Page 4 of V Card

I powered off the screen, yanking my shirt from my shoulders and jerking my belt from its loops before tossing both onto the floor. Then I stalked back into view of the girl with the dark, haunting eyes. There was a hint of green to them but only in the right light. Why I knew that, I wasn’t sure. Didn’t make the observation any less true, though.

She watched me enter the room, approach her, but she didn’t move. Her stillness to the point of unsettling. Even as her neck slowly pivoted to follow my path to the edge of the bed.Like one of those creepy animatronic dolls in an abandoned funhouse suddenly coming back to life and staring at you.

I unbuttoned my fly and drew the zipper down to its base, my focus on the girl as I stepped out of my pants and kicked them aside. Any other time, I’d remove each article of clothing smoothly before carefully draping it over the side chair, with the kind of precision I used whenever I was playing my hand at thecard table. My every action was meant to be refined, controlled, purposeful. But today, my instincts were raw. More primal than restrained.

That didn’t mean I was inclined to rush.I wouldn’t rush.I never rushed. You didn’t rush what was meant to be appreciated. That said, something kept me from being able to follow my usual routine.

I removed my boxers in a similar fashion, a slow reveal before chucking them onto the floor. My cock moistened at the tip, prepared to lay waste to the pounds of flesh splayed out in front of me. I resisted the urge to reach down and stroke myself, to relieve some of the tension that had built up over the last hour or so. Longer, seeing as this girl had been testing my willpower since the moment she thoughtmymoney washerfair game.

My palms itched by my sides and my pelvic muscles twitched with the surge of blood flow.But instead of giving in, I climbed up her body, shifting her thighs to each side and resting my tip mere centimeters from her needy cunt. Then I released her hands from their grip on the sheet. The gesture was sensual, nearly affectionate as I plucked them away, a finger at a time, and massaged each pink kitten claw from base to nail, stimulating her nerve endings and returning her circulation.

And not because I cared. But because I wanted her to feel everything I was about to do to her. She might have looked like a doll but that didn’t mean I wanted to fuck one. I liked my women inexperienced. Not dead.

CHAPTER FIVE

It’d taken years of practice. Hours of nearly edging myself to get to this point. Where I could be so close to the end game without going all-in. Poker didn’t just teach you patience. It taught you how much sweeter the pot could be if you were just willing to wait for it.

That practice was just as easily put into play here. In the bedroom. When coming wasn’t as pleasurable as all the steps that it took you to get there. Each little whimper I elicited was like an appetizer, offering me a taste of what the main course would be. The thing was, I wasn’t interested in digging in just yet. Not when there was so much more to savor.

I brushed the tip of my finger over her clit and watched the way the girl shuddered beneath me, those little bundles of nerves begging for all the sensations her body had never experienced before.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d seen it. It always amazed me. How instinctual it was to seek out the stimulation. Humans were born and bred to fuck. Whether or not it resulted in procreation was of little consequence. We were selfish creatures. Far more focused on our own enjoyment than ensuring thespecies’ survival. And women weren’t any less guilty than men. They just hid it better. Because society told them they needed to.

Deep down, they wanted this as much as we did. They wanted to be fucked and used and left in a pool of mixed bodily fluids. It was what drew them to me. What brought this girl to my table when there were so many others to choose from.

The prey recognized the predator. And this little piece of unplucked fruit wanted to be chewed up and swallowed. She wanted all the dirty things I planned to do to her.

That first swipe of my tongue up her center told me I was right, while the way she tried not to buck beneath me confirmed this was as new to her as her taste was to me.

Experienced women leaned into you, met you thrust for thrust in a practiced rhythm they’d learned over the years. Using their hips to guide you this way or that. Because they knew how they liked it. How to get from point A to point B without any of the fumbling they were forced to endure between—from the type of men who didn’t know what they were doing.

I didn’t enjoy a girl who knew what she wanted. I enjoyed showing her what she needed. How much better it could be when we took our time. I didn’t want to retrain a saddled mare. I wanted to break in that new foal.

Did that make me selfish? Maybe. Then again, the way they cried out my name that first time—how their bodies gave in to that first internal orgasm because there was a fucking difference—suggested I was a giver by nature. And these girls were lucky to be on the receiving end.

She was scared. Her prickled skin speaking to her natural instincts to appear more intimidating while her shallow breaths were meant to keep her hidden from view. The perfect example of fight or flight working in tandem.

It made her taste both sweet and salty, a hint of soap burning the tip of my tongue as I dragged it just above where she neededme most. Where I could feel that ache building in her lower stomach as I pressed two fingers on top of that spot I could find with my eyes closed and applied the slightest hint of pressure.

She tensed—they always did, so unfamiliar with their own bodies they couldn’t discern the difference between pain and pleasure—before she melted against the mattress. So agonizingly wound up and relaxed at the same time as I inhaled her scent deep into my lungs.

The next lap of my tongue started at the apex of her left thigh, slowly trailing its way across her smooth skin, over to the right in a zigzag motion that had her squirming against the bed.

“You move,” I warned between clenched teeth. “I stop moving. And I promise you it’ll be much better for both of us if I warm you up first.”

Her only response was a whimper. Not exactly the compliance I was looking for. But for once in my life, I was too fucking worked up to follow through on my threat. Instead, I dove in face-first until I was up to my nose in her juices while mine leaked through the sheets and onto the mattress. Like I was some teenager who didn’t know how to keep from coming in his pants.

What the fuck.

CHAPTER SIX

Sheer stubbornness had me clutching her thighs in each of my palms and dragging her down the mattress until I was kneeling on the floor, her ass teetering on the edge of the bed as I spread her pussy lips so far apart and open for me I could practically see inside her. Each time she tried to shoot back up or reach out and grab on to me, I stopped moving. Pressing a palm on her sternum and shoving her against the sheets again.

I’d tell her when I was done. And I wasn’t done.

This was for me as much as it was for her. I enjoyed the taste, the smell, being the first to dive into unexplored territory and stake my claim for every man who came after me. There would be others. I didn’t indulge repeat customers. But none of them would ever live up to the permanent mark I’d leave in my wake. The ghost of my touch, the memory of my cock splitting them in two and leaving them in pieces for someone else to clean up and try to put back together.

Another observation that was more fact than opinion.

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