Page 26 of The Author

He was a literal and figurative wanker.

Chapter 16

Kyle

Watching her drink up my cum made my dick throb under my jeans. I couldn’t remember ever being this fucking horny. I hoped she was hungry enough for another one because I was willing to sacrifice another load for her.

I chuckled at the thought, startling her. Her eyes widened a fraction.

Staring into her wide, unusual pale blue eyes made me want her in a missionary position. I wanted to fuck her looking into those strange eyes. The thought of fucking her pussy and then her asshole while she lay beneath me made my dick leak.

I had plenty of seclusion and time to do whatever the fuck I wanted to her. I must have had a nefarious look on my face because her eyes went from startled to cautious.

I smiled innocently at her.

???

I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this relaxed. It made me realise how much I had been constantly stressing. I hadn’t looked at my nemesis or the other competition for the last few days. Having Faye at hand to exert all my energy on was amazing. I couldn’t access the internet, but for once, it hadn’t bothered me. I was enjoying the solidarity, the peace and quiet with Faye. It didn’t matter if she was here willingly or not.

I glanced at her sitting on the bed, combing the tangles out of her long hair. She didn’t realise how lucky she was. I had bought a hell of a lot more than medical equipment. I’d imagined stabbing needles into her. To whip her until she was a variety of different shades.

I raised my feet up on the bed.

“Once you’ve combed your hair, massage my feet,” I said, wiggling my black sock-covered feet beside her.

Keeping her mouth shut meant her face was ever so expressive. I loved to needle her in any way I could. Each time I fucked her, I could see her distraught expression when I made her cum all over my dick. I could admit I was a selfish bastard and never cared if women got off or not. With Faye, I went out of my way to ensure she would orgasm before me. Tormenting her was my latest hobby.

Now that her stitches were coming out, I looked forward to shoving my dick down her throat.

She looked away from me, but not before I saw the anger on her face. My eyes travelled down the length of her body. So many things I wanted to do to her. I had eagerly been waiting for her to step out of line, but she hadn’t. I wanted to whip her ass with my belt. The thought of seeing her whipped ass under her branding made me harder. I moved my dick to a more comfortable position.

I needed to remove her stitches before I did anything else. It hadn’t been long enough for them to be removed. It would be uncomfortable, but she needed to eat solid food. I didn’t like the way her face looked slimmer. I would need to add more fatty nuts and seeds to her smoothie.

I watched her put the brush on the bed before moving closer towards my feet. I uncrossed my legs and watched as she kneeled on the bed. When her small fingers began to rub the soles of my feet, I groaned and closed my eyes. She knew how to massage. I wondered where she learned the skill.

The thought of her rubbing other men's body parts came to my mind, and my eyes snapped open.

I glared at the top of her head.

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

Her head came up, and the confusion was clear on her face.

I felt like an idiot. She couldn’t fucking answer me.

“Did you massage your boyfriends?”

She frowned at me and shook her head.

I ground my teeth together and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“Type in why you can massage like this. I've had professional massages, and I know this isn’t your first time,” I said as I opened up my notes so she could type her answer to me.

She rolled her eyes at me when she reached forward to take the phone from me. My lips tightened, and I narrowed my eyes at her.

I never took my eyes off her as she tapped away. It wasn’t long till she passed me my phone back.

My mum has arthritis, and I used to massage her to help ease the aches and pains. When are you removing the stitches? My mouth feels utterly disgusting.

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