21

Dolly

I think he’s going to fuck me.

Only, when we get to Oscar’s bedroom, that’s not what happens at all. He undresses me slowly, carefully stripping away layer after layer of clothing, and then he spreads me out on the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking up at him. He’s not getting undressed.

“Quiet, Dolly.”

I watch him watch me. I bite my tongue. It’s hard to stay quiet when he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me up.

Oscar crosses his arms over his broad chest, and he looks at me.

What’s going through that head of his?

“Oscar?”

He shakes his head.

Quietly, Oscar slips out of his jacket. He sets it on the back of the red velvet chair that rests just next to the window. He stares out of the window for a moment. Then he takes a breath so deep his shoulders rise up. When he turns, he begins unbuttoning his white shirt.

And I watch.

I watch the man who stole me away.

I watch the man I stole first.

“Oscar.” I say his name again.

He undoes a button.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Another button.

“What’s happening?” I whisper.

The last button.

He slides the shirt off. It lands on the floor. He kicks his shoes off. Then his socks come off. A moment later, he undoes his belt buckle. His pants slide down.

I stare at Oscar in his black boxer briefs. His chest is covered in tattoos. A large ship features waves that appear to be endless. He’s got an octopus or kraken of some kind that laces up his left thigh. His right leg features more sea creatures, more mystery, more intrigue.

“Oscar.”

He climbs onto the bed and kneels between my legs.

“You are a mindfuck, Dolly,” he says.

“Am I?”

“You’ve got me feeling crazy,” he says.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

He leans down, and he presses his lips to my belly. He slides us tongue up, carefully gliding between my breasts. He doesn’t touch them.

I want him to.

A moment later, he’s at my neck, and then my lips.

He dominates my mouth, owning everything I am. I reach for him, but Oscar pins my hands down on either side of my side. He kisses me harder.

Faster.

Deeper.

I arch my back up, pressing my breasts into the ship on his chest.

Oscar laughs.

“Feeling eager, pet?”

“I’m not your pet,” I say.

“You always will be.”

He slides his hands down my arms, down my sides, and to my hips. As soon as his hands are there, he slides back. Oscar returns to that kneeling position between my legs.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “Why are you stopping?”

I want so much more.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

“I want you to fuck me,” I say quickly. If asking him for what I want gets me that thing, I’m not embarrassed. I’m not scared to ask.

“No,” he smiles. “I don’t think I’ll do that.”