Page 56 of The Auction
“We don’t stop, I’m going to fuck you.”
“I DON’T WANT TO HAVE SEX!”
I must have sounded like one of those howler monkeys I’d seen on the nature shows we both liked, because he winced at the decimal level.
“I know,” he said, calmly. “That’s what you said. So we need to stop for now. Take a break.”
“So, that’s it?” I said. Annoyed entirely with the idea of making out. “What is the fucking point?”
“How do you feel right now?”
“Agitated. Urgent. Angry. Frustrated. Fucking…I don’t know.”
“That’s the point,” he said, then kissed my mouth again, then again. “That’s the point. You build that feeling up. Over and over again until you can’t stop. Then you’ll know you’re ready to fuck.”
I huffed and wanted to squeeze my thighs together, but they were pinned on either side of his hips.
“Can you do that thing again?” I asked, thrusting my hips slightly forward on his thighs. “You know…with your fingers.”
“You little seductress,” he crooned. His fingers tightened in my hair, then loosened, then tightened again. “Yeah, I’ll make you come, baby.”
Finally! Some satisfaction.
“But on one of two conditions,” he murmured against my ear. “You want some, you have to give some, yeah?”
I nodded. I could kiss him some more. If that’s what he wanted. I really didn’t mind the tongue thing.
“You can either make me come. Or you can come back to sleeping in my bed.”
My eyes widened, then narrowed. This was clearly a devil’s bargain.
“How do I have to…”
I was inexperienced but I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew what a blow job was. But if I didn’t think I was ready for him to fuck me, I was pretty sure I wasn’t ready to let him shove his dick in my mouth. I’d just gotten used to his squishy tongue.
“You can just stroke me with your hand,” he muttered, then looked down at his lap in between us. My eyes followed and…oh wow. Like he was hard and I could see it pressed against his jeans, thick and long.
Holy shit.
I squeezed the side of my knees into his hips.
“I’ll pull my cock out and you stroke me until I come. Then I’ll do you with my fingers. You want to do that? Or you want to come back to my bed?”
“I don’t have to do either,” I said, adamantly.
He smiled tightly. “You do not. This is entirely in your control.”
The choice was simple. If I did this thing now, then it was done. He got something out of it and I got something out of it. If I went back to sleeping with him, that would be a nightly thing.
I understood his tactic. He was hoping to wear down the enemy. Prove to me that my options for escape were limited. Maybe get to the point of Stockholm Syndrome where I began to fall in love with my jailer. Saw him as someone who was here to protect me instead of take my farm.
The smartest thing to do would be to get offhis lap, go upstairs, and close the door to my bedroom. Try and figure this whole orgasm shit out on my own.
But I couldn’t look past the fact that this was my first full-blown sexual experience with kissing and everything. Of my own choosing. I was going to be twenty-one in a few weeks. It felt like all of this should have already happened for me by now.
And that wasn’t to say I was just doing it, to do it.
I felt this need deep inside. To be touched. To feel normal.
