Page 77 of Oathbreaker

“Good girl,” he says, whisper soft.

Holy hell.

“Remove your hands from your pussy and tit,” he says in a low tone that goes directly to my snatch.

“Green light,” I whisper and immediately move my hands to my side. My pussy pouts in protest. “But I thought you’d want me to do sexy things with this game?” My voice is fragile, wispy.

My legs are spread obscenely on the bench, and I rock back and forth slightly, aiming to relieve some of the pressure on my parts. Or maybe to add to it. My head falls back against the wall.

“We’re making up the rules as we go, Winter. Go with the flow,” he replies.

“Okay,” I say. “Wash your hair.”

His eyebrows twitch with amusement. “You want to watch me wash my hair?”

“Yes,” I reply, panting.

“Green light. But why?” He’s already moving to pump shampoo into his hand.

I pause but then decide there’s no room for secrets or lies in this space. “When you raise your arms above your head, the way your abs flex makes me insanely hot. I want to lick your six-pack.” I bite my lip, and his eyes twinkle. With deliberate movements, he lathers the shampoo in his hands before bringing his arms up to wash his hair.

Jesus Christ on toast.

The movement of his arms and chest and abs flexing as he scrubs at his scalp brings me to another level of arousal. He’s so strong.

He flexes his abs, and his cock jumps. I rock harder against the seat, and the amused look on his face vanishes. He immediately steps beneath the spray, rinsing his hair in three quick swipes.

“Spread your lips for me, baby.”

I know he’s not talking about my mouth. I shake at the vulnerability in the movement, but I heat at the look of desire on his face.

He wants me. He wants me.

“Green light,” I whisper. I hold his gaze, and he growls.

I lift my legs higher so my feet can rest against the foot pads on the side of the bench. I’m spread wide, feeling the stretch in my hips and thighs.

“More,” he says roughly. “Use your right hand.” Taking a deep breath, I use my hand to separate my lips, spreading my pussy for him to see.

“G-green,” I say.

“Good girl,” he says on a breath. “Hold the position.” His voice is a command.

“Green light,” I reply. I try not to moan. “Stroke your cock.” The tip looks red, angry at being neglected for so long.

“Green light,” he says. He grabs the base of his dick, squeezing it tight for several long moments before slowly stroking up and down the shaft.

Breathing harder, he says, “Use your other hand to get your finger nice and wet by dipping it inside your pussy. Then rub your clit.”

I follow his command with my free hand, not pausing with fear as I slide my finger inside my body to the knuckle. When I stutter out, “Green light,” the words are lost in my moans.

And he grunts; the look in his eyes is nearly feral.

He steps closer to me, so the spray is on his back. “On your clit, baby,” he barks out, and I do just that, a full-body wave rushing through me and making me arch my back.

“Goddamnit, Winter,” he grits out. His dick is wet with precum, practically weeping.

“Go faster,” I pant. I’m close. So close. The image of Hunter pounding into me, filling me with his cum, trips me right to the precipice. His hand picks up speed, and he steps closer, leaning over me with his free arm resting on the marble above my head. I could put his dick in my mouth if I wanted to.

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