Sure, he's a playboy. I knew that going into it.
He's 16 years older than me. I can do the math.
But the times that we've been together, when he's taken control of my body—owned it and used it for his pleasure—can never be forgotten.
I can't forget his cock inside of me, stretching me out.
I can't forget seeing his eyes roll back into his head when I put him in my mouth and run my tongue up and down his shaft.
When I pumped him repeatedly.
When I licked his tip.
When I made him cum.
Oh God, when he came. It's almost as hot as when I think back to how he makes me cum.
See where my mind has gone? See what's happened?
No, I'm definitely not thinking with my brain.
I'm thinking with my clit.
Is that even possible for a woman to do? I've heard of guys who think with their cocks, but women are supposed to be smarter than tha
t, aren't they? I mean, your husband or your boyfriend, babe. You're way smarter than him, right?
So why am I standing here then like a ridiculous deer looking at headlights?
I mean, thank God Mom didn't see me as she walked off. She was walking the other direction, but she was too busy straightening her clothes out to notice anything.
Mason recognized me though.
He's looking straight at me.
I can't help myself. I should be running away. I should be protecting myself from what Mom can do to guys.
But I don't run away, do I?
I stay here as he comes up to me.
I can smell his cologne wafting into my nostrils and I close my eyes as I inhale. He smells like...man.
All of those thoughts of self-preservation that were in the back of my head are now completely gone.
All of the dark, twisted, sexual desires that I've been living with Mason—fucking my older stepdad—are back and stronger than ever.
It's as if the demon Lust has taken control of my body. Because when I open my eyes, Mason's standing in front of me.
He looks at me silently. He's so confident. So strong.
And why shouldn't he be?
He knows he owns me.
The way he grabs me by the arm and starts walking toward the open door to his apartment. I have no choice but to follow. And even if I had a choice, we both know that I would go wherever this man took me.
I feel more than hear the door to the apartment close behind me.