Mind and emotions completely at war with one another. He unclips my bra and I know I am in the moment of choice right here. Stop it now, end this foolishness, or suck it up and just enjoy whatever sex happens between us. My lady parts make the aching choice for me, practically crying to be remembered. Two years is too long without a real man between my thighs. Stop overthinking this and dissociate this moment with Alexi Carrero and just see him like any other man. I can do this. I want some release for my throbbing body, and he might be a good fuck with a more satisfying orgasm than my ‘‘BOB’’ can supply. Although that’s a high standard to reach.
My indecision falls to the floor in front of me along with my bra that he expertly unhooked, and he shifts beside me and comes further forward, so he’s looking at me completely side on. and I take a moment to compose myself and find my backbone. I know sex, I control sex and seduction is my forte, if I let him walk all over me I’ll end up tied to his bed and gagged like a whore. I have no intention of letting him think he can treat me like all those little sluts he brings up here, I won’t be his submissive. My fear won’t allow me to be that whether I want it or not.
Over the years my phobia of being used that way has grown and it’s unbearable now, so I need to make sure I stay with my head in the game and not lose myself in surrender. I turn to him boldly, surprised to see he’s already peeled off his shirt and is unbuttoning his trousers, completely topless and toned with a muscular toned body on show and wasting no time at all. Those tattoos are not as far spread as I expected, curling over both shoulders and one side of his neck, down both arms sporadically and peeking out on his hand. As he leans to push down his trousers I catch a glimpse over his shoulder and see the majority of his artwork is down his spine and across his shoulder blades, taking up most of the skin on display and its crazily sexy. All black ink and interwoven oriental designs, dragons and skulls. Something gothic yet beautiful in the way they all flow together to make an intricate lacework of patterns. He has a taste for the darker style of tattoos and I catch a snake interwoven into a skull on his left shoulder as a black widow nestles on top. Morbid beauty. Very Alexi.
He has a body to die for, all toned, tight, and sculpted. That sallow Italian skin is tanned just enough to make me weak at the knees but not garish and overdone like a man who frequents a tanning bed, this is all natural. He is, by physical standards, complete perfection and I guess he spends more time in the gym than I give him credit for—either that or he has great DNA and is lucky to have a fast metabolism and effortless physique. Alexi straightens up in only fitted boxers and I have to try not to check out how much he is packing but it’s unbelievably hard not to notice. If he’s even semi-hard right now then he’s carrying way more than most men and I have a moment of doubt that this will be good. There is a fine line between well-endowed and uncomfortably large, something I learned from working the streets for years. I look away and try and just focus on his face and see the smirk already in place. Mr Confidence oozing all over him. He knows he has a decent size in his shorts, smug prick.
‘’So … no kissing?’’ He regards me with a look of complete amusement and I shake my head. It’s almost like he’s negotiating our contract once more and we’re not standing naked in front of one another, about to change everything. I can tell he thinks the kissing thing is dumb, I mean why wouldn’t he? Nothing is personal or intimate for him; he can kiss sluts all day long and feel nothing. To me there’s something worse about being kissed than being screwed face to face, eye to eye and I would just rather not go there with him after his kiss in the bar started to affect me in weird ways. I kissed people in my past, sometimes. Usually to seduce and as a tool but it’s not something I have done for my own pleasure, or because I wanted to kiss anyone.
Alexi however, changed that.
His eyes look paler, even in the dull light of the kitchen glow from the counter lights; shadows cast on chiselled perfection and I try to steady my racing heartbeat. He works me into a fever just by looking at him this way and I am so going to hell for this. Sleeping with Satan surely has to be bad for your health.
‘’Just sex. That goes nowhere else.’’