Connect Us ✔

Chapter 18

It's freezing when I get on the motorcycle. The parka keeps me warm above, but it barely reaches my knees—certainly not the pajamas. My legs are bare, sticking to the metal of the bike. The pajamas just barely go over my bottom. My heart rushes with embarrassment.

I never wished to have a car so badly, but it's not worth it for the few minutes anyway. I put on my helmet. At least no one can see my face. Maybe they'll think I'm a girl with very hairy legs. God. How did I end up in this situation again?

I leave my helmet on as I run up the stairs. Even as I ring the doorbell, I keep my helmet on, praying none of his neighbors randomly decides to leave their apartment right now. Won't this be embarrassing for him too? 

Hell, I should stop asking him questions he can answer no to. He'll take any chance to make my life worse, won't he?

I flinch for some reason when the door opens and take off my helmet. I can clearly see the corners of his mouth twitch as he looks me up and down. I roll my eyes. Then he steps aside. "Come in."

I let out a relieved breath when the door finally closes behind me. My whole body is tense, sweat dripping down my forehead, strands sticking to my skin. I open my jacket. It's too hot in here. Or is it? Maybe I'm just... too excited.

"Alright," I say, struggling to take off the arm of the jacket, the fabric sticking to my sweaty skin. "That's over the line. Even for you. Where do these dumb ideas come from?"

"Wasn't it your idea, Oscar?" He pours himself a glass of wine. Then he steps closer and stops in front of me, his eyes darting downward. "Keep the jacket on."

"Dude, it's a sauna in here. I'm sweating my ass off."

My heart drops ten feet when he pushes my chin up. The way he looks at me makes my knees go weak. "Keep it on," he repeats, each word sharp.

"Fine," I say, but my voice feels like it isn't mine. I sound like a chicken about to get slaughtered. I feel a droplet of sweat trickle down my back. "You're not gonna make me wear this all night, right?" Fuck. Why did I even ask that? Damn it.

He doesn't say anything. His hand is on my collar, slowly sliding it over my shoulder, his cold fingers brushing my sweaty skin. The jacket falls to the floor. 

Okay. Fine. He wants to put on a show. He wants to take my clothes off. Like that would do anything. It's not like I... like it...

I close my eyes when he slightly, almost imperceptibly, tilts his head like he's about to kiss me. I feel his warm breath on my face. He smells of wine. 

Okay. Fair enough. It only makes sense that I'd react turned on like this. I haven't had sex in a while.

His hand is on the zipper of the pajamas now, slowly pulling. My hands move toward it too, thinking he'll have trouble opening it with just one hand—but as soon as I reach, he nudges the base of the wineglass against my fingers.

"Hands off." I drop my hand. "You're not touching yourself tonight, understood?" I watch his hands as he slowly pulls the zipper down. My chest tightens, and I realize just how turned on I am. "Oscar."

"Understood."

He pushes the fabric off my shoulder. My hands move on their own—a reflex. I want to wrap my arms around myself, the sweat making me shiver. But he gently presses my hands back down. Now that the jacket is gone, I feel the tight fabric even more. I feel it clearly when he looks at my body. 

I tense up when he walks around me and stops behind me. His arm wraps around my waist, moving so slowly that everything in me screams for more. He pulls me in, my back pressed against his chest, my breath catching.

"You took a shower." I hear him inhale sharply at my neck, and my head tips to the side.

"Stop teasing me..."

His hand moves slowly up to my chest, which is rising and falling too fast. Then slides under the solid fabric. Fingers cold against my hot skin, tracing circles around my nipple the moment I feel his lips on my neck—a sharp sting as he sucks on my skin.

A shiver runs through me as he starts teasing my nipple. I shift in his arms, but he tightens his grip. "Don't move."

I don't move. Even though the tickling sensation rushes all over my body, making me want to kick him away. For some reason, I moan instead.

He scoffs, a low exhale right next to my ear. "You're so easy, you know that?"

"Shut up..."

Way too sudden—his fingers are in my mouth, salty and way too human. For one split second, the urge to gag rises, but I pull myself together. Not now. No. Not here. Just ignore it. My lips automatically close around his fingers, holding his wrist, almost afraid he might go further and make me gag anyway.

"Hands off." 

I hesitate. This goes way beyond my comfort zone. My hands really resist letting go, resisting the trust he's asking for, like it's something my body just can't do. Eventually, I convince myself, dropping my hand.

He doesn't go deeper. His fingers just slide out... and back in. My mouth moves like it knows the motion, sucking on his fingers as if I've done this before, my tongue sliding along them while he keeps moving slowly in and out. My head rocking back and forth.

"Good boy..."

I feel the fabric around my hips, like it's tightening by itself, but I know it's just me getting hard. I only notice how breathless I am when he removes his fingers. I exhale shakily. His hand with his wine glass, which he's seriously still holding, wraps tighter around my waist, holding me while his other hand goes under the fabric on my butt. I only just feel his wet fingers moving on my hole and all out of sudden he put them in. 

I twitch so hard he spills his wine glass, holding me even tighter. He moves his fingers. 

My head falls back onto a hard shoulder. I shiver. My legs feel like they're about to give out. "I can't... stand..." His fingers slide deeper into me, and I moan uncontrollably. "Please," I sigh. "I... have to hold onto something..."

"I've got you."

My legs start shaking uncontrollably as he moves his finger so fast, like he wants to push me to my limit. "F... fuck..." My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor. Honestly, I don't know if I feel relieved or disappointed when I finally put my hands down, feeling something wet under my fingers and knees. The wine.

All out of sudden, my face is being pushed into the wet floor. "Fuck—"

"Drink up."

"The fuck, man..." My voice comes out muffled.

His fingers crawl into my hair, pressing my face harder against the floor, my nose digging into the laminate. "Lick it up, Oscar. I want this floor clean."

"Fucking psycho..."

"What was that?"

I start licking the floor. Matte wood mixing with the bitter taste of wine. I barely get anything up, so I try to slurp it. He pulls the fabric off me.

I feel his fingers, extremely wet now, thrusting inside me like his hand has fucking spasms. The glass of wine clinks softly to the floor, as if he's just emptied it. And I'm pretty sure that sick psycho just used wine as lube.

My forehead falls powerless against the floor, and I moan. I just moan in shock. Loud and raw. The way he moves his fingers makes my brain short-circuit. Before I can even think about it, my body takes over—a twitch, and I come.