of that. Think of all those waxing appointments, holding my buttcheek so some girl could wax my asshole. Nothing sexier than THAT.
I was drifting further and further away from myself, and I could almost hear the heavy bass line of that Bruno Mars song I often danced to.
I ran my fingers over the fat lips of my pussy. Dry now, because I was no longer interested. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and looked back at him, my bottom lip between my teeth.
He no longer had his cock in his hand and his eyes, when they looked at me, were cold.
I spread my legs wider, so he could see more. I licked my finger, using my spit as lubrication to slide it into my body.
“Stop,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” I said in a breathy moan.
He rolled his eyes. “I know when a woman is faking it, Joan.”
I stood up, leaning back against the dresser. Don’t get angry, I told myself. He’s playing with you.
“I’m not faking it,” I breathed at him, hopping up onto the dresser and spreading my legs wide. I was so fucking naked. So uncomfortably naked and he wasn’t even looking at me anymore.
“Fuck you, Max!” I said, angry despite all my warnings.
“No, fuck you, Joan. I’m a man. Not a boy—a man. And I don’t need you putting on some fake show for me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I jumped down, grabbed my suit, and pulled on the bottoms.
“You weren’t into that.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Jesus, Joan, I’m handcuffed to a bed. How about we cut the lies.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like you care whether or not I enjoyed that.”
“Clearly,” he gestured at his dick which had gone limp in his underwear, “I do.”
“You can’t pretend you don’t want me,” I said. “I won’t believe it. You’ve been eye-fucking me for months at the club.”
“And you’ve been eating that shit up,” he spat back at me. “You think I didn’t see you watching me?”
“That’s right,” I said with a smirk. We were throwing hand grenades at each other. Not caring if we blew ourselves up in the process, as long as the other one got hit. “I’ve been watching you and fucking
allll
the girls.”
His cheeks were bright, his eyes were sharp, and they were right back on me. Where I wanted them. I felt like I had control if he was watching me.
“And what have you been doing?” I asked. “Everyone knows you don’t touch the dancers. No one sees you with anyone. Not ever. So, we’ve been watching each other for months and I fuck who I want to fuck and you…what? Jerk off?”
“Fuck you,” he said with just a little too much heat. And that was all the answer I needed.
I made a sad little moue with my lips, but I was stroking the top of my breast, my fingers playing with my nipple. Just a little. Just enough. He couldn’t look away.
I owned him. And the fact that he wanted me like this—despite his best effort not to—I liked it. I liked him a little better because he would rather have a real fight than a fake sex show.
Interesting. Very…interesting.
That thick wild honey was back in my veins.
He was sucking in air like there wasn’t enough of it. And that beast between his legs. It was alive again, hard under the plaid cotton of his underwear, arching up toward his belly.
“So,” I said, leaning back against the dresser, feeling back in control. “How about you cut the crap and tell me what you want.”
“I want you to touch yourself the way you like,” he said. “I want to see what gets you off. I don’t want a show, Joan. I don’t want to see what every guy who could pay the cover charge got to see. I want what you don’t show other people. I want to see
you.
”
And just like that, he took me out at the knees.
“That’s not for sale,” I said. A small point of pride that, that had never been for sale. Me, the real me was not up for grabs. There were rumors about me at the club. About the girls I liked to fuck. I had men offer me thousands of dollars to watch
I was drifting further and further away from myself, and I could almost hear the heavy bass line of that Bruno Mars song I often danced to.
I ran my fingers over the fat lips of my pussy. Dry now, because I was no longer interested. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and looked back at him, my bottom lip between my teeth.
He no longer had his cock in his hand and his eyes, when they looked at me, were cold.
I spread my legs wider, so he could see more. I licked my finger, using my spit as lubrication to slide it into my body.
“Stop,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” I said in a breathy moan.
He rolled his eyes. “I know when a woman is faking it, Joan.”
I stood up, leaning back against the dresser. Don’t get angry, I told myself. He’s playing with you.
“I’m not faking it,” I breathed at him, hopping up onto the dresser and spreading my legs wide. I was so fucking naked. So uncomfortably naked and he wasn’t even looking at me anymore.
“Fuck you, Max!” I said, angry despite all my warnings.
“No, fuck you, Joan. I’m a man. Not a boy—a man. And I don’t need you putting on some fake show for me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I jumped down, grabbed my suit, and pulled on the bottoms.
“You weren’t into that.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Jesus, Joan, I’m handcuffed to a bed. How about we cut the lies.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like you care whether or not I enjoyed that.”
“Clearly,” he gestured at his dick which had gone limp in his underwear, “I do.”
“You can’t pretend you don’t want me,” I said. “I won’t believe it. You’ve been eye-fucking me for months at the club.”
“And you’ve been eating that shit up,” he spat back at me. “You think I didn’t see you watching me?”
“That’s right,” I said with a smirk. We were throwing hand grenades at each other. Not caring if we blew ourselves up in the process, as long as the other one got hit. “I’ve been watching you and fucking
allll
the girls.”
His cheeks were bright, his eyes were sharp, and they were right back on me. Where I wanted them. I felt like I had control if he was watching me.
“And what have you been doing?” I asked. “Everyone knows you don’t touch the dancers. No one sees you with anyone. Not ever. So, we’ve been watching each other for months and I fuck who I want to fuck and you…what? Jerk off?”
“Fuck you,” he said with just a little too much heat. And that was all the answer I needed.
I made a sad little moue with my lips, but I was stroking the top of my breast, my fingers playing with my nipple. Just a little. Just enough. He couldn’t look away.
I owned him. And the fact that he wanted me like this—despite his best effort not to—I liked it. I liked him a little better because he would rather have a real fight than a fake sex show.
Interesting. Very…interesting.
That thick wild honey was back in my veins.
He was sucking in air like there wasn’t enough of it. And that beast between his legs. It was alive again, hard under the plaid cotton of his underwear, arching up toward his belly.
“So,” I said, leaning back against the dresser, feeling back in control. “How about you cut the crap and tell me what you want.”
“I want you to touch yourself the way you like,” he said. “I want to see what gets you off. I don’t want a show, Joan. I don’t want to see what every guy who could pay the cover charge got to see. I want what you don’t show other people. I want to see
you.
”
And just like that, he took me out at the knees.
“That’s not for sale,” I said. A small point of pride that, that had never been for sale. Me, the real me was not up for grabs. There were rumors about me at the club. About the girls I liked to fuck. I had men offer me thousands of dollars to watch
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