The Doctor Of East Hadena [MXM] [SERIAL KILLER] ✓

25 | FAIR

[SEXUAL CONTENT]

Verbally, he still resists, but his body is betraying him. I'm pressing myself flush against him, I can quite literally feel how much he wants this. How much he wants me. Still, he looks upset, and I don't think it's directed at me. I think he's upset with himself, for whatever reason.

"This isn't fair," Dex says, not making eye contact. I tilt my head, wondering what exactly he means by that.

"What's not fair?"

Dex finally makes eye contact. Well, he looks just about everywhere else on my face before he does so, but still. Something about him is disturbed, and I wish I could read minds. I wish I could tell what he's thinking at this moment, but he's completely unreadable, aside from the emotions he seems to have been feeling this entire conversation.

"You," he sighs, and I feel his grip on my hips tighten for a moment, before he begins to run his hands along my sides, eventually settling his hold on my waist. "You, Camilo. You're not fair."

"How am I not fair?" I ask him, although I think I may have a pretty decent grasp on what he's talking about. I am attempting to seduce him in an effort to distract him from the very incriminating evidence he has on me, after all. Also, to make it worse, I'm doing so with the full knowledge of how attracted he is to me, and how little control he has where intimacy with myself is concerned.

In my defense, though, that's not the only reason. I have thought Dex was unfairly hot since the second I met him, so I do genuinely want this. That's without question.

"You know," Dex stresses, looking into my eyes, gaze intense. "You know we need to talk, you know this is serious, but then you touch me, and... and I can't fucking think."

Hm. Okay. Looks like it's working.

Then, I get an idea. An idea that will immediately cease victory to me, in terms of this conversation—well, if it works. A way to win this, a way to make Dex finally let it go.

I remove my hands from his pants, leaving them unbuttoned with the zipper halfway down. I then step away from him, ending our contact entirely, even his hands drop from my waist. His expression still doesn't give much away, but I assume—despite his words—he's disappointed by my actions.

"Well, goodnight. Good luck with your... thinking, I guess." I bid him farewell, before walking past him. I make my way to his front door, pace a bit slower than normal, which is a little on purpose. I only get so far as to put my hand on the handle and turn it, pulling it open a crack, before a hand on the hardwood pushes it shut.

I try not to smile in self satisfaction, or otherwise antagonize him in any way, though it'll be hard since I'm a sore winner. I turn around and find him leaning over me, hand still on the door, and we're close again. Not to the point where we're touching, but it wouldn't take much.