The Marriage Dare
Page 5
It doesn’t stop me from wanting him so much that I ache between my legs.
“What would she do now?” I ask breathlessly when he pulls away.
“She would undo my belt and pants, so I could be free after being restricted all day.”
Rising up on my knees, I do just that. I release his belt, which is black leather, and the highest quality. And I unbutton and unzip his pants. His cock is only just hidden by tight boxer briefs, straining against the fabric. I pull it down, and it springs free. Hard. And giant.
Daniel’s cock is just like the rest of him—perfectly sculpted and powerful. God, as good as that orgasm was, now I wish that I’d asked him to fuck me. He’s huge and thick and would have filled me up and then some. Cocks aren’t attractive, but this one is.
“And now?” I ask, my voice quiet. I know what he’s going to say, but I need to hear him say it.
“She would suck his cock until he came, and swallow every bit. Hoping that afterward he’d want to fuck her.”
I look up at him, and the corner of his mouth tips up into a smile. God, I hope so. I want to feel him inside me. I want to be taken by him. I can’t stop staring, his dark eyes see all of me. It’s not a sensation that I’m used to.
“Suck my cock, Princess.”
I do.
I use just my tongue first, reaching out to touch him. He’s filled with furious heat, and he feels good under me. I lick all the way up to his tip, teasing, when his hand finds my hair. His fingers grab it, tangle in it, guiding me onto him. And down, and down until my mouth is full and I can’t take more before he’s in my throat.
Suddenly his lips are at my ear. “I told you to suck.” He pulls me up off his cock and holds me close. “Do I need to show you exactly what I expect from you? Wife?”
We’re still playing the game. Still in this hypothetical scenario, and I want it. I don’t want to break free of it. “Yes. Show me how to be a good wife,” I say.
The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s driving me back onto his cock. All the way down, slipping into my throat and further so my lips are pressed against his skin. Deeper than I thought possible. God, I love it.
His hand holds me in place, not forcing, just holding. Keeping me where he wants to. His voice is a low growl when he speaks. “A good wife takes all of her husband’s cock.”
Daniel pumps his hips into my mouth, and I groan around him. I’m so wet that I’m dripping down my thighs. Never in my life did I think a blowjob could turn me on like this, but I love the feeling of him, of taking him completely.
He pulls back and lets me breathe before guiding me down again, this time I’m moving before he makes me. I suck my way down, taking him completely and he groans, fingers tightening in my hair. His other hand joins the first, securing me in place. “Now stay there.”
He fucks my mouth, my throat, pumping deep, and I can’t escape. I don’t want to. Everything else fades away and it’s just me and him in the moment. Daniel grunts with each thrust, and it doesn’t take him long before he groans, cock swelling in my mouth. He’s so far down my throat that I don’t even have to swallow.
Daniel holds me still until he’s finished, until I’m dizzy from lack of air, and the world comes flying back when he releases me. I’m panting, trying to gather myself. Cause clearly, I’ve gone a little crazy.
I look up at Daniel, and he’s staring at me, and I can’t decipher his expression. It’s hard and gentle at once. But his eyes are filled with that fire that I can’t fight against.
“Again,” he says.
“What?” My voice is rough.
“Now that I’ve shown you what I expect, suck my cock. Again. You need to earn the taste of my cum this time, Monica.”
The use of my name startles me. It’s easy to pretend that this isn’t me when he calls me princess and wife. But this is me. And I don’t understand why I want this. But I do.
So I lower my head and take him into my mouth again.
5
Daniel
The sight of Monica on her knees in front of me is better than I ever imagined—and I have imagined it a lot. The way her lips stretch around my cock The way she takes all of me with ease…God, I’m lucky that I lasted as long as I did the first time around.
I love being in control, and she likes it, too, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. I saw the confusion in her eyes just now when I ordered her to suck me, but she did it anyway. She doesn’t understand why she’s doing it, but she knows she’s driven to.
I’m a bastard—I’ll admit that. I took advantage of her situation for my own ends, and I don’t regret it. But I’d never actually force her. I know her needs better than she does, though. And she needs this marriage more than she’s willing to let on. I’ll bet that no one in her life has given her any kind of boundaries or direction. I’m happy to be the first.
I like that soft look on her face of confusion and desire, and fuck, I love the way her pussy tastes. But I will control myself, and she needs to know that I’m serious. I’m not going to fuck her until the papers are signed, and even then, not until she begs for it.
What I’ll never admit is that right now, my control is wavering. I’m teetering on the edge of giving her whatever she wants. Thankfully she can’t read my mind.
Monica is sucking my cock enthusiastically, and it’s so fucking good. She dips back down and takes me into her throat again, bobbing up and down and moaning. I feel like a teenager because I could probably come again right now. But I won’t. I didn’t lie. She needs to earn it. She needs to show that she can follow through and get a reward.
Up and down she goes, sucking the tip of me and using her tongue under my head in a way that makes my toes curl inside my shoes. And down, until her face is entirely hidden by her hair and her bottom lip is brushing my balls.
I’m not going to be able to last as long as I’d like. She has me too turned on and I want her too badly to hold myself back forever. She’s too busy to notice that my knuckles are white holding on to the arms of the chair. Pleasure is building in my balls and around my shaft, making me close my eyes. It hums, and every stroke of her lips and tongue amplifies it. Yes.
I let myself fade into the rhythm of her mouth, floating through the fog of pleasure until it rears up, and I’m so close that I can’t breathe. I grasp her hair again, and pull her off me, tilting her head back so I can see her face. “Open your mouth,” I tell her, standing up. My cock is still resting on her lips, and I hold her exactly where I want her while I stroke myself, finding that pleasure that sends me over the edge.
Monica opens her mouth, and I groan, my cum splashing across her tongue. Stream after stream of it pooling in her mouth. She doesn’t flinch or hesitate, taking all of it until I’m finished. And it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life.
“Swallow,” I say, and she does. The look on her face is priceless. She closes her eyes and it looks like she savors the taste of me on the way down. When she opens her eyes again, she licks the tip of my cock, and I’m ready to get down on my knees and give her whatever the fuck that she wants for the rest of her life. But that’s not what she needs, and the hope and desire I see in her eyes right now needs to be taken care of. Even if it’s not the way she wants.
“I think you have a chance of being a good wife, Princess.”
She smiles before she catches herself. “And does my husband want to fuck me now?”
Putting my cock away, I pull her to her feet and guide her to the guest room. She’s still naked, and I retrieve a robe from the bathroom and wrap it around her. She looks confused again, so I tilt her face up to meet mine. “I made myself clear,” I say. “I’m not fucking you until we’re married. And even then, you know the rules.”
Her happiness crashes. I can see it. “I’ll have to beg.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” The word is small and sad, and I feel a flinch inside. I don’t want to hurt her. “You hate me that much?”
“You don’t know that,” she says viciously. “You have no idea what my life has been like.”
“And I’m going to hear it. But you are mine. You are marrying me. And I want you to learn what it’s like to ask for the things you want. Right now, I know that the thing that you want is me. So you can feel free to ask me any time. Beg me any time. Sometimes I’ll say yes, and sometimes I’ll say no.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You need boundaries, Monica, and you’ll learn them with me.”
She tries to pull away from me, but I don’t let her go. I wrap my arm around her waist and hold her naked body pinned against me. She’ll feel how turned on I am already, and I don’t care. I love the way she feels.
“Fuck you,” she spits out.
“You wish,” I say simply, smiling, and I’m rewarded with a glare that would level me if looks could kill. And then I kiss her. Her body reacts first, going limp and pliant against me. I know the moment she realizes what’s happening and goes still. So I release her, stepping back. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t force her. But I know that I won’t have to.
“For the few days until we’re married,” I say, “this will be your room. I’ll have some pajamas delivered from downstairs, and feel free to call for room service. But know that Devon and Jack are outside.”
“So no running away.”
She has no idea how sexy she looks, robe gaping and showing a delicious glimpse of her cleavage. “We both know that you don’t want to run, though you can keep pretending if you like.”
The blush on her face is lovely.
“I’ll make sure you have clothes in the morning, and we can make other arrangements. Goodnight, Monica.”
I close the door behind me as I exit the guest bedroom. She’s not locked in, and I’m sure she’ll test that, but she won’t see me again tonight. She needs space now to figure out her own thoughts without me clouding them. It will be interesting to see how she feels in the morning. I’m really good at reading people, but Monica Blast is unpredictable. It could go either direction. She could suddenly decide to behave, or not. I think it’ll be somewhere in between.
She doesn’t want this, but she needs it. I need it too, and that’s the thing that I don’t want to admit. I say that I’m doing this for revenge, and I am. But it’s not just that. I won’t allow myself to let the thought raise about why I’m really doing it.
Seems like Monica isn’t the only one who needs time to get her thoughts sorted. I pour myself a drink. I rarely have more than two in a night, but I’m done. I’m not going downstairs again—everything is taken care of on that front—and all I’m going to do is relax and sleep.
Just hours ago I thought that I needed a good fuck to relax. Never imagined that this would happen. It wasn’t a fuck, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think that I was wrong when I was thinking that I need a vacation. The truth is that I’ve never really known what to do on vacations. My entire life I’ve had to work, and taking pure leisure time, even when I can afford to do it, feels strange.
What I actually needed was a project, and I found one. Monica. I feel more refreshed than I have in ages, and it’s not because she sucks cock better than any woman I’ve ever been with. I’m excited about this. About learning about her. About teaching her. And yes, about making her pay for what she’s done. I’ll always admit that I’m a bastard—I am. I’m going to enjoy pleasuring her as much as all the rest of it.
But after everything she and her family have done to me, I need closure. And I’m going to have it.
I take out my phone and browse the boutiques downstairs, finding some sexy lingerie and nightgowns that I order and make sure it’s expedited. The clothes should be delivered to the room within fifteen minutes. I intentionally choose things that are sexy and that will remind Monica of everything that we are not doing in my bed right now. I wanted to infiltrate her brain, to the point where she can’t resist sliding her hands into her panties thinking about it.
To be honest, I don’t want her to touch herself without me there to watch. Perhaps I’ll suggest that tomorrow when she asks again. Because she will ask again. And I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to say no, even if I need to be.
Taking my drink, I step out onto the balcony for some fresh air. The Las Vegas air is warm tonight, which isn’t uncommon. But tonight it also feels refreshing to me. I’m not used to this level of obsession in my thoughts. A new project is good, something that’s going to throw me off my game is not.
I shouldn’t care if Monica is happy, but I do. I shouldn’t care if she is comfortable, but all I want to do is go back inside and make sure that she’s taken a shower and is wrapped in the most comfortable robe and pajamas that I can get my hands on. I want to lay her on her back and explore her body far more thoroughly than I had the chance to tonight. The way she tastes, I want to lick her skin. I want to taste every inch of her. I want her to beg me to explore her with my mouth. I want to spend the whole night making her writhe in pleasure, but never letting her come.
As I look out over the city, I find myself thinking of ways that I can make her happy. Things that we can do together that will make her feel better about what’s happened to her. The thought startles me. I shouldn’t care about that. I can feel my decades old desire for her creeping back in. I can feel it making me soft.
In that space, there’s suddenly anger. Deep, dark, and furious. I got over this years ago. I need to hate her, even if I told her that I didn’t. She was my tormentor. She bullied me. Her family shattered mine, and nearly annihilated it. It doesn’t matter that our situations are reversed now, nothing can make up for that. Ever.
But all I can think about right now is her lips. How soft they were. How she tasted, and how she sounded in her pleasure. And beyond that, the sheer and utter desperation in her eyes when she lost her hand. She was right when she told me that I did not know what she has gone through. I don’t. But I will.
In the end it doesn’t matter. There is a debt that is owed between us, and she will be the one to pay it. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out. After all, we have the rest of our lives to figure it out. I have a plan.
I’m going to break her down.
I’m going to make her pay her debt.
And then I’m going to make her love me.
And in my mind, though I can’t fully admit to myself yet, I know that after that, I’m going to make her mine forever.
Monica’s desperation and fear flash into my head again, and I feel something that I haven’t felt in a very long time. Empathy. I know exactly what she was feeling in those moments, because I felt it too. For the second time this evening, I feel myself swept away in the grip of memory.
I was seventeen the last time that I saw Monica. I was working at the auto repair shop where I spent most of my time finishing school, and where my obsession with poker first began. I was running myself ragged, trying to keep my grades up in school while working a full-time job. We had already lost our house to the Blast Dynasty at that point. It was up to me to make rent on the tiny apartment that my parents and I were living in, or else we would be once again living in our car. All three of us.
Which would have meant that I would end up sleeping in the park, likely on a bench. The weather was nice that time of year, so it wouldn’t have been entirely unpleasant, but I had already been discovered sleeping outside by one too many classmates for me to want to do that again. So I made it work. I fit in my hom
ework in the down times at the garage, coming in early to work hours before school, cleaning and organizing, and pulling the late shifts afterwards so I could have as many hours as possible.
I will always be grateful to the owner of that garage. He was always understanding, and willing to give me the hours I needed because he knew what was happening. He was incredibly gracious with letting me work on my homework while on shift, though he was never a person who let me slack off on the job.
The day that I last saw her I was getting ready to leave the shop. I had a project due in my biology class the next day, and I hadn’t even started it. The entire garage was clean, and I was the last one there. Technically, we were already closed. I heard a screeching sound behind me, and a BMW came reeling into the garage way too fast. I had to jump to get out of the way.
The car was full of laughing teenagers from my school. I recognized them as the popular kids, the rich ones. They were the kids that hung out with Monica. The cool kids club that nobody else was allowed to be a part of. And it was incredibly clear that they were drunk. The guy in the passenger seat was laughing the hardest and shoving at the driver.
It was then that I realized the driver was Monica. I hated her then. I hated her for what her family had done to me, and I hated her because I wanted her so much. When I saw her, she looked panicked. She wasn’t drunk, but she wasn’t laughing either.
I didn’t want to talk to them. I wanted to send them away because we were already closed, and I knew that whatever they would ask would take me away from my schoolwork. But at the same time, I knew that if I didn’t talk to them that my life would get harder than it already was. So purely out of self-preservation, I walked over to them.
I should have known that as soon as they saw me the harassment would start. It had been open season on me for all the rich kids since the day that Monica threw my Game Boy in the street. I was known as a liar, thief, and all around poor trash. The idea that I might work for a living was offensive to them. Even more so after we lost our house and it was discovered that we were homeless for a while. Not being as well-off as them was the worst possible fate. Never mind that they didn’t understand hardship, or had suffered anything for a day in their lives. For them, it was enough to warrant my regular public humiliation.