Bound to Accept (12 page)

“Good move going with
Kirby,” he says. “All that sucking and blowing will be nice
practice for when you have to give me my prize.”

“You seem to be under the
mistaken assumption that you're going to win this match. You're
not.”

“Over my flaccid cock, you
are,” he says.

I go for one of the crates that's just
fallen onscreen and break it open to see what kind of virtual
goodies I can use to demolish Tristan. Sweet. There's one of those
hammers that guarantees an instant K.O.

“Oh, you are so dead.” I
pick up the hammer.

Without warning, Tristan grabs my
hand, and makes my character fall over the side of the
cliff.

“You
ass
! You made me lose the hammer!”

“I'm willing to cheat, by
the way. To get what I want.” His smile could inspire panties to
drop at twenty feet. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“Yes.”

Tristan waits until my character
respawns. Then he grabs me from behind. Trying to pry the
controller from me. I flail out for it unsuccessfully. He's
stronger and his arms are a lot longer than mine.
“Noooo!”

“This is for your own
good, Kelly,” his voice says into my ear. He shifts both my wrists
to one hand and plunges Kirby to his death—again. I'm starting to
feel bad for the little guy.

“Give it to
me!”

“Give it to you?” His hand
slips inside my shirt and he starts rubbing my nipple. “Like
this?”

“You are such a cheater,”
I gasp.

“I never had a blowjob at
stake before,” he says calmly. “And I really want to have your lips
around my cock again.” He bucks his hips, nudging me with his
erection. “Really,” he repeats, a note of mischief in it. “I don't
think you're as averse to the idea as you pretend.” He tweaks my
nipple.

I free myself with a swing and tackle
him. He's knocked supine against the bed and drops the controller.
It's one of those remote ones, so all I have to do is turn off the
power to deactivate it. I laugh triumphantly.

Tristan grabs me by the hips. “Give me
the controller.”

I drop it behind the bed and beam at
him. “Oops.”

His eyes narrow. “I'm going to get you
for that.”

“I'll just use this one
instead.” I grab his controller and Marth does his special attack
right off the cliff. “Oops.”

Tristan springs. I leap off the bed,
and huddle in the corner of the room, pulling down my skirt as I
go. Marth dies again just as Tristan slams his hands on either side
of me. Oh, my. His face is frightening.

He leans in close, until his lips
aren't quite touching mine. “You,” he says, “are a very bad
girl.”

“Am I?”

“Exceedingly.”

“What are you going to do
about it?”

I feel him slip the game controller
from my hand. He stalks towards the TV and switches off the
game.

“Tristan?” I say
nervously.

“Sir,” he corrects me,
letting me know we're playing another game. But what kind? “Bed. On
your side.”

“But…” I wet my lips. “Who
won?”

“Let's call it a tie.” He
lies across from me, but facing the other way. Propping himself up
on one elbow, he begins to roll up my skirt. “Unzip me.”

A tie? But does that mean…? I think I
know where he's going with this, and my heart picks up speed.
“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Follow my lead.” He
strokes my thigh, sliding his hand up my leg, and then fanning his
fingers out as he gets higher, so that his middle finger just
brushes my sex.

I pull down his pants, letting them
slide down his hips. I follow the natural grooves in his hips to
the hem of his boxers, and then, inspired, I take them in my mouth
and pull them down.

Tristan sucks in his breath. Then he
spreads me and with that same hand begins rubbing my clit with such
quick, furious movements that for a moment I forget what I'm
supposed to do.

“Pony girl,” he barks.
“Pay attention!”

“I'm sorry, Sir.” I take
his cock in hand and stroke him. He said to follow his lead, so I
squeeze him in my fist and pump my hand up and down as fast as I
can. The muscles in his thighs bunch and tense, and I hear his
breathing quicken, so I must be doing it right. He gets hard very
quickly.

And then his head is between my legs,
and he's kissing me, tracing white-hot lines of fire on all those
tingling bundles of nerves. I inhale raggedly, and brush my lips
over the head of his penis before taking him into my mouth. Not all
the way, though. Only up to the tip. Then I pull out,
carefully—carefully—letting him feel the graze of my
teeth.

I lower my head, sinking all the way
to the base of his cock, and let my tongue trail up the length of
it, tasting him, exploring the differences in texture.

I feel him smile, and it might just be
the sexiest thing ever, having a guy with his mouth pressed against
my clitoris and feeling him smile. And then he opens his mouth and
makes a tight seal and begins sucking me. The sensation is even
more intense than when he used the vibrator, possibly because of
the combination of sensations —the hot, wet heat of his mouth, the
pressure, the fact that it's him, an attractive male, and not some
tiny robotic device. He slides a finger into me, then two, and I
moan around his cock.

He begins to pump his
hips, and I have to hold onto his ass to keep his cock from sliding
out. I can feel the muscles in his buttocks move as he thrusts,
beneath his wonderfully supple skin, and I think I realize now why
so many people get off on spankings. Not that I would spank him—I
don't think he would appreciate it—but…
I
might.

Tristan increases the pace of his
fingers, climbing up to a rapid, steady tempo, and then I feel the
knuckle of his pinkie finger roll around my butt hole before he
slides his two fingers back inside my vagina. I make a small sound
of alarm, but all he says is, “I'm just playing with you. I'm not
going to put anything inside of your ass.”

He pushes in and out of me again, and
then rubs his thumb over my anus, then squeezes my butt, stroking
it as he starts nibbling my clit, before switching back to his
tongue. And the moment he starts tonguing, he spanks me, and it
actually intensifies the sensations, and when I gasp, his cock
actually slides deeper into my mouth, and with his fingers inside
me and his penis in my throat, I feel very…full. I've never felt
anything like it before.

He does it again, and I
come with a low moan, bucking against his face. Tristan rolls over
on his back, forcing me to move with him. I have to switch to my
hand to finish getting him off. He folds his arms behind his head
and leans back, lips parting, and oh my God, he looks and sounds so
sexy as he comes, even as his come spatters my breasts and throat.
And
I
am
his
. Which reminds
me.

“You
spanked
me.”

“You liked it. It made you
come.” He reaches down beside the bed and picks up a towel, which
he uses to wipe most of the come away from my breasts. “That's one
of the things on the list, by the way.”

“What?”

“Spanking. I didn't used
to be a fan, but your ass just proves too tempting. Shower yourself
off,” he says, tweaking my nipple. “I'll join you in a
minute.”

We end up taking a very long one,
kissing and touching. Actual washing becomes a mere afterthought
until he starts soaping me all over, paying more attention to some
parts than others, and I feel almost dizzy from my lust and the
heat. I love the way his fingers feel in my hair as he massages my
scalp. It feels the way I imagine a cat feels when stroked under
the chin—spoiled and luxurious.

He pushes me against the cold marble
wall, and fingers me from behind as hot water cascades over us
both. The cold stone stands in stark contrast to his hot, wet body
and the steamy water, and the overall sensation triggers an erotic
shock that intensifies what he's doing with his fingers. My cry
echoes loudly off the walls, and I'm terrified that his neighbors
are going to hear and wonder what the fuck we're doing.

Fuck
being the operative word in that sentence.

“Are you
sure terrified is the right word?” he asks, when I express my
concerns in a trembling voice that splinters further in the face of
my encroaching orgasm. “Are you sure the thought doesn't
excite
you?”

Later that night, I lie in my quiet
apartment and replay that entire day in my head. The sex was
wonderful, but I keep going back to that look of dismay when he
came home from work and found me sitting in his
armchair.

Yes, granted, he wasn't expecting
that—but what if that wasn't the only reason? What if he's not
looking for a committed relationship?

Part of the reason I'm still a virgin
is because I wanted to wait to have sex. Preferably until marriage,
but failing that, at least six months. My prior boyfriends wanted
sex far sooner than that, some on the very first date, and while
they were willing to respect my wishes, and not have sex with me,
that respect did not extend to fidelity. All my boyfriends cheated
on me with other girls.

My mother told me that guys would
continue to cheat on me if I didn't put out. But I was so afraid.
It felt more like a chore than a passion, and when I finally did
let a boy touch me, it was as sexy as a visit to the
gynecologist's. I thought I was broken inside, that there was
something wrong with me. But maybe…I just hadn't been with the
right person?

I've been with Tristan less than a
week, and even though I'm still a virgin, I know he doesn't plan on
keeping me that way for long. We've done more things than a lot of
non-virgins have.

I run my hands over my breasts,
pinching the nipples the way I think Tristan would, and then slide
my fingers into the waistband of my pajama pants.

He's awakening something in me.
Desires I didn't even know I had. Energizing my fantasies, and
kindling my imagination into a fiery inferno of sizzling
lust.

As I bring myself to orgasm, I imagine
myself tied up and gagged. He runs a leather flogger up my belly
and uses it to prop up my chin so he can kiss me. When our lips
touch, he smacks my thigh, and my scream is in my throat, but I
can't let it out, because if I do, he'll only punish me more. And I
know he's going to do everything he can to break me.

Because I glanced over those sheets,
and I have an idea of what he wants to do to my body.

Pleasure and pain.

Agony and ecstasy.

Passion and torment.

I gasp. My fingers are covered in
clear, sticky fluid. I get out of bed and change my underwear,
tossing the soiled ones in the hamper, and then wash my
hands.

I suppose the real question here is,
if he does break me, will I be able to put myself back together
again? Or will I be left there, to be scattered among the
winds?

Chapter Eight

I go through Tristan's
list—
really
go
through it—the next day. I'm prepared. I have a fresh mug of coffee
and the three high-lighters he gave me lined up beside the thin
stack of papers like I'm about to go to war. My laptop is propped
against the table-leg, in case I need to look anything
up.

I can do this.

It takes three hours to go through
every item on the list. He must have had a lot of sex. The thought
makes me uncomfortable—was it with a few select women, or was he
undiscerning in his choice of partner?

When I text Tristan to tell him that
I've finished with his assigned homework, he tells me that he wants
to meet up to discuss it.

I'll order
takeout
, he adds.
From All Thai'd Up
.

Ha ha. Very
funny.

He sends me a winky-face.

My cell bleeps again, and I
automatically assume that it's Tristan having the last word on top
of his last word, but this time it's Kayla, which surprises me.
I've barely thought about her at all these last few
days.

R u still alive? Haven't
seen u on FB in days. U ok??

Apparently, she's been thinking plenty
about me.

Fine! Sorry. I'll try 2 get
on. Bn super busy.

U free 2 talk?

Yes.

She calls immediately. I pick up on
the first ring.

“
Kelly,” she says, “what
the hell? Where have you been? I sent you four Facebook messages.
You haven't looked at any of them.”

I take a moment to curse
that Facebook feature that allows people to see when you've
actually read their messages, replete with time stamp. Who
thought
that
was
a good idea? I mean, really.

“
I'm sorry,” I say again.
“I've just been so busy.”