Page 70 of Riot's Thorn
Oh, god. Was that pee? Did I just pee all over? How embarrassing! He’s never going to want to do that again, which is a shame because, wow.
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure what someone says after they’ve pissed themselves. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? That was incredible. I’ve only seen it happen in porn.” He climbs over me, holding himself up on his elbows and kisses me. Our tastes mingle, and despite everything that just happened, I’m ready for more. “My dirty little whore, squirting all over and making such a mess. Come on. Let’s get you in the shower.”
He thankfully cleans up because I wouldn’t know where to start while I get the shower going. I’m sweaty, sticky, and covered in bodily fluids. But looking at myself in the mirror, waiting for the water to warm, I dare say I look happy. How is that possible?
It’s Lucas. There’s something about him that gives me everything I never knew I wanted, a life where I’m not expected to be anyone I don’t want to be and somewhere safe where I can explore my sexuality without shame.
Once the water is sufficiently warm, I step into the spray. I’m not there long before I hear the door open, and Lucas peers at me around the shower curtain.
“I want to shave you,” he says.
My cheeks heat. All my friends have regular waxing appointments, but I never joined because no one was going to see it anyway. I mean, it’s not a jungle down there, I do keep things trim for bathing suit purposes, but I’m not bare either.
“I can do it. You don’t need?—”
“I want to, and you’re going to let me.”
“Okay,” I draw out, trying to be brave. This man has become intimately acquainted with my vagina in the last couple of days, so this shouldn’t be a big deal.
He opens the curtain partway and sits on the edge of the tub, completely naked, his long, pierced cock limp between his legs. It looks much less intimidating like this. He’s come prepared with a razor and shaving cream he places next to him. “Come close and put your foot on the tub next to me.”
The position opens me up to him completely, and I stare at the ceiling as he squirts shaving cream into his palm before smearing it down my pussy. The first swipe of the razor makes me jump. “This is humiliating.”
“It’s not embarrassing for me to get to know my pussy.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s mine since it’s on my body.”
“Which also belongs to me.”
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t even seen myself that up close.”
“You don’t need to since I’m the one who buries my face between your legs.”
“I know, but when we’re”—I give him a knowing look—“doing things, I get caught up in the moment and it doesn’t matter. This is more. . . clinical.”
“Would it make it better for you if I finger fucked you while I shaved?”
“No!” I cover my face with my hand.
“Hold still. I don’t want to cut you.”
I peer down at him, watching as he works. He’s so serious, it’s actually kind of cute, especially when he holds my skin taut and his tongue peeks out between his lips in concentration.
“Why do you want me bare?” I ask, curious if this is a comfort thing or what.
“I want to be able to see what’s mine, and the hair hides it from me.”
His possessive tendencies are red flags, but I think the reason he wants to believe I’m an extension of himself and not my own person is that he lacks the self-confidence to know he’s worthbeing chosen. If I can convince him he doesn’t need to force me when I want to be with him, it’ll be better for both of us.
The fact I even have to make this plan should be enough of a warning that I need to escape and run far away from him, but I don’t want that. He’s gotten under my skin, and somehow, during the lowest point of my life, he’s been the only good thing to come out of this.
“It’s still weird.”
“Not weird. You have the prettiest pink pussy. Now turn around, put your leg back up, and bend forward a little.”
“Why?” I ask.
