They weren’t just hard – they were stiff and aching and so sensitive it hurt to breathe. I had no bra on. He could see everything. And he wasn’t just pointing it out.
He was warning me.
Then his voice dropped again, darker this time.
“You came out of that room looking like a girl who just made a mess.”
My stomach dropped straight into my soaked panties. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. My face was on fire.
I was sure I looked like a girl who just orgasmed. My thighs were tight. My lips were swollen. My breathing was a wreck.
“You smelled like you masturbate in there,” he said, slower now. “You were shaking. You didn’t even look me in the eye.”
I wanted to lie. I wanted to deny it. But I couldn’t. Not with him standing this close. Not with his voice inside me like a goddamn spell. Not when my whole body was still humming from the orgasm I’d had less than ten minutes ago.
“I wasn’t-“
He cut me off.
“Don’t lie to me, Lily.”
The way he said my name made me whimper. Not loud. Not even on purpose.
Just a soft, pathetic little sound that escaped my throat because my clit twitched at the exact same time and I was too weak to hide it.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t pull away.
He kept going.
“I heard you,” he said, and this time his voice was definitely more deeper.
“I heard you moaning through that thin little wall. I heard every breath. Every whimper. Every desperate little sound you made with your fingers between your legs.”
My knees buckled.
I had to grab the edge of the wall behind me just to keep standing. My mouth opened. I couldn’t close it. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. My lips were wet. Everything was wet.
And he still wasn’t done.
“I know you were thinking about me,” he whispered. “I know whose name you said.”
I gasped.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t soft. It was a full-body reaction to being exposed, to being caught, to being called out in the most humiliating, arousing, dominant fucking way possible.
Then he leaned in even closer.
“If you’re going to come for me, Lily,” he murmured, voice rich and deep and devastating, ” don’t do it like a coward.”
I blinked. My throat closed. My lungs forgot how to breathe.
He kept going.
“Do it louder next time. Let the whole yacht hear who make you touch that little cunt.” That should have been the end. That should ha… Laway like he didn’t just light my whole body on fire with two filthy words.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t move. He stayed right there, close enough to breathe me in, close enough that his chest was brushing mine now with every short, ragged breath I tried to hold back.
And then his mouth lowered again – right beside my ear- syllable carved itself into my skin. like he wanted to make sure every
“But if you think you’re getting my cock,” he whispered, “you’re not.”
I froze.
Not because I didn’t want it. Not because I wasn’t already drenched and swollen and aching for it.
I froze because of the way he said it. Like he was done playing with the fantasy and now he was taking a knife to it.
“You’re not getting it, Lily,” he said again, and this time his tone was lower, firmer, soaked in the kind of restraint that made my clit pulse with humiliation and hunger at the same time.
I stared at him. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry. My thoughts were spinning. My pussy was throbbing. I had never felt so needy and so denied in the same breath.
“I don’t fuck little girls,” he said, and those five words hit me harder than any slap across the face.
My chest tightened. My eyes stung. My thighs clenched around the ache I couldn’t hide.
“I don’t fuck virgins. I don’t fuck girls who have never had anything bigger than their own fingers inside them.”
Oh fuck.
**Lily
He said it slowly. Clearly. Like he wanted to make sure I didn’t miss it. Like he wanted to hurt me with it.
Like he wanted me to remember it when I was crying into my pillow later, still slick from the orgasm I gave myself while moaning his name.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to beg. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t a child. I was eighteen. I was legal. I was ready. I was soaking through my panties just from his voice. I was ready to get on my knees right here in this hallway and prove to him exactly what I could do with my mouth.
But I didn’t say anything.
Because my body was already reacting to his rejection like it was foreplay. My clit throbbed harder.
My cunt clenched around the emptiness again. My nipples were still hard and visible and aching, and the worst part was knowing he could see them and still didn’t want to touch me.
“I don’t play with girls who don’t know how to take it,” he went on, voice still low, still lethal. And you’d cry the second I stretched that tight little pussy open. You’d scream when my cock pushed in. You’d break before I ever.
That was what he said. Right into my ear. With his hand still hovering close enough to grab me, with his voice low enough to make my throat tighten, and with his body still radiating so much heat I felt it sliding under my skin like something wicked and alive.
My heart didn’t just race..it slammed. My legs went weak. My mouth opened and nothing came out because I could already feel the rejection crawling through my blood like a drug I didn’t ask for.
Then he said it.
He fucking said it.
“And you’d cry the second I split that tight little pussy open.”
My breath caught in my chest so hard I wheezed. My cunt clenched around the emptiness between my thighs like it was trying to mimic the feeling he was describing – like it was desperate to be filled and furious it wasn’t.
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