a single shrug sends it slithering down my body, pooling at my feet.
The next thing he removes is the bra. It’s a ridiculous push-up, one cup hanging by a thread already, but he peels it off with a touch so sure it makes me gasp.
The straps catch on my elbows, then drop.
My breasts are huge and pale in the lamplight, nipples pink and stiff from arousal.
This man drives me crazy, and he hasn’t even touched me yet!
He lets his eyes linger on my full tits, then drags his knuckle across the top curve of one, slow, so slow, before flicking the nipple with the lightest touch. I almost collapse.
“Perfect,” he says, and his voice is raw.
The thong is last. He could have just yanked it, but instead he kneels—kneels, like he’s in prayer—and slips the elastic over each ankle.
He doesn’t look away as he does it. I stand there, shivering, arms at my sides, nude except for my heels.
Oh my god, my pussy’s glistening already in the soft light, my big breasts heaving. What must he see?
But Trevor’s taking his time. He stands, takes a step back, and lets his gaze drift over me: face, breasts, hips, thighs, the whole pale expanse, the thin seam of blonde between my legs. I’m trembling so hard I feel the bed frame vibrate behind me.
“Sit, sweetheart,” he says, voice gentle but unyielding. “Relax a little.”
I do, and the mattress creaks under my weight.
He undresses himself without ceremony: shirt first, popping the buttons with a flick of his wrist, then the trousers and the belt.
He doesn’t wear boxers, and my eyes go wide when his cock shows itself, thick and already hard, the skin flushed deep red.
Oh my god, am I supposed to…? But I can’t!
He sees my expression and chuckles deep in his chest.
“You can,” he rasps, reading my mind.
“It’s too big!” I pant, unable to tear my eyes from the massive, veiny shaft. “It won’t fit.”
“It will,” he growls before leaning in to kiss me.
I run my hands over his shoulders because the rest of him is all muscle, not the pretty, gym-polished kind, but the dense, athletic kind that makes you wonder how strong this man must be.
His body is covered in a fine haze of dark hair, not too much, but enough to make him seem more dangerous.
There’s a scar just under his right pec, a curve like a sickle, and I gently trace my finger along it.
He stands over me, lets me get my fill, and then puts his hands on my knees and pushes them gently apart.
I feel myself start to slide backwards, but he holds me in place with just a touch.
“Lie down, sweetheart,” he says. “Head on the pillow. Hands at your sides.”
I obey, and the sheet is cool against my back. My hair fans out over the pillow, and I keep my eyes locked on the ceiling, too afraid to look anywhere else.
The bed dips as he climbs in with me, the weight of him making the frame groan.
He comes over me, knees on either side of my thighs, and lets his cock rest against the bare skin of my stomach.
Oh my god, it reaches way past my belly button and almost to the lower curve of my breasts.
It’s hot and aching, and makes me throb inside as I look down at the glossy tip.
He leans down, bracing on his forearm, and speaks low into my ear.
“Don’t be afraid, Kayleigh. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he says, and the voice is different than before—dirty, rough, almost pleading.
“Ever since you sent me those photos. Ever since I saw you in that dress at the country club. You looked like you wanted to be ruined. You wanted to know what it felt like to be owned by a man.”
I gasp, because he’s right, and because he says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He takes a big breast in his hand, kneading it, then pinches the nipple hard enough to make me arch. He does the same to the other, his mouth hovering just above mine.
He kisses me, but not on the lips—on the jaw, the neck, down to my collarbone, like he’s worshipping me. He bites, not hard, but enough to leave a mark. Then lower, between my breasts, down my belly. His hands slide under my hips and he lifts me, arranging me exactly how he wants.
He kisses the inside of my thighs, then moves to the heat of my pussy.
“Oh!” I cry faintly, arching my back as my thighs fall apart naturally. “Mmmm!”
He doesn’t tease. He just dives in—tongue flat and wide, licking up the length of my slit, then flicking back and forth over my clit.
His fingers pry me open, thumbs holding me wide, and his tongue goes everywhere, greedy and relentless.
I’m already wet, but within seconds I’m dripping, the inside of my thighs slick and sticky.
“Unnh!” I moan, almost insensate with pleasure. “Oooh!”
“You love this, don’t you my little fuckslut?” he rasps against my tender flesh. “Goddamn, you taste sweet.”
I cry out again, cupping my big breasts as he bites my clit gently.
Then, he takes a deep, long lick of my cunt, before switching from licking to sucking, sometimes pushing his tongue inside me, sometimes just rubbing circles on the outside until I’m nearly out of my mind.
I grab the edge of the mattress, knuckles white, and try not to scream.
“Daddy!” I pant. “Oh my god, I’m going to… Daddy!”