Page 8 of Deviant Desires

But Mateo only leans in, leaving six inches between his lips and mine. “Do you know what you were doing in that picture?” When I don’t respond, he takes it upon himself to answer for me. “It was from Christmas the year before.” All the blood drains out of my face. With the lights off, he can’t see my pale pallor.

The Christmas before he went to prison was the deepest in love I’d ever been. I couldn’t afford to buy him extravagant gifts or take him on exotic vacations, but I could afford a couple hundred dollars to get a boudoir photoshoot done. Dressed in silks that were strategically placed over my erogenous zones, I allowed a stranger to direct my actions and manipulate my body in poses that made me feel vulnerable.

The results were a dozen of the sexiest pictures I’d ever seen of myself. After touch-ups, I looked at those pictures with new eyes. I never thought I was a beautiful, sexy girl. Cute, sure, probably even pretty, but not the kind of girl that stopped traffic. Not until I saw those photos.

I kept one for myself. I still have it in the top drawer of my dresser. It reminds me to feel beautiful in my own skin because I am.

I had the photos made into a calendar for Mateo. It was a cheeky little gift, but it was the best I could do. I never thought that he’d tear a photo off the calendar and keep it folded up in his wallet. I didn’t realize that he’d take the photo with him to prison and use it to remember me by.

“I fucked myself to that photo every night,” Mateo whispers in my ear. I can feel the warmth of his breath tickle my neck. “But I’m tired of fucking myself, Bambi. I just want to fuck you.”

Run. Kick him in the balls and run. You can do it. Just bring your knee up. You’re perfectly positioned to get him good.

But just as I lift my leg, Mateo reaches down to catch it. He lifts it higher, holding it over his hip. “Ah, ah, ah, little girl,” he chuckles, “that’s not the game I want to play.”

With his free hand, I can feel him messing with the fabric of my skirt. He slowly inches it up my thigh until I can feel his hands on my skin. And not just any patch of skin, but my sensitive inner thigh. He runs his fingers ever so closely to my panties, causing me to suck in a deep breath. “Did those men you invited into our house ever make you come like me? Or did they just get off inside of you and leave you wanting more?”

When his fingers brush against the cotton, my lips open and a jarring breath escapes. “Oh, baby,” his lips caress the lobe of my ear, “if that’s your response to my slightest touch, I think that’s all the answer I need.”

I can hear my response in my head.You’re wrong! The sex with those guys was great!It’s a lie that I can only tell in the dark spaces of my thoughts. The words never escape my lips.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” Mateo drags his lips down the column of my neck, “I’ll get you off real good. And I don’t need my dick or my tongue to do it.”

Maybe this is what bonded us all those years ago. When he plays with my body, he puts his heart and soul into it. He drags his fingers across the hem of my panties, daring me to tell him to stop. But when he doesn’t hear a no, he dips his hand between the fabric and my skin. “You’re already wet. Such a bad girl. I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I thought you stopped loving me, B.”

I want to tell him that it has nothing to do with love. The way he knows my body is practically criminal. He should be put behind bars for another three years for taking advantage of my weaknesses like this.

But God, it feels good to have him touching me again. The pressure of his body against mine as he hoists my leg higher. His fingers tapping out a delicious melody on my clit. He dips his digits further down so he can use my body’s traitorous arousal against me. Then he uses it to rub my tender little button until my mouth is wide open and I’m gasping for air.

“Does it feel like this with those other men? Do they make you feel this good?” The little circles he makes get faster. The hand holding up my leg drifts away from the bend of my knee. I wrap it around him and lean into the sensations as he grabs my ass. The first sound I make since seeing him in my office is a moan.

“Give it to me, baby. Give me all you’ve got. Cum all over my fingers, kitten. I want to lick your sweet cream off my fingertips like honey.” He’s always known just what to say. His words are part of the performance. I don’t get off just because he touches me, I get off because he demands what he wants from me and knows that I’ll give it to him.

I hate myself when I orgasm. Tremors race through my extremities and I lose all sensation in my legs. If Mateo wasn’t holding me, I’d fall. “Fuck,” the word comes out like a sigh of relief, the first thing that I’ve said to him in years. I hate him for making me feel this way. I hate myself for falling prey to him.

But Mateo isn’t done. Mateo’s never happy just getting me off once. Where some men I’ve dated since his arrest have been happy to get their rocks off and go home, Mateo is the opposite. He isn’t happy until I can’t take it anymore.

He takes his hand off my ass and wiggles it between our bodies. I hear his zipper come down and I’m about to tell him to stop for real when the head of his cock is pressing against my wet center. “Didn’t I say you were a bad girl?” Mateo growls in my ear. “Bad girls get fucked. Hard.”

He pulls my panties aside and rips through my protests with his cock. I shout his name instead of telling him to stop. “That’s right,” he brings his teeth to my earlobe and bites down hard enough for me to gasp from pain, “take it, baby. Take all eight inches of daddy.”

In another life, I’d have both legs wrapped around his waist while ripping off his shirt. I’d be scratching his back like a wild cat. I wouldn’t care if half the building heard us going at it because I’d be taking his dick like a champion.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m one of the last people that saw a dead man alive. I sent the love of my life to prison. I’m a fake. I’m a fraud. I’m getting fucked by an ex-con.

I hate how good it feels. Even with all our clothes on, even with my back pressed up against my hard office door, my eyes roll back in my head and I shatter under his touch.

He bites my shoulder, digging his teeth into the skin until I’m certain a bruised imprint of his teeth will be visible. Mateo rocks his hips back and forth quick and hard. Every thrust takes the breath out of my lungs until I can’t tell if I’m fighting to feel more of him or fighting for oxygen.

“You keep those little boys out of our home, do you hear me?” Mateo keeps up his punishing pace until I whisper an agreement. I’m afraid he’ll keep us locked in this office fucking me until morning if I don’t do what he says. “You don’t take dick from anyone else. Just me. You find your fucking engagement ring and you put it back on because you’remine, Bambi. You’re. Fucking. Mine.”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp thrust that tears at the fabric of my sanity. Even if I wanted to say no, I couldn’t get the words out. All I can do is nod and pray that when this is all over, I’m not a ruined woman. I’ve cried too many tears over Mateo. I’ve let him break my heart one too many times. I can’t let him back in again or else I’ll fall apart.

Mateo unsheathes my orgasm with only a few more thrusts. I don’t cum all over his cock because I want to, I do it because he tears the pleasure from me without approval. I can’t stop the way my body responds to him or how good he makes me feel. I just have to give in and let it happen.

As he pulls out, Mateo replaces my panties where they were before. My legs are sore and I feel his jizz inside of me. He tucks himself back in and zips up his fly. With the moonlight on his back, I can only see the outline of his face as he grabs me by the chin and forces me to look at him. “That wasn’t a fucking joke, B. Go home. Put on the engagement ring. And call me. We have to talk.”

I’m already trying to figure out how long it’ll take me to get a restraining order in place, but my brain is figuring he won’t listen to it anyway. He’ll break through the restraining order like it’s made of wax paper. And I’ll love every second of it.

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