Page 55 of Pretty Please Me
“Mags? What are you–”
She fists my cock in her small hand, and I suck in a surprised breath. Oh, fuck. I’m not prepared for this. My willpower is dangerously low even when I’m in control, but having her take the initiative has my brain short-circuiting, and I can’t even form the words to speak.
“I’m not sure you’re ready–” My words trail off as she runs her hand along my hardened cock, rubbing me over my underwear before pulling them down. My rock-hard cock springs free, and her eyes widen as she bites her lip.
“Holy shit, that’s big.” She shakes her head, not tearing her eyes away as she moves to her knees on the floor and looks up at me.
Holy fuck. I grit my teeth as I stare down at her, so bravely helping herself to what she wants. Fuck, it’s sexy seeing her on her knees in front of me, so hungry for my cock in her sweet mouth.
She rubs her thumb up the base of my cock with gentle pressure, and my head falls back to the couch. Christ, I’m so worked up that a well-placed breeze could finish me off at this point.
The sound of cracking bones brings me back to the moment, and I sneak one eye open, watching as she cracks her fingers, then stretches her head from side to side.
Then she opens her mouth wide like she’s yawning, then closes it.
Is she… is she stretching her jaw?
What is she planning on doing to need so much mobility?
My eyebrows knit together, the rushing blood slowing its descent from my brain to my cock, giving me a brief moment of clear thinking.
When she takes the hair tie off her wrist and ties her soft curls away from her face, I panic.
“Red. Red. Red,” I scream the only word I can think of as I pull my pants back up to cover myself. As curious as I am to see what she’s going to do next—I mean, dangerously fucking curious–I can’t go there with her. Our entire arrangement is about Maggie finding confidence in her own body. Sure, I could teach her to suck dick, but I’m far more concerned with her having her own orgasms during sex than worrying about getting her man off. As far as I’m concerned, blow job lessons are just the sprinkles on top, and selfishly, I’d rather not teach her how to pleasure a man—even if it means I have to miss out on this once-and-a-lifetime opportunity.
Maggie’s face flushes bright red, and she buries her face in her hands. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry!” She pushes herself away from me and buries her face in her arms, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking…”
I don’t hesitate to pull her up into my lap, wrapping her in my arms and kissing her on the top of the head as I try to calm my rapid breathing. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m just not ready to go there yet.” I kiss her again and again as I try to soothe her mortified whimpers. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just me. I promise.”
She wipes at her eyes and sniffles. “I’m so embarrassed. Gwen and Elliot said I should surprise you with a blow job because all men love blow jobs, and I guess I just thought…”
I pull her hand away so I can see her face. “I do love blow jobs. Don’t be embarrassed. I just don’t want to blur the lines any more than we already have, okay?”
She bites her lip as her chin quivers, and fuck, it kills me to see her so upset, especially at my doing. But this is for her own good, and I’d hate myself for doing anything more than she asked me to do and that we agreed upon in the contract.
I move her from my lap and tuck her into my side as I assure her she didn’t do anything wrong. I want to explain myself further, but I can’t do that without revealing my feelings. So, instead, I comfort her and promise that I’m fine.
After she’s finally calmed down, I make her a cup of tea, pull her feet into my lap, and give her a massage. My balls ache in protest from the close call, and I know I’ll have to finish myself off a few times if I want any chance of sleeping tonight.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm and watch a whole episode ofNew Girlin silence as I rub her feet and massage her legs. It’s achingly perfect despite Maggie’s original plan for the evening. Don’t get me wrong, I love to fuck, but holding someone special and having a night in on the couch is probably the next best thing. My heart swells with something that feels a lot like love, but I’ll be damned if I admit it to myself. I don’t know how you can recover from something like that more than once.
There’s a knock at the door, our food delivery, as the show ends. Another episode begins to play just as I get up to get the food. I catch sight of Maggie’s phone lit up on the table as I pass by, showing a new text from Trent.
Trent
I loved hearing from you the other night, and I can’t stop thinking about you. Are you free tonight? Maybe we could video chat?
I clench the plastic containers as white-hot fury roars and rips through me, but I bite my tongue. I’m furious with jealousy and want to smash her phone into a million pieces and bury it, so she can never hear from the douchebag again. But as my balls ache and my stomach tightens, I’m reminded why I’m doing this to begin with.
He’s the reason she wants help, and I wouldn’t be fulfilling my end of the bargain if I forbid her from talking to him, as much as it goes against the very nature of who I am. The reason why I’m a dominant.
I grit my teeth and purse my lips. As much as it tastes like vinegar in my mouth, I offer, “Hey, Mags, I didn’t mean to look, but I just saw you got a text from Trent.” I bring the food to the coffee table and pour us each a glass of wine. “Do you want some help… you know, sexting with him or something?” I regret my words the moment they leave my lips, and it feels like I’ve just stabbed myself with a thousand needles. But her eyes go wide and she looks stunned. She chews on her nail—one of her obvious signs of nervousness. I really need to enlist a punishment for that behavior. She won’t have any nails left by the time the event rolls around at this rate.
“Um… yeah, actually.” Her bright hazel eyes search my face as if trying to read me. I do my best to keep my face still and neutral, so I don’t sway her or contradict my words. “Gwen texted him for me a little the other night, and for the life of me, I can’t think of anything to say.”
I pass her the phone, and she types in her passcode and opens the text exchanges. I sit next to her on the sofa, guzzling half a glass of wine as I read through the messages. It looks like Gwen’s set her up with some mild flirting and suggestive messages, but nothing crazy.
My muscles relax in my stomach as I take the offered phone from her. My fingers hover over the screen as I contemplate what I want her to say.
