Page 37 of Keep Me

“Pull down the sheets, raise that shirt, and show me you’re not dripping for me right now.” Her eyes get impossibly wider, and I’m sure her cheeks feel a thousand degrees. Her mouth opens and closes on aborted responses. Realizing she isn’t going to do it, and I’m sure as hell not breaking her rule to prove something I already know, I taunt her further. “Surely, you want prove you weren’t fingering your tight little cunt to the thought of me tearing you up—”

“You know what? Fine. Fine!” She shoves the comforter off and raises her knees, planting both feet on the mattress. I can see the plump, bare lips of her pussy, but it’s not enough.

“Doesn’t prove anything other than you got a fucking perfect pussy. You could still be soaked.” I cock my head to the side and lazily begin to stroke my dick with her wet panties. For the first time since I left the bathroom, her eyes leave mine and drop to my hand working up and down. She worries her bottom lip through her teeth and, when she raises her gaze again, there’s an incendiary combination of malice and lust in it.

With a determined lift of her chin, she slides her hand down her body and spreads her pussy. I can’t pull my gaze away as her two fingers dip lower and disappear inside of her. “Oh, fuck.” My hips punch into her panties with a moan.

At the primal, hungry sound, Reggie’s eyes sink to another level of heat and she thrusts her fingers deeper. A gasp gets caught in her throat, only being released when she pumps her digits into her pussy again in sync with the rock of my hips. “Jesus…look at you fucking your fingers like a desperate little whore. Is it my cock you’re imagining? Stretching you. Filling you.”

She nods and bites off a sharp moan. “Not good enough, Cortez,” I demand, my voice so low and dark that I sense her shudder.

“Yes,” she whimpers.

“You’re not lying are you?”

“No.”

“Good. Now, would you come on my cock just like that?” My hungry graze drops to her pussy, and I imagine the taste of it, the smell of it, the feel of her fingers while I suck them clean.

“Not like this. No.” Her answer surprises me, and I look at her face to find a tease of a smirk on her sinful lips. “You’d need to rub my clit like this.”

My abs cave in as she licks two fingers on her other hand and lowers it to join the other. My fist tightens around my cock, and I feel the tendons in my neck flex as she circles her hood while still pumping her other fingers in and out.

“Oh…” Her brows draw together. “Yesss…” she moans as her eyes flutter back.

I can’t handle not being able to touch her, to rip away her hands and impale her on my cock. Watching her pleasure herself and not being able to feel the squeeze of her cunt. “Get up. Get on the desk,” I hurriedly order, throwing her panties on the ground and pulling out the desk chair a few feet from the desk. It’s a simple, four-legged, wooden chair. Nothing could be further from a throne, but, when she follows my decree, I’ve never felt more like a king.

She scampers over and perches, knees together, on the edge, looking up at me like a porcelain doll that's begging to be ruined. “Move back and put your feet on the desk.” I can hardly get her to do anything I ask any other time, but like this, she’s the perfect pet—submissive, compliant, and so fucking desperate to come that I could have her eating out of the palm of my hand.

“Now touch yourself, but don’t take your eyes off me. I want to watch every second on your face as you imagine it’s me pushing inside you…” She slips two fingers back in, mouth falling open. I spread my knees and lean back, my hard length throbbing in my hand. She starts circling her clit, and my hand wraps around my cock.

“Fuck, you’re too big,” she whimpers, and a dark part of me ignites.

“But you’re gonna take it, aren’t you? You’re going take it and thank me for every fucking inch.”

Her throat bobs, but she nods. “Yes.”

“Because I won’t stop. Not if you cry. Not if you come. Not if you beg me to.”

“God, yes,” she cries, and I recognize a matching yet contrasting darkness in her. Where mine screams to dominate and dirty, hers begs to be used and sullied.

I’ve never wanted to see such a pretty thing break before.

I get so caught up in the fiery swirls in her eyes and the sound of her fingers sliding in and out of her wet pussy that my climax sneaks up on me. “Fuck, I’m going to come.” I strip my cock harder, and she throws her head back, rubbing faster. My balls are getting so fucking tight, pleasure and pressure building together. I refuse to come without looking in her eyes, making her feel, down to her soul, the claim I have on her.

“Eyes—fuck—on—shit—me,” I growl. Her head rolls forward at the same time her breath hitches, and I come. Furious, hot streaks of cum shoot onto the floor and coat my hand. The breath stuck in her throat comes out as a keening cry, and her legs quake on either side of the desk as her orgasm crashes through her.

She withdraws her fingers, and I get a head rush watching the way her cum glistens off them as she pulls them out. She lets her legs fall over the edge and rocks forward, resting her hands on the desk between her legs. She catches her breath in light gasps and pants while my lungs laboriously try to remember how to breathe.

She slides gracefully from the desk and surveys the mess I’ve made of myself and the floor with a thoughtful tilt of her head. I’m sure if I told her to get on her knees and clean me up, she would. Before I can, though, she slowly lifts her shirt and raises her arms, stripping bare. My poor, spent cock tries to surge back to life at the sight of her supple breasts and soft, inked stomach.

She drops to her hands and knees, never pulling her gaze from mine, even when she takes her discarded shirt and begins wiping up my cum. My throat goes dry, and my mind goes blank. The only thing is the here and now and her pert fucking ass in the air as she drags her shirt back and forth.

When she stands, folding the dirty part of the shirt away and stepping up to me, I couldn’t move if I wanted to. She stops between my knees, her outer thigh brushing against one. She drops her hand with the shirt to my stomach, and I gaze into her eyes as she cleans my spilled seed there.

Sightlessly, she finishes cleaning. I try to memorize every rich shade of brown and chestnut that light up her eyes, feeling incredibly high and unimaginably grounded at the same time. She throws the shirt to the side, and I look down as she swipes up one last drop with her finger and sucks it clean. Then she uses that same finger to tip my chin up and whispers sweetly, “Good boy.”

A coy, barely there smile flashes, then she drops her finger and crawls into bed without another word. For the first time in weeks, I climb into bed fully sated and restful. She’s curled up on her side facing away from me, but when I flop onto my back, I still shove a pillow in between us.

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