Page 19 of Blissful Vixen

EMBERLYNN

Over the next few days, we visited various places nearby doing festive things. Hot cocoa at the cafe, picking out a Christmas tree, ornaments, and decorations for the apartment. My trip seemed like we were building much more than memories. Sharing our time and bodies and communicating our likes and dislikes led to talking about our future and what we expected in a relationship.

Hardison asked me on a date and insisted that I buy something nice to wear. Unable to accept that, I’d thrown a tantrum because he didn’t understand that I was uncomfortable taking money from him.

Now, his fingers were deep inside me, stroking a fire that he controlled. He was using his other hand to stroke his hard flesh. I wanted it. Badly. I licked my lips, wanting to suck him off or ride him until he released inside me.

“See something you want?” He smirked, and it drove me crazy how easily he controlled my body and actions. Hardison was a demanding son of a bitch that kept me on my toes and rewarded me with affection and a tenderness that was hard to deny.

I growled in frustration. He wouldn’t let me come, and I wasn’t allowed to touch his erection. I wanted it. Needed it.

I whined, “Please, sir.”

“No. Bad girls aren’t allowed to touch my dick.”

I slapped the bed beside me.

“Temper tantrums are what put you in this position. Do you think you should be throwing another?”

“I’m sorry. I won’t… ooooh!” I moaned. He was taking me higher, and my hips welcomed the thrusts of his fingers. What was I saying?

“I don’t trust the promises of a greedy girl.”

I wanted to touch him, and my hands sought him, but I stopped them, needing to follow his instruction. This was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I was a fiend, and he was the best drug. Who could deny that?

As the spasms wracked my body, my eyes were heavy, and I licked my lips again. “Please let me suck you.”

“No.” What did he mean, “No?”

Frustrated, I reached for him, and when I was almost there, his expression of a disappointed scowl was enough to make me freeze. I gripped my head, feeling insane. I was getting angry, but still, I rode his fingers. They weren’t as amazing as his lovely penis, but a girl had to deal with what she got.

“Vixens that throw hissy fits don’t deserve to feel my dick inside them.”

I panted, wanting it. Every time Hardison said no, I wanted it more. Maybe I didn’t deserve it. I should’ve acted better. Not pull all my clothes out of the closet to show him I already had things to wear. Maybe I should have controlled my anxiety better. After being scolded, I’d cleaned it all up and made it nice and pretty. That was a start. Right?

I saw a bit of cum shoot from him, and I leaned forward. He shook his head as he removed his fingers from my dripping cunt. He sniffed the fingers he’d used to fuck me and switched hands, jerking with my juices on his hand. I wanted to object. I wanted him to use me instead. I was jealous.

It was upsetting yet so flipping sexy. I was mesmerized by how he enjoyed me without—me. I watched as he came, making a mess on his thighs, groin, and stomach. It could have been inside me, but maybe he’d let me clean him?

His eyes were closed, and he was savoring the moment. Conflict ricocheted through my mind. I wanted him always to find his pleasure. I just wanted it to be with me.

When he was finished, he pulled a towel from behind him and wiped away the evidence of his orgasm. I pouted silently. How could he just…?

“Go get cleaned up. We have to get to dinner on time. Your clothes are hanging on the back of the bathroom door.”

I nodded and scurried away.

I wiped the tears from my face as the punishment finally hit home. This wasn’t about money. He’d wanted to do something nice for me, and I’d rejected it selfishly. Not considering the reasons why he’d done it. Hardison had explained to me that he enjoyed spoiling his woman, and though we weren’t officially together, I’d have to be blind not to know that it was what he wanted.

I turned on the water in the shower and felthimenter the bathroom. I turned to face him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He nodded and walked over to me. The simple kiss on my forehead warmed me. He followed it with kisses to my nose, cheeks, and finally, a long lingering kiss to my lips.

“Get dressed.” With that, he walked out.

I got in the shower, not wanting to waste any more time. I thought about his body as he came and how it arched into his hand. A hand that was coated with my essence. He’d wanted me just as badly, if not more. There was satisfaction in that. One that ran so deep I knew that I questioned if I could handle walking away from him in about a week or so. Hell, the connection and energy were so intense I’d never felt anything like it. Not even from my ex-husband.

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