Yeah, there is definitely a theme.
“You’re making me nervous,” she says.
I glance up from her hip back to her face.
“How?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
“You keep staring at me.”
I try to hold back a laugh, but I can’t help myself.
“You are by far the most interesting thing I have had to look at in a long, long time.”
Her eyes are wary and nervous, and I feel a little bad. My flippant comment probably isn’t going to help her get any sleep, and that really isn’t my intent. I decide to lay it all on the line for her.
“Look…” I start, but then I pause. I’m not sure how to say what I want to say without scaring her, and I don’t want to scare her. I want to fuck her, but I don’t want to scare her. If I play all of this right – if I read her perfectly – then I just might get the chance. I can’t fuck it up though. If I misread her in any way, I will say or do the wrong thing, and she will just become more agitated. I want to have her quietly moaning my name into the pillow as I come in her, not freaking out on me because I pushed in the exact wrong way.
I finally decide on the direct approach.
“You don’t have to be scared of me. If I was going to hurt you, I would have already. If I was going to kill you, you’d be dead. If I was planning on raping you, you’d be raped, okay?”
I hear her sharp intake of breath.
Okay, maybe that was a little too direct.
She tenses at my last sentence, which doesn’t surprise me. Most chicks are more fearful of being raped than being killed. Something about her posture and expression seem off to me, though. As I look her over I realize that though I have shocked her a bit, she’s thinking about it in a slightly different way. It’s not pure fear, as would be the obvious reaction.
I think about this for a minute and start watching her a
little more closely. It does seem to make her…react. Her chest is rising and falling a little faster, her eyes are dilated, and there’s a bit of a tinge to her cheeks that wasn’t there before. I’m not sure nervous is the right word – anxious seems more like it. Maybe even something slightly different. Like maybe she’s thinking about what it would be like, and not in a completely bad way.
I’ve seen chicks get raped - usually right in front of their dad or husband or whatever as a means of punishing him for whatever he fucked up. That shit just goes with the territory in my line of business. I don’t participate – I’m just a killer, not a torturer. That’s an art form I don’t care to learn. My skills are all with the guns, and the closest I ever see my victims is through the scope. With rape, the chick gets damaged, and I know no woman really wants that. That’s not the same as thinking about it, though, and I know the difference between fantasy and reality.
I process the information in my head.
Some guy, one who is close to her and maybe even her husband, dumped her on the side of the road…and now she wouldn’t mind a little consensual, rough sex.
Interesting.
It’s temping, but the more I think about it, the more I decide I’m not going to act on it. I’m not sure my cock is in agreement because it’s threatening to rear up and be noticed. In a bed this size and with our close proximity, I really doubt it will be overlooked, so I close my eyes for a minute, breathe deep, and think about a few head shots until I’m in control again.
Well, I am until I open my eyes and see that she is still staring at my chest. Every minute or so her gaze drops down over my abs and maybe even a bit lower as well. The tip of her tongue slips out and moistens her lips right before she takes air deeply into her lungs.
I feel the slight vibration in the mattress as she shudders a little. For a moment, I think it’s fear, but her eyes show something else. She wants me. She’s thinking about running her hands over my chest, and the thought is making me hard. My mouth acts on the thought without really having a deep consultation about it with my brain first.
“Touch me,” I say.
Her eyes widen as her tongue darts out over her lips again.
“What?”
I hate that. People do it all the time, and I know it’s “human nature” or some such shit, but I hate it when people use the “oh I didn’t hear you” excuse to give themselves time to think about how they want to answer you. That is exactly what she is doing, and I’m not going to give her the chance to think.
“Touch me,” I repeat as I nod towards her hand. “You want to – go ahead.”
She hesitates, and her chest rises and falls with her deepening breaths. Her eyes move to mine, back down to my chest, and then back to my face again. I can almost see her mind working behind her eyes – weighing the options and trying to decide if she is going to go for the gusto or not. She wants to, but she’s afraid of the consequences.
“Take the chance,” I say softly.