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And so, I sighed and decided to play along.
"Okay," I said and lifted my chin, returning the strength and will to my backbone. I had apologized; he was now being opportunistic; I had nothing to be afraid of anymore.
"What do you want?" I asked. "I mean, what would be acceptable for you as a token of a proper apology."
He watched me, and then he passed by me and headed over to the couch by the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The grounds of the mansion could be seen from this window, and as I looked out toward it, it took my breath away. As far as I could see was the beach and rolling hills and the gorgeous sunset in the sky. The hues were pink and magenta and a burnt orange, and they all brought an excitement in me that was difficult to contain.
He took his seat on the couch, lounging on one end, and then he casually crossed one ankle over his knees. I watched him, and my hands began to twitch. What I wanted more than anything else was to lift my camera and capture this gorgeous moment.
"I only want one thing," he said, and I barely heard him. I wanted to take this photo of him. I lifted my camera eventually and, before he could turn away and protest, I took the shot. I looked at it afterward, my heart racing in my chest, and it instantly took my breath away. This was what was commonly referred to as picture-perfect, and I didn't think so far, I had had a shot even remotely beautiful as this. Our eyes once again met through the lens, and as I stared down at it, I knew that I was also trying to remove myself.
"You just took a photo of me?" he asked, and I was so grateful that we were talking about a less intense topic because I needed it to get my bearings together.
"I did," I replied as confidently as I could manage. "It's my job."
I found the courage then to look up to see if he was annoyed and if it was reflected on his face. However, I found that he was none of the above. His expression was neutral, but his attention was so focused on me that for the seconds afterward, I was almost scared to breathe.
"Have you ever sucked cock before?" he asked, and this time around, I truly froze in place. He kept staring while it took me quite a while to recover, and then I processed the question and didn't truly know whether to be offended at all. I mean, this should classify as sexual harassment; however, I had had the intention of being intimate with him before, so would that accusation and avenue for offense hold?
These were the very reasonable and logical questions that my head was asking. My sex, however, was throbbing so painfully that I wanted to grab myself, just so that I could reduce the ache. So that I could put myself out of the misery that this uncontrollable arousal was causing to my body. Still, I didn't want to seem naive or shy or unprofessional, and so I managed a smile and responded to him.
"No," I replied. "Have you?"
He smiled then, knowing I was genuinely being defiant.
"Come here," he called, and I was once again presented with a different dilemma.
Would I do as he had asked? However, if I did, then my reason for coming in here in the first place would be completely useless.
"What's the worst-case scenario?" I asked myself. I truly thought about this and agreed that the worst was that somehow, by answering his call, he would actually get me at the end of the day to suck his cock. The problem now was, did I mind? Just the thought of it was making my heart race with need and anticipation because, wasn't this what I wanted? Despite how angry I had claimed to be with him over the past several days, it was more or less all that I had been able to think about. I had imagined it, fantasized about it, rubbed my clit to the thought of it. I was nearly hyperventilating now just at the thought of it, but of course, I didn't want to appear too eager to or easily manipulated by him. I wanted to go over to him and curse him at the same time, and the inner turmoil at these two conflicting needs was pure torture.
I watched him then, waiting and decided that I could try a way to hold an element of control.
"I could," I replied. "But first of all, I'd have to see what you're working with. It would be terribly annoying if I went through the trouble of getting on my knees and then realized that it's a waste of time."
At my words, his brow raised, and even though my blood was now roaring through my ears at my audacity, which certainly didn't match my guts, I couldn't help but be impressed. This was surely a way to keep him in check; my only hope was that it would actually work.
He watched me, and I waited with bated breath for how he would react. Then, to my surprise, he gave me a command.
"Shut the door," he said, and my heart jumped into my throat.
This was the moment of truth. This was the moment where I had to decide if I was going to do this or if I was going to literally tuck my head between my legs and run for my life. However, the more I looked at him, the more my knees literally weakened.
Now I had captured the moment, and I truly, beyond all else, wanted to live in it. So, I turned and did as he had asked. I headed over to the door and turned the lock. I couldn’t turn around yet, though, but he didn't force me. He waited until I was ready, and then I turned around.
"You can come over," he said, "to see what you want to.”
I almost couldn’t breathe, but I was ready and more than eager. So, I headed over to him. When I arrived, I loved that I could stare at him from the top to the bottom. Eventually, I had to lower down. However, I squatted and went down to my knees.
He straightened, then uncrossing his legs, his legs were wide open before me.
"Do you need help?" he asked, and I nodded.
“You should handle that yourself.”
He studied me, and then he smiled.
“I don’t want to. You’re not going to insist I do, are you?”
