Page 57 of Let the Game Begin
I continued to stare into the mirror. Neil rested his cheek against mine and ground his stubbly jaw against my smooth, moist skin. Though he clearly saw my tears, there was no apology in his eyes nor understanding. Just a simple awareness that he had put me in this state of distress.
“Look.” He withdrew from me slowly and showed me his cock in the mirror. My reaction was instantaneous: I blushed.
“Remember? I told I’d show you how perfectly a man and woman could fit together. Don’t you find it romantic?” he whispered sneeringly.
“You’re insane,” I said harshly, smelling his clean scent mixed with the distinct odor of sex. We were both sweating and breathless.
“You have no idea,” he said, pushing into me again and I gasped. I couldn’t take more endless minutes of incessant pounding, but his breathing had gotten fast so I knew he was approaching his limit. The last thrust was so powerful and resonating that both of our bodies trembled. He pulled out and marked me right there between my thighs where I was still quivering from his presence. My eyes widened when, moments later, I felt his seed running down my legs until it dripped onto the floor.
Neil grabbed my hips like he needed to hold something to keep from falling over. A soft moan accompanied this tiny moment of weakness; his biceps tensed. After this one instant of vulnerability, he bit his lower lip and not one single grunt, moan, or other animalistic noise left his lovely mouth.
Neil was filthy, vulgar, and perverse but not theatrical. He felt no need to impress a woman with false or excessive chatter during sex. The silence was compelling in its own way.
“Fuck,” he said, more to himself than to me, staring down at the evidenceon my body of his total loss of control. I stood up from the desk. My elbows were red and my back ached. I got to my feet but staggered when I was hit by a dizzy spell. Neil immediately grabbed me, and I rested my head against his chest. I didn’t care if it made me look weak; I was exhausted and it was physically challenging to stand on my own two legs.
He wrapped his arm around my waist and moved my hair off my sweating forehead with his free hand. Neither of us spoke.
Neil helped me to my bed and I lay down on the sheets, curling automatically into a fetal position. His smell was all over me, and I felt like a wreck while he continued to smell and look impeccable.
He backed away from the bed and tucked his still half-hard penis back into his boxers and rearranged his pants, all without taking his eyes off me. It was horrifying, the blank way he could look at me after such an intense, yearning, explosive orgasm. I felt the chill sinking into my bones and my heartbeat throbbed in my temples and wrists. I began to shake again. This act of intimacy hadn’t brought us together. If anything, it was the opposite. We looked like two perfect strangers.
Neil continued staring at me in the most detached, almost irritated way, and I felt my self-control slipping more and more. This was the man who had full possession of my soul. I no longer knew who I was.
It was madness.
“Never set foot in that room again. My fucking life is none of your business,” he said angrily, and I flinched at his severe tone. Suddenly, I understood his aggression: it was punishment for my intrusion.
“Why?” I sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the chafing between my legs. I put my feet down on the cold floor. Half-naked in just my white bra, sodden panties, and thigh-highs, I looked completely worn out. Or maybe Neil was just good at making me feel that way. I sighed and got unsteadily to my feet. I couldn’t let him steamroll me anymore; I needed to show him that I was stronger than he believed.
“Because I didn’t come in here to be loved or understood by you,” he answered, scowling. Then he looked at me with that disarming certainty that set him apart from everyone else. I faced him, fixing my eyes on his. I was going to find all of his weak spots.
“You came in here because you want me more than you want anyone else, and that scares you.”
He was expecting just about anything except that. He jerked in surprise and then burst into dismissive laughter. He approached me with confident strides and slowly scanned my body.
“You’re so naive, Selene…” He toyed with a lock of my hair, and I tightened my lips into a thin line. His scent was surrounding me entirely and it gave me goosebumps. I hated myself in that moment for the way he made me feel. “Whenever you talk like that, I just want to fuck the innocence right out of you,” he whispered in my ear, touching first my cheek and then the curve of my neck. His eyes followed the path his hands made while he breathed me in, absorbing me slowly. He meant to destroy me, I could see it.
“Is that supposed to make me think I got you wrong?” I murmured in a small voice. I had no idea where this unusual bravery was coming from.
“I’m sorry for you, Tinkerbell, but this isn’t a fairy tale.” He drew close to my mouth and gave me a sarcastic smile. Then he ran his tongue along the contour of my lower lip before walking away and leaving me there, sitting in the wake of his mysterious, shadowy presence.
I still wanted to get some of my own back, though, so I shoved past him and knelt down to pick up the books he’d hurled to the floor when he bent me over the desk. I rubbed my face and closed my eyes.
No. I shouldn’t cry, even if I wanted to because he had hurt me. What had really wounded me, however, wasn’t his indifferent words, but the way he managed to make me feel.
Filthy, wrong, weak.
Neil was a temptation that I couldn’t resist, but every time I gave in, I couldn’t live with myself after. I sickened myself; I hated myself. I crouched there with his seed between my thighs, his smell on me, his saliva drying on my skin, and I was ashamed of having allowed him to take ownership of me—of my mind as well as my very being.
“You’re bad for me,” I said through gritted teeth. It was a truth we both knew, me especially.
Neil swallowed but retained his composure as though my words didn’t come as a surprise. “I’m bad for everyone,” he agreed. He glanced at mybooks and then at the desk. He appeared to be considering something for a few moments before he headed for the door.
He left the room, but I could still feel his presence. He was all around me, but most of all, he was inside me.
He was a demon in the shape of a god. He wore his perversion and vice like horns, his confidence like a forked tail, and wielded his damned personality like a weapon—like a pitchfork.
Yet, for all of this, Neil was the person who brought my world to life.
