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“No?” he asked, an amused smile on his lips.
She took a breath. “Gold medal, golden boy, golden balls, I bet you’re clean shaven every day, shirt is pressed… Missionary position sex on Sundays followed by Mom’s meatloaf recipe-”
Carmelo guffawed. “Oh yeah… you got me all figured out, Princess,” he said dryly, shaking his head. “So whatisyour type?” Carmelo probed.
“Oh,” she took a dramatic sigh, “there’s no point tellingyou.”
“How about let me guess?” Carmelo smirked down at her. “You’re used to being treated like a princess, men who date you treat you like a pretty china doll, or a little toy Pomeranian. It’s Disney film style kisses and holding hands and them being Perfect Prince Charming to impress your daddy.” He licked his lips, he had her attention now. “But you want more. You lie in bed at night dreaming of something more. You don’t even know what it is, you can’t comprehend it but you can feel it. You don’t want to be dressed up and shown off.”
She sat forward on her bar stool now, almost hanging off his every word. “What is it I want then, Sergeant?” she half-whispered.
“You want to be dressed down and shown up. You want someone who’s going to bite you and pull your hair and force their tongue in when they steal a kiss. You want wet, crumpled bed sheets under your pretty little fingernails, clawing at them as you sob and shake your way through climax after climax.” Her lips parted now, he heard her breath catch slightly as she took in a quick gulp of air. He carried on. “You want a dirty bad boy to meet you, best you, treat you oh so bad but oh so good. You don’t want people to look at you like the cute little daughter of the mafia man they fear. You want to be desired, held, grabbed, spanked, you want to sputter as a hand closes around your throat rather than that hand fastening another pretty little meaningless piece of jewelry around your neck.”
She looked over, staring at him wide-eyed, a look of elation and discovery on her face. “Everyone does what I say, nobody ever says no to me, nobody ever tells me what to do. I was just thinking… nobody ever pushes back, nobody ever truly meets me, like toe to toe, for one moment maybe…”
“Don’t stop there Princess, you can’t stop there, tell me what you want,” Carmelo said, realizing he had no breath in his lungs.
She tossed her long dark ponytail over her shoulder with a confident flick and batted her thick as a forest eyelashes at him. “I can’t imagine most of what I want, I don’t even know half of what I want, you are right, but I can imagine a bad boy would know how to get me there.”
Carmelo very deliberately put his whiskey glass down. Slowly and carefully, he licked his bottom lip, aware that his cock was standing to attention and digging awkwardly and probably very visibly into his pants. He took a breath, waiting for her to laugh, to back out, to take it back and back down and pop off the bar stool and walk out of his life. But she didn’t. She stayed, looking at him with a deep, dark look. A look that spoke of lust and desperation. Of loneliness. The same loneliness Carmelo felt gnawing at his soul.
He saw that hunger. He knew it. He could match it and raise her one. Oh fuck did he know that feeling. He waited a fraction of a second longer. She didn’t back down.
He took a breath and spoke. “Princess, I’m not the good boy who would bow down at your feet, and be gentle with you, I’m the bad boy who’d push you to your limits and beyond, rudely, roughly, and without remorse.”
He could see her chest rising and falling erratically, the pulse in the base of her neck speeding up fluttering wildly, pupils dilated, her lips parted. Oh yeah, she wanted this.
“You wanna do this, right here, right now?” he heard himself saying.
She merely breathed.
“You want some pushback?”
“Yes, yes,” she stammered, her voice now husky, “some fight. I want dirty talk, I want to be treated a little bit roughly. Everyone says yes and agrees to everything I say, wraps me in cotton wool and is nothing but respectful-”
Then he’d start here and now. Carmelo held the whiskey in his mouth for a moment, then brought the glass back to his lips. He maintained eye contact with her as he half dribbled, half spat it back into the glass. As if he was spitting on her pussy. She starred with wide, shocked eyes.
“You want to be called a naughty girl.”
“More,” she said, eyes on his lips.
“A dirty girl.”
“More.”
Carmelo threw caution to the wind. “A wet little fuck hole. My greedy little cum slut.”
Her face went a whiter shade of pale. Carmelo worried he’d gone too far.
But then color returned. A pretty pink blush blossomed in her cheeks and her pupils melted and her lips parted and her eyelids hooded. “Yes.”
Carmelo reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out the handcuffs. “Put them on, Princess. I’ll give you what you want right fucking now, and more.”
She eyed the handcuffs in front of her on the bar. “Do we need a safe word?”
He smiled as she picked up the heavy metal handcuffs, turning them over in her hand. “Princess, you say no and I stop, that’s the safeword.”
“What if I want to say no but want you to do it anyway?” she asked.
