Page 51 of Fight or Flight
“Now.” I squeeze his throat a bit harder.
Slowly, he lifts his free arm and reaches between us, his eyes never leaving mine. I wait as he tugs the front of his shorts down and fishes his cock out.
“Good boy.” I add a little purr to my voice just to be annoying and loosen my hold on his neck.
He glares up at me. “Fuck off with that shit.”
“You don’t want to be my good boy?” I ask, shifting so the material of my sweats rubs over his bare dick.
“Fuck you,” he groans, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses up against me.
“That’s fine.” Leaning down, I put my lips next to his ear. “Bad boys are way more fun to break.”
His eyes fly open, and he presses his palm against my chest like he’s about to shove me off him.
“I’d think twice before you do that,” I warn him and squeeze his throat hard enough to restrict his air. A pathetic gurgle bubbles up from his chest as he tries to suck in a breath.
He drops his hand, his eyes wide with panic as he lies passively under me.
I loosen my hold on his throat, and the fear fades from his eyes.
“Take my dick out,” I tell him in that same slightly growly voice from before.
He glares up at me but doesn’t fight as he slides his hand back between our bodies and grips the waistband of my sweats.
Slowly, he tugs them down until they’re sitting around the tops of my thighs.
“Take my dick out,” I repeat when he pauses.
A little smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “Make me.”
Arousal like I’ve never felt before sweeps through me, and my entire body tightens as adrenaline pours into my system like water flowing through an open tap.
The sheer force of the onslaught of sensations makes me pause.
Shane is the only person I’ve ever had this kind of reaction to, and instead of the excitement waning the more we play this game, it’s only getting stronger.
“What’s wrong?” he taunts. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”
“Oh, I can take it,” I tell him, shaking off my earlier hesitation. “The real question is, can you?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but the only thing that comes out is a loud moan when I press my still-covered dick against his bare shaft.
Taking advantage of his distraction, I lift myself off him and thread one arm under his body so I can flip him over.
“What the fuck?” he splutters as he lands on his hands and knees, his body stretched out in a sort of extended plank so he’s only about six inches off the mat.
Moving quickly, I drape my body over his and press his chest against the mat. He tries to push me off him, but this new position puts him at a huge disadvantage, and I use my knees to shove his legs apart so they’re spread wide as I easily catch his wrists in my hands.
He struggles under me, wiggling and pulling against my hold as he tries to escape, but all he manages to do is rub his ass against my cock as I yank his arms behind his back and hold him in place with one hand.
The friction feels incredible, and I take a moment to enjoy not just his unintentional frotting but also his genuine struggles to break my grip on him.
Every twist and turn of his body only serve to ratchet up my desire, and the sounds falling from his lips are some of the hottest I’ve ever heard as his grunts and groans fill the air around us.
Just like in every aspect of my life, I’m good at slipping into whatever role the person I’m with wants me to fill. It makes finding people to hook up with easy, but it also means that I’m left wanting more when things are done.
Most people want me to play one of two roles. They either want a gentle lover who’ll seduce and tease them until they “agree” to give it up, or they want a confident fuckboy who’ll take charge and give them a chance to let go and explore their slutty side.
