He wants forthcoming, but I don’t understand myself. I’m every kind of fucked up over this . . . and hornier than hell. How the hell did I get into this? I take time for a toke and relive what just happened.

As I near the archway, I tiptoe, eager to catch Jaden unawares for just one second. Information is the only weapon I have, and my arsenal is empty at the moment. I stop dead. Jaden sits on the recliner loveseat with his lounge pants resting low on his hips. I watch, mesmerized, as his large hand strokes his huge cock. He’s massive. Fucking ginormous. His head rests on the recliner, eyes trained on the screen in front of him. Some woman screeches, “Oh yes, give it to me baby” followed by a lot of heavy moaning. His fingers play his cock with the skill of a flutist caressing his beloved instrument. I lean against the cold stone and hold my breath. I haven’t seen anything so hot, or—what? Embarrassing? Shameful? Enticing? So wicked. I push the negative thoughts right out of my head. I order my feet to turn around, but they refuse, seemingly preferring to remain glued to the spot . . . like my gaze.

The problem is, I know very little about the mechanics of consensual sex, and I’m absolutely fascinated by it. I will never tell anyone that dirty little secret. In my head, I chant the poem our mother taught us.

Sex is dirty. Sex is a wife’s duty.

Good girls don’t like sex.

Sex means a man climbing on top and pumping away for thirty seconds or so. In the land of the great uncouth, I occasionally met one who lasted a minute. A blowjob could last for up to two minutes. The awkward time when they fixed their clothes could last for another five minutes—most never undressed. So, the whole sordid thing was done in about ten minutes.

Once when ES visited me at university, he screwed my roommate right there in the room where I slept. I keep my eyes as tightly closed as possible, hands over ears. Totally grossed out . . . but excited. Just like now.

I hate feeling this way. All tingly down there where I’m not supposed to feel anything. My mother and ES told Summer and me that sex was not to be enjoyed; it was a duty done only when married. Mommy dearest added that she’d break a broom handle over my back if I let a boy touch me before marriage.

And now this hunk of a man sits in front of me stroking his dick with one hand and patting the couch with the other. He doesn’t look at me . . . thank God. Otherwise, I’d die of mortification and bolt. I edge toward the recliner and perch beside him. I fasten my eyes on the screen, disgusted and curious at the same time. I really want to watch Jaden making love to his cock, but I’ll meet my maker before I let him know that.

Some bleached blonde babe is going down on a big hairy guy while another smaller man with a very big cock fucks her up the ass. She makes a lot of sloppy wet sounds with the occasional groan thrown in for good measure. Fake and irritating. And hot as hell. I sit there dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and panties and hold myself stiff while I watch.

The woman’s naked body fascinates me. I’ve never seen a woman’s sexy bits before. Naked, yes—I’ve seen enough bare breasts to satisfy all curiosity. Full on vulva spread, no. I sit awash with the questions and no one to answer. What I really want to do is watch Jaden.

“Do what you want.” Jaden’s voice is low and husky. My head jerks to the left of its own free will.

“What did you say?”

Jaden cock hand stills but remains wrapped around his magnificence. He turns his head, and golden eyes dark with lust meet mine.

“If you want to watch, watch. If you want to go, do that. Do what you want to do. Just don’t keep sitting there acting like I’m about to kill your pet dog.” Jaden’s penetrating eyes dare me to look away.

I can’t remember anyone asking me what I want to do. Ever. I curl my legs under me and turn in his direction . . . just a bit, careful not to touch. I don’t want it to look like I’m eager. He mustn’t know I’m dying to touch him. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly so fascinated? His cock must feel like soft velvet over polished wood. Why does it look like the most beautiful thing? I can almost feel the musky heat on the inside of my mouth.

His fingers gently caress the sides of his dong. That’s what the girls called it in the trade when we weren’t calling it a pussy beater. Both names are crude, but then so is calling it a cock. Jaden slides his thumb around the head of his penis, tracing the precum around the glans. It’s beautiful to watch, like art. I salivate as I imagine following the trail of precum with my tongue. I want him to want me, but it’s more than that, and it confuses me.

After what seems a lifetime battle to catch my breath, Jaden takes a firm grasp of his member and strokes hard and fast. I hold my breath, trying to hear him breathe. He’s so damned quiet. Not what I’m used to. He seems so controlled. A mesmerizing display of passion and performance. Then every muscle in that glorious body goes rigid. Wonderful, thick, rich cum arches out of his dong. I want to taste him, all of him. My fingers itch to scoop up just a bit and put it on my tongue. Blood rushes from my head to my groin. I’ve obviously lost my mind. What the hell am I thinking?

We sit in silence while Jaden recovers his equilibrium and tucks himself back into his loungers. Conflicting emotions must show on my face.

“Well?”

“Well, what? I told you it’s the first time I’ve watched.”

His eyes take on a curious glint. “Watched?”

Oh yeah, he’s a man of many words, but there’s something about him that turns the words into a command compelling me to obey . . . and in this case, spill my guts. It’s my turn to get pissy.

“That’s what I said, ‘watched.’” I huff. “What part of jump-on, jump-off don’t you understand?”

Now, those golden eyes roll over me for a few minutes, then he grabs the remote, buzzing through a part where the nauseating blonde is talking to one of the men. Their nod to a storyline, I guess. I sit, studying the screen. I’m dying to ask Jaden what he gets out of watching such bad acting, but given his moody nature, I keep my mouth shut.

Once, in my life before Viper, I watched an erotic movie filmed in Bombay or someplace equally exotic. The women were stunning. The men, beautiful. There’d been fine acting, or as fine as I needed it, anyway. The sex scenes were sensual and highly sexual—oiled naked bodies, gauzy curtains rippling in the breeze, beautifully bronzed, firm asses all flash through my mind. No sexy bits or intercourse—but enough to fuel my imagination. Now, that movie had made me wet. It was much more art than detached humping.

Every nerve ending in my body is aware of Jaden. Sitting right there. Really close. Too close. Breathe. Not too deep, not too shallow. You can do this, Rayne.

I concentrate all my energy on the screen. Another sex scene starts. This time, the blonde is giving head to the hairy guy with the big gut. Ick! But it’s still fascinating in a kinky way I prefer to keep to myself.

So we sit there, both staring at the box emitting muted moans. I search my mind for things to find wrong with it so I won’t have to admit I like it. Yup, I just let my mind coast right on over that little gem.

His hand lands on my thigh. I almost jump right out of my skin. I swear to God I almost squeal in what . . . fright? Delight?

He applies only the slightest pressure, and my treacherous thighs fall apart. I really am having trouble breathing. I so want to look like . . . Oh God, I have no idea what I want to look like. All I know is that his hand is gliding up my thigh toward my pussy. My already sopping wet pussy. My damned double-crossing pussy. It simply isn’t listening to my mind. Clearly.

“Take them off.” His voice is low, barely a whisper, but it resonates like a growl right through me. I shudder. I slide off my panties. Just like that. Shit.

He nudges me back. Again, he barely seems to move, yet I react as if he’s shoved me back. The thought of mind control flashes through my mind. I collapse back against the recliner, legs spread wide. His hand starts back up my thigh, getting closer, oh, much closer this time. All kinds of thoughts are tumbling through my head. For some strange reason, I know he won’t like the idea that I’m not focused on him, on this moment. His fingers insist on my attention as they touch my cunt. Oh shit.

He slides his fingers through the slick wet, slides them over my clit and down around the mouth of my vagina. A spasm of desire shivers up my pussy. I want this. I know I shouldn’t let him see how much. I shouldn’t let him see my weakness. But I am weak.

I’ll despise myself for this moment later. I give in to him, to the symphony of sensation he conducts. I lie there, head back, wanton, craving every wave of raw desire shooting through me. I probably moan as his fingers and hands work their magic over my flesh, sliding, gliding. A nip here, a suck there. Fingers thrust to the hilt. Then removed. Just a flash. A promise . . . maybe. Excitement climbs through me like a top, spinning faster and faster, or like a wire, tightening around a screw, stretching to—

“Let go.” He breathes it in my ear. His fingers circle before applying just a little bit more pressure. I let out a long moan, tense, on the edge. Anxiety seeps in. I try hard not to pant—I concentrate every ounce of energy on it.

He kneels over me, grabs my curls, and yanks my face to his. He isn’t rough, but he’s insistent. My eyes fly open. His gaze drills into mine. “Stop thinking.” Low, insistent, commanding. He lets my head drop back, and I collapse against the cushions. After a few seconds, he seems satisfied and resumes where he’s left off. I let myself look for just a few seconds. He is glorious. Greek God glorious. I always liked the Greeks better than—

Jaden plunges three fingers deep into my cunt and nudges my G-spot. He rubs my clit with his other hand. I gasp and thrust onto those fingers as hard and deep as I can. And those fingers move with some kind of magic of their own, sending vibrations running in concentric circles radiating outward. I’m going to burst. But I can’t let go.

I can’t let myself think about what I want. So I lie there, suspended, like a steam engine without a vent, waiting to explode. He twists my T-shirt as he shoves it up and sucks my nipple between his teeth . . . hard. Every nerve in me climbs toward a pinnacle I just can’t reach. So I do what the girls at the warehouse taught me to do and make appropriate moaning noises.

I almost sob as he withdraws his fingers. I want more. He sits beside me while I recover. I get my breath back and try not to let the confusing chorus of my thoughts ruin the sensations coursing through my body.

Several minutes later, Jaden gets all businesslike. He pulls me up and points me toward the bedroom. “Get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll be leaving first thing.”

I crawl into the big fluffy bed and fuss over what just happened. I’ve actually had sex, sort of, because I wanted to. I liked it. Especially at the end. When he sucked my nipple. Does that make me depraved? I revel in the glorious side of these thoughts for about three minutes five seconds before guilt and remorse set in. I’ve finally acted like the slut everyone says I am. Even worse, I let him see I’m vulnerable. He’ll think I’m like all the rest of them. Easy. The ones who sell themselves for money. Maybe the ES has been right all along. Oh, God.

What will happen? Will he toss me out now that he’s had me? I hope not. A little part of me smiles as shimmers run up my cunt every time I remember . . .