AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Montrell wouldn’t be happy. She wasn’t going to his room for pleasure, but he wouldn’t hurt her out of anger.
She grabbed the knife, just in case.
Montrell rolled to his back, huffing out a breath in frustration. His cock ached. It didn’t help that his mind kept replaying Beatrice telling him he was sweet. His brain had twisted it. When he closed his eyes, it was as if she whispered it in his ear, her breath fluttering over his neck as she pressed hotly against him.
He should masturbate and relieve the ache, but it felt somehow wrong to do that to her calling him sweet.
He didn’t feel sweet. He felt hot and heavy and tortured as hell.
When his door opened, he thought he’d drifted off. He was going to have a wet dream if his subconscious was throwing out Beatrice sneaking into his room for sex. The thought brought relief with it. At least the ache would finally go away.
He could almost smell her. She’d purchased the same perfume she’d worn so long ago. One time, he’d inhaled it deeply into his lungs, burying his head against her neck after he’d sunk his cock inside her. She wore it more lightly now, but the tantalizing scent of jasmine had drifted his way and made him hard more than once in the last few weeks.
Smelling it now wouldn’t exactly make him harder. Not even the cold air as she threw the comforter and sheet back cooled his libido. She paused, staring down at him, and he kind of wished his cock would soften. He was a big man all over. The way she stared at his erection, it was as if she’d forgotten that fact.
He sucked in a breath, wondering if this was really happening. Had Beatrice finally come to his room for what he thought she had? He waited for her to say something.
Beatrice said nothing as she climbed on top of him, the silkiness of her nightgown rubbing along his cock as her weight pressed him into his own stomach. She lifted her nightgown to pull it free. Her pubic hair brushed along his cock instead, and he realized she’d left her underwear behind before the last of his thoughts melted out of his ears.
They didn’t return when her hand wrapped around him, angling him as her thighs shifted wider. The tip of him brushed her warm entrance.
Sudden worry allowed the thoughts to rush back, pinging in his head in a jumbled snarl. Montrell’s hands reached for her hips to stop her. “Wait, Bea, we—”
The blade of a knife against his throat cut off the words. It didn’t cool his libido at all. His body shuddered as he swallowed against the sharp edge.
“Don’t touch me,” Beatrice said. In case he’d missed the knife, she pressed it in a little harder, showing him how serious she was.
The fear in her eyes let him take a full breath. “Bea?” Her name held all the questions he couldn’t speak. They all seemed important, and he couldn’t settle on which one to start with.
“Let me do this, Montrell.” Her hips shifted, trying to find the head of his cock.
She bit the hell out of her lip as she brushed against him, as if the throbbing heat of him burned her.
And he couldn’t keep quiet. “Please wait. If—”
“Would you just shut up?” she cried in frustration. “I don’t want to hear you talk right now. I want to get this done.”
The small hope he’d had of her coming to him in trust died inside. The bitterness of the broken dream choked him as he watched her brace her hand on his chest right below where her other hand held the knife. Her hips shifted and twisted as she tried to settle on him.
His body wasn’t smart enough to care. He wished his desire for her would flee so he could become limp and prevent her from achieving what she was intent on doing, but when her pussy found his tip, he wanted to come right then and there. His brow furrowed as he considered trying.
Beatrice’s face looked determined, and he’d promised her she could do whatever she wanted. He’d meant whatever made her happy, though, and she didn’t look happy. Her eyes were narrowed but somehow vacant, as if she wasn’t seeing him. There was a flutter around her gorgeous cheekbone, above her clenched jaw, as she shuddered over him.
“I’m doing this,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t want to be his anymore.” Her body bore down on top of him.
Or it tried to.
Her pussy only managed to surround the head of his cock. It still felt like bliss to him, but her face flinched and her body jerked. She tried to take him again but only worked the hell out of his tip when she kept flinching back up. She wasn’t nearly wet enough to take his full erection without pain.
“Stop!” he growled, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He didn’t know what the hell else to do.
Beatrice reminded him that she held a knife to his neck when she nicked his skin. “You’re not in control here. I am.” Her expression was back to fierce instead of pained. He preferred fierce. He didn’t want her to hurt at all.
So he tried to tell her that. “You’re not raping yourself with my cock.”
The sound she made, as if he’d slapped her, made him regret his words. Her body jerked up, freeing his cock. “I-It’s not rape,” she said, the slight hesitation in her words squeezing his heart. It was as if she was trying to convince herself. Her next words barely made a sound. “This is my choice.”
“And I want you to make it.” He let his head fall back against his pillow as he tried to relax his body. His mind raced to find a way to convince her of what he really wanted. His gaze didn’t leave her face. There was no way she’d let him touch her. She wasn’t ready for that. She shouldn’t be there at all. “It’s too soon,” he said. That was the truth that mattered.
