I’m not a gentle man when I’m wronged. Embarrassed even. Sure, there are few that know Lucy is mine just yet. I have that reputation; perhaps everyone who thinks I fucked her also thinks I’m discarding her. I’m married after all.
I don’t know what to make of any of this.
The argument inside the club has me doubting every ounce of progress that we made. I don’t want to be the monster that I know I could be. I’m losing face if I let my girl — and I want to publicly declare Lucy as my girl — prance around half naked. When I met her she was a virgin. She tells me that I make her feel sexy … and then she wants to feel sexy in front of so many people. No matter how erotic the sight of her up on that stage were, I don’t want other people to get to see it.
But I’m trying to give her a choice. Let her be free to live her own life as she chooses.
And I’m the dick who doesn’t want her to dance on stage for strangers to try and stuff dollars in her panties … but I’m not the dick who doesn’t recognize that genuine talent and athleticism that goes into actual pole dancing. Lucy has a natural gift for it. I want to be angry, but I also don’t want to crush something that makes Lucy feel good about herself. I saw how she handled it when a man tried to put his hands on her. Hearing her say that she was mine was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard in my life, short of hearing Lucy moan with my cock deep inside her.
And after I’ve yelled at her and now I have her back in our penthouse suite…do I really want to be that guy?
Worse than being the guy who is taking advantage of her is being the guy that willingly takes advantage of her when I know she doesn’t want this. That’s the thing. I don’t want her to fuck me here and now if she doesn’t want this? Did I ever give her a fucking choice? It doesn’t matter how it makes me look or what is happening, I want to know that Lucy isn’t sleeping with me because she feels like she has to. I want her more than my next breathe. I care more about sinking my cock into her than I care about if I’ll open my eyes another day. But more than any of that, I don’t want to harm Lucy. I don’t want to hurt her.
I want to ask her if she’s sure that she wants this. But whom am I fucking kidding? I don’t want to ask her that. I took her virginity when she offered it to me and I told her that she would be in my bed. And as things are about to happen now, and she says those words, I want to ask her again. Fuck me, I’m going to be the cause of my own death.
“I mean it, Lucy. You can go right now and I’ll help your brother — I don’t want you my prisoner.” I say this as earnestly as I can, which means I have to keep my hands off of her. This makes me clench my fists. My hands don’t feel right anymore when they aren’t touching her. They aren’t my own. None of me is. I want to belong to her the way that she swore to belong to me. I’ve never felt that before and it’s fucking dangerous.
The logical part of me should know that it’s downright madness for me to allow myself this kind of attachment. It makes me weak. If it can be used to hurt me, I shouldn’t allow myself to feel it and I should squash it. If I was going to be able to just keep her no matter what, I should’ve said nothing.
Instead, I’m looking into her large, beautiful eyes looking up at me. I don’t see fear for me — and perhaps I need to warn her again — but I see a trepidation that she isn’t voicing.
Stepping back two long strides, I have to put some distance between us. It feels like a magnetic pull will bring us back together, and I can’t have that.
Lucy steps closer to me. “Gian, I…I don’t know much right now. I’m hurt, I’m lost; I’m alone. But I know that I want you. Would you so quickly discard me? Is that it? Am I being foolish, a dumb little girl you fucked and now you want to get rid of? I wouldn’t have expected the chivalry then. That’s a nice touch,” her words scratch at her throat and she lifts up her hands to press her fingers to her temples. She walks toward me.