Page 37 of The Seller

“Come with me.”

He follows me like a puppy dog, and I relish in the feeling of being in charge as I lead him into my home. It is nice here, not rich or palatial, but homely and cosy. I’ve never had a place like this to call my own before, and I love it. Everything in this small cabin perched above the fjord means something, a testament to the woman I am becoming.

There is a loft at the top where my bed is. Stavros follows me up the narrow little staircase, bending with the curve of the roof until he stands in the center of the space, his head nearly hitting the ceiling.

I expected Stavros to be out of place here. He is a man best viewed against a backdrop of cold marble, but he pulls off his blazer and stands in shirt sleeves, one hand in his pocket, the other loose at his side. His hair has grown out a little since I last saw him and the slight curl is becoming more pronounced.

He’s old enough to be my father, but sometimes I forget that. It’s not that his energy is young, per se. It’s that there’s something timeless about him. And I like the way he is looking at me. There’s curiosity as well as desire. He’s always seen through my exterior. Most men see a pretty teenage girl with long hair and longer legs. They stop thinking at that point. Stavros has never made that mistake.

I don’t know what to say to him, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not words I want from him. It’s his body. I want to feel him under me. I want to be filled up and stretched and… fuck. I bite my lower lip as filthy thoughts flood my mind.

“I missed you, Siri.”

I walk up to him, press a finger to his lips and whisper. “Shut the fuck up.”

His hand comes down against my ass, but he doesn’t slap me. He squeezes my cheek, pulls me hard up against his body and kisses me deeply. Our tongues meet and passion takes over, lust which doesn’t care about what he did or who I am. Only my need for him that matters. Our clothing is discarded, ripped and pulled and cast on the floor.

I feel the heat of his hard, bare chest against mine as he lays me down on the bed. I’ve never felt him like this before. We didn’t spend any time embracing. There were always bars and belts and lies between us, but now the truth has set us free, and his mouth is crushing mine, kissing me with possessive longing. We’ve never kissed before. Not properly. His tongue plays against mine, invading my mouth and I feel his domination just as clearly as I did when he stood over me with leather and lashed my bare skin. Stavros doesn’t play at dominance. He is naturally dominant in every way, and it is so easy to give in to it, to let him take over, to spread my legs and feel the thick length of his cock pressed against my belly.

“I want to be on top,” I murmur against his lips.

He responds by swinging me around, rolling at the same time so I find myself atop him, straddling him from above.

“You look good up there,” he smiles up at me.

“You look good down there,” I smirk back.

He really does. From this position, I can inspect every line of his handsome face, not to mention his powerful neck, his muscular shoulders, his arms which ripple as he reaches up to cup my breasts, his fingers scissoring gently around my nipples. I arch my back and let out a shuddering moan, my pussy sliding over the thick ridge of his cock at his bidding. Even down there he’s still in control.

I arch up and feel the tip of his cock rising against my belly, sinking down to my sex. When I rotate my hips back, the head of his dick slips between my outer lips and I begin to sink down on it, pushing slowly, impaling myself. He is just as incredible as I remembered, his thickness so fucking hot inside me.

He lets me take him slowly. At any moment he could reach up and slam me down, but he seems to understand that this is important to me. If he fucks me hard now, if he takes over, if he becomes the one who is controlling this, then it is over, forever. I need this on my terms. And to my surprise, he lets me have it.

We make slow love, his cock slicked with my juices as I roll my hips back and forth against him, the shaft of his dick inching out and then pushing back inside me, filling me with every inch he has.

“You…” he tries to talk, but I reach down and cover his mouth. No words. Not now. This is about flesh. The way our bodies meet and writhe is exquisite. He is not a good man, but he is an incredible fuck toy.

“Is this what you do to women?” I ask the question I’m not going to let him answer as I pump my hips up and down, fucking him. “Do you turn them into fuck toys and pass them along? And then you think you can come for me, here, and what? Be my boyfriend? Sell girls on the side? Take me back? I’m not for sale anymore, Stavros. I’m my own woman. And nothing you do or say can change that. If you try to take me by force, I’ll escape. And I will destroy you. I will fucking…mggghh oh fuck… I will fucking…”

My hips are moving with more intensity as I threaten him, his cock so fucking hard inside me, both my hands pressed over his mouth, muffling any attempt he might make to speak. None of this is on his terms now. It’s on mine. All mine.

Orgasm is rising in me. I’m going to do to him what he’s done to so many before me, what he would have done to me if I’d been as helpless as he thought I was.

I’m not going to sell him, but that’s because the market for middle aged assholes has been flat for a while now. Instead, I’m going to use him for sex and send him on his way.

I hate the turmoil of emotions he unleashes in me. I want to be in control, but even now, riding him manically, I know I’m not. His flesh commands mine, his will and wit are forces to be reckoned with and every lie we ever told each other is being fucked out between us in heated slaps and thrusts which leave us both glistening with sex and roaring with release.

Like animals, we orgasm fast and hard. This is about scratching an itch, getting what I need. I angle my hips just the right way, make that cock of his work inside me perfectly, grinding my clit against his dark pubic hair until I lose control and my pussy grips his dick with powerful contractions which threaten to send him over the edge so quickly I just have time to pull off his cock before he can shoot inside me. His cum arcs into the air, spatters against his heaving chest and abs, and I pull my hands away from his mouth to let him take the deep gasps of air he needs as that full body climax leaves him weak the way men are after they cum.

“You need to go.”

“What?” He’s panting, one arm up over his head. He looks exhausted. All fucked out.

“You heard me,” I say. “The sex was fantastic, but you and I, we have no future.”

He turns his head and fixes me with those big, dark, passionate Greek eyes. “Siri…”

I don’t want to hear his pitch. I’ve fucked him. I’ve gotten him out of my system. And even if that’s not true… even if that’s a total lie I’m telling myself just because I am terrified of ending up beholden to any man ever again, it doesn’t matter.

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