Page 31 of Curveball

We both laugh. It’s so easy between us. He makes me smile.

We’re only about half an hour into the movie when his hands start to travel higher up my legs.

“Quincy,” I warn.

He gives me a mischievous grin. “Let’s play the firetruck game. I’ll run my hand up your leg and you sayred lightwhen you want me to stop.”

“Red light.”

He shrugs. “Sorry, firetrucks don’t stop at red lights.”

I let out a mock laugh. “Oh my god. That’s horrible.”

He winks as he moves his hands back to my feet. Admittedly, it feels nice.

The movie continues, as does the upward trajectory of his hands. I should stop him, but I don’t. I love the feel of his hands on my body. His hands on my legs do more for me thananythingother men have done to me in a long while, if ever.

It’s not long before his hand slides under my robe and to my breast. He begins aimlessly running his fingers over my nipples. I can feel the pace of my breathing speed up. The throb between my legs builds.

He turns his face to me. “I remember how sensitive your nipples are.”

I close my eyes and nod as I squirm on the sofa. My nipples are extremely sensitive.

His other hand is now on my inner thigh. I can’t help but spread my legs a bit. I’m only human.

As soon as I do, he runs a finger through me. My hips buck of their own volition.

For a long time, he simply teases me, moving his fingers through me over and over, but never inside me until I’mpanting for it. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m putty in his hands.

I shift my body down toward him, hoping he’ll slide them in, but he doesn’t.

When I’ve reached my boiling point, I breathe, “Quincy, do it.”

He nods as he slowly slides a finger inside me. I can feel my walls tighten around him.

I hear him whisper, “Time to consummate this marriage, wife.”

I must be fucked up because I want it too. Desperately.

His fingers that were on my breast move and begin to tug on the sash of my robe, but I clutch the top and hold it closed, not wanting to bare myself in the brightness of the room. “Let’s turn off the lights.”

He immediately withdraws his fingers from inside me. His face turns angry. “Why do we need to turn them off?”

My shoulders fall and I lower my head in shame. “Because I’m not comfortable with you seeing me under these bright lights. I don’t look like the other women you sleep with.”

“How do you know what the women who I sleep with are like?”

I suppose I don’t. “I assume.”

“Well, you assume wrong. They all pale in comparison to you.”

I let out a long breath. I don’t know if I can handle him saying things like that to me.

He stands, and I’m suddenly fearful he’ll leave, but instead he grabs my hand and pulls me up. “Come with me.”

As if I have a choice; he forcefully drags me toward my bedroom. His eyes search the room until they land on my full-length mirror. Pushing me until I stand in front of it, he immediately removes my robe before I can stop him.

As it falls to the floor, I look down and try to cover myself, but he grabs me by the wrists, pinning them to my sides. “Lift your head and look at yourself in the mirror, Ripley. Now.”

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