“No, listen to me.” His tone was a warning. “I need to be buried deep inside of you, feeling your pu**y throb around my c**k as you scream my name—my real name.”
A hand trailed down past my stomach and between my thighs, and my fingers began to strum my clit. Slow at first, then faster, faster with every sound of his heavy breaths in my ear.
“I’ve been very patient with you...” His voice trailed off. “Don’t you think?”
“No...”
“I have,” he said. “I’m tired of imagining how wet your pu**y can get, how loudly you’ll scream when I suck your tits as you ride me...How hard I’ll pull your hair when I bend you over my desk and f**k you until you can’t breathe...Tired.”
I shut my eyes, letting my other hand squeeze my breast, letting my thumb pinch my nipple.
“I’m giving you two weeks to come to your f**king senses...”
“What?”
“Two weeks,” he whispered. “That’s when you and I are going to meet face to face, and I’m going to claim every inch of you.”
“I can’t...I can’t agree to...that.”
“You will.” His breathing was now in sync with mine. “And the second you do, you’re going to invite me over and I’m going to remind you of everything you’ve teased me with over the past six months.”
I was speechless. My clit was swelling with each rub of my finger, and my breaths were getting shorter and shorter.
“I’ll be gentle at first,” he whispered, “especially when I slide my c**k into your mouth and pull on your hair, showing you exactly how I like it to be sucked.”
“Stop...” I was panting. “Please...Stop...”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
“Thoreau...” My legs were trembling.
“I can’t just talk to you anymore. I need to feel you, I need to taste you. Say yes to two weeks...”
I bit my lip, knowing that if he said it again, if he asked me one more time, I would say yes.
“Alyssa...” He was begging.
I was seconds away from coming, seconds away from screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Promise me you’ll let me f**k you in two weeks...”
As if my mouth was under his command, it freed my bottom lip and prepared to say yes, but I hung up.
Keeping my eyes shut, I lay in bed and let the waves of an orgasm roll through me as I screamed the three yeses he couldn’t hear. When I finally stopped shaking, I rolled over and grabbed a pillow, pulling it to my chest.
Before I could force myself to sleep, I heard my phone ringing beneath me.
It was a text from Thoreau. “I’ll take that as a yes. Fourteen days.”
Burden of Proof (n.):
The obligation to prove or disprove a disputed fact.
Andrew
“Did I tell you that I landed the leading role for that ballet I auditioned for?” Alyssa said to me the next morning.
I’d been talking to her since I arrived at work, but I’d made no mention of the fact that she’d hung up in my face last night; I was going to punish her for that later. Severely.