Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Olivia

As the pleasure rushes over my body, Clint moves up and kisses me. I feel his cock pressing against me and I cry out, “Oh! Yes!” against his lips. He tries to ease himself into me but I need it faster than that and I hook a leg over his back and pull myself up. His cock drives forward and I cry out against his mouth again.

I realize I can taste my pussy on his lips and tongue. For some reason, that makes me kiss him back passionately. Until this moment, the kissing feels to me sort of like a necessary evil. It’s not something I particularly want to do but it’s a necessary part of the process. Well, that’s not how I feel now. I kiss Clint and I’m genuinely passionate about the kiss. I don’t understand why except maybe just because of how erotic the taste of myself is.

And holy crap, this orgasm!

It explodes over me with an impossible detonation of power. I just don’t have any way to wrap my mind around it. This is not a typical orgasm for me at all. It’s a new sort of orgasm, one that’s absolutely impossible to understand.

Look, I’m no stranger to sex. I was a millionaire before I graduated from high school. Something in my brain is abnormal and I’m driven in ways others aren’t. I don’t know why but I get what I want. You don’t become rich so quickly without maturing quickly or, if not maturing, at least not without thinking your age is a bullshit reason not to do something. That’s probably more accurate. Whether or not I was mature, I thought I was. I most certainly wouldn’t let my age keep me from whatever the hell I wanted to do. So, I lose my virginity early. I don’t want to shock you but I’m twelve when that happens. I’m not exactly a totally lascivious nympho but I’m in no way unfamiliar with sex.

This is different.

Damn it all, this is very different. This is… Hell, I don’t understand how I feel right now except that no matter what my original plan might have been, I don’t hate this. If being humiliated is part of the process of me paying for being rescued, part of making this cost something for me, my plan is backfiring. I don’t feel humiliated because he’s fucking me. I feel overwhelmed with pleasure because he’s making love with me.

I know. I know.

Making love.

Fucking.

I know it’s an irritating distinction but the whole plan is for me to offer up my body so I have a horrible time of things but Clint gets to screw a woman half his age. He gets a young conquest. That’s me paying him back for saving my life. I get to feel humiliated about the sex. That lets me continue to despise him for the way he destroyed the Franklin Meadow project, the only blemish on my otherwise perfect string of projects. I get to go right back to disdain for him.

But damn it, I love everything about this moment. I love his weight pressing down on me. I love his lips against mine. I love his tongue in my mouth. I love holding the back of his head. I love lifting my body up (with both legs now) to meet his thrusts. I love the way his cock feels inside of me. I love… Damn. I love that I can tell he’s enjoying this. I love giving him pleasure. There’s absolutely nothing about this moment that I don’t like, and any plans I have to make this about something other than the beauty of what it actually is just fall by the wayside as I’m carried along by sensation and emotion.

Sensation and emotion I love.

This is not a good thing. I know I’ll be upset about it tomorrow. Hell, I’ll be upset about it shortly after we’re done here. I suppose I might be upset about it now. At least intellectually I am. Maybe the strange and unexpected emotional joy of the moment is just keeping me from experiencing the upset. Hell, I don’t know.

But what I do know it that this is incredible. I know I move my body beneath him not only because it intensifies the pleasure I feel but because I’m sure that it will intensify his pleasure, too. I cling to his body with both my arms and my legs, and there’s tremendous comfort and joy in just holding onto him. It’s a new experience for me to be so emotionally overcome during sex. The thought that this would happen with Clint Bruno is shocking to say the least.

He picks up his pace and I can tell (with the subtle hints guys don’t know they give that they’re getting closer) that he won’t last much longer now. I feel oddly excited to think that I’ve made him so excited. It was the whole plan, of course, but I don’t know how to feel about my own feelings of satisfaction rather than humiliation. I don’t know how to feel about moaning in response out of sincerity and not out of the playacting that’s supposed to humiliate me.

He drives his thrusts into me with more power and purpose. I feel my own orgasm rage to the surface again, and I start shaking but still manage to hold onto him. He groans deep in his chest, something that sounds almost like a growl, and then he thrusts forward a final time. I feel his cock swell deep inside me. I pull him down to me and we kiss as he shudders in my arms. It’s intimate in a way that I’ve never experienced with any other guy.

And that scares the hell out of me.

He stills while I hold him. Then, finally, he rolls away. I feel so exposed suddenly. I look over at him. He has his eyes closed and one arm flung over his chest. He is stunningly handsome and my heart lurches in my chest. Oh fuck! This is not at all what I thought this would be like.

Because I feel fulfilled. Damn it! I feel happy. Content? Yes, I think so.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

I get up and grab my robe and my coat on my way out. I fling them on and grip them around me as I hurry to the bathroom.

And there I try to pull myself together.

I manage to regain a semblance of self-control and then, I open the door and step out. Clint is sitting on the edge of the bed, his boxers on and nothing else. He looks amazing.

“Um, thank you for a, well, this.” I bow slightly. Almost a curtsey like someone meeting the King and then I hurry out of his room and to the front door. I reach frantically for my key in my jacket pocket. I find it and hold it like a lifeline.

I do not need this in my life. I do not need some stupid reconciliation of my opinion with evident fact.

This didn’t help at all. This in no way repaid Clint for saving my life.

I climb into my car and crank the volume on the radio up as I swing out of his driveway and head home.

I don’t want to think right now.

Hell, I damn well don’t want to feel.

I can’t be left alone with my thoughts because all they are saying right now is how totally screwed I am.