But I wasn’t scared now. And I didn’t care about being called a slut. I didn’t care about anything right now except feeling Charlie Dwyer’s cock inside me, hearing him tell me what he was going to do to me, hearing myself say the things he asked me to.
Apparently he didn’t care about anything else either, because he was kneeling in front of me rolling a condom over his dick before I could even blink. His face was shiny from his chin to his nose, and the sight of my wetness over his handsome features had me spreading my knees wider, breathing harder.
He took his cock in his hands and teased me with the tip, rubbing it over my sensitive clit. Just like Brad Pitt in the shower, but real. Real! I moaned with impatience, my hands fisting. “Please, Charlie.”
Suddenly he thrust up inside me so hard I was jerked right off the floor. He grabbed the backs of my thighs and hooked my legs around his hips. “Told you you’d beg.”
He gave me what I wanted, and he gave it to me hard and deep. My wrists banged around inside the cuffs, the cool sharp pain in my bones a delicious contrast to the heat buzzing through my core. “That feels—so good,” I said, barely able to speak between hot, heavy breaths.
Charlie’s eyes were locked on my face. “God, you’re beautiful. I’d forgotten how beautiful you were. Or maybe I never knew.” He slid one hand up my side and closed it over my breast, looping the other one around my waist. When he pinched my nipple hard, rolling it between his fingers, I dug my heels into his ass and arched my back. “Fuck yes, and the way you taste…” His hips moved faster, his cock driving into me with a steady, pulsing rhythm. “I like that sweetness all over my fingers, my tongue, my cock. Dripping from you.”
Soft little sounds escaping my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in my shoulder. “You’re going to make me come again.”
“Good.”
“Come with me,” I breathed, desperate with the need to have him fall apart too. This couldn’t only be me. He felt how good it was, right?
His hands returned to my ass, jerking me onto his hard length, and I gasped at the hot twinge of pain when he hit the furthest reaches of me. “Fuck yes,” he growled, the friction between our bodies overwhelming him, the depth of his thrusts overwhelming me. My insides squeezed his driving cock, tightening to the point of pain, and for a terrifying moment I lingered at the brink of my second orgasm, unsure if I’d be able to come again without being able to use my hands, pull him closer, put the pressure where I wanted it.
But as if life wasn’t unfair enough, not only did Charlie Dwyer grow up gorgeous and built, he was also apparently a scholar of female anatomy, at least where orgasms are concerned. Right at the critical moment, he tilted my hips in such a way that the base of his cock rubbed my clit, his movements shortening to tiny little thrusts as he came, sending me over the edge. My toes pointed, my mouth fell open, and my entire body went rigid with tension before pleasure unfurled inside me, our bodies pulsing together in unison.
A moment later, I hung limply from the barre and opened my eyes. Charlie’s were still closed, his breaths still quick.
“Um…” I started. But I had no idea what to say. Would this be awkward again? At least this time it wasn’t only me who’d lost control.
Charlie opened his eyes, and a little flutter went through my belly at their deep blue warmth. An aftershock, I decided quickly. Not feelings. For heaven’s sake, we hadn’t even kissed. There were no feelings. But I’d never had sex with anyone I didn’t have feelings for, so it was no wonder my body was confused. My mind just had to keep reminding it that this wasn’t that. It would never be that, and I didn’t want it to be that. Didn’t need it to be that.
“You OK?” he asked, his voice soft. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was tenderness.
“Me? Oh, totally. Totally fine.” In contrast, my voice had a false, annoying ring to it.
“Totally fine.” He eyed me suspiciously before lowering my tank top over my bra. “OK.” He seemed so different—spoke differently, moved differently, acted differently—when he wasn’t turned on.
Then again, I did too. And the transition from one to the other was a little rough.
He unwrapped my legs from his waist and gently extracted himself from me. I sat on the floor, arms immobile over my head, as he disposed of the condom into the empty carry-out bag and bunched it up. Finally he zipped up his pants and reached into his pocket. A moment later, the cuffs were off and my wrists were free.
My arms came down slowly, as if they were floating. It was like that feeling you’d get as a kid when you did the thing where you press your arms away from your body in a doorway, and when you step away, they float up on their own. My fingers were a little numb, and I flexed them, working the blood flow back into my hands. My wrists were sore, and I imagined they would be pretty bruised up tomorrow.
I’d have to wear long sleeves to Thanksgiving dinner and have an excuse ready if my mother caught sight of them.
Because girls like me did not do what I’d just done.
Especially with boys like Charlie Dwyer.
Oh, God. Reality sank in deep. I’d had handcuffed sex in my dance studio with Charlie Dwyer, and he was still standing there looking at me.
What was I supposed to do now?
Pants.
Pants would be good here. I reached for mine as Charlie picked up the trash.
“I’ll be right back,” Charlie said, heading out of the room. I heard the back door being unlocked and figured he was disposing of everything in the dumpsters behind the building. He was gone longer than necessary, in my opinion, and I wondered if he was out there berating or congratulating himself. Was he sorry things had gotten out of control again? Jesus, I hoped not. How embarrassing if he came back in here and apologized! And then what would I say? Sorry I sat on your face like that?