Page 32 of Exposed

This is starting to feel like violation.

Betrayal.

And then you slide your erection out of my mouth and your fist closes around it and you begin pumping your fist up and down, up and down. One hand in my hair, knotting my locks in your fist.

“You want to take it on the face, don’t you? Like Rachel?”

Why are you doing this?

I could cry, but don’t.

I watch your hand move in a blur on your shaft, and then your face tightens, your jaw clenches. You point the tip of your penis at my face. You release in silence, lip curled in a sneer.

You come on my face.

It drips hot down my forehead, trickles into my hair. Down my cheek. Splashes hot onto my lips, and I taste salt. Down my chin.

You step back, and I shoot to my feet, fighting sobs. I stand, chest heaving, disgusted, aching in my soul.

And... oh, I hate myself. I loathe myself.

Because I cannot deny the truth: If you had done that without forcing me, I might have liked it. Watching you. If it had been my hand on you instead of your own, if it had been done with any kind of mutuality...

But it wasn’t, and I am enraged.

I spit your own semen into your face. “Fuck you, Caleb. You are a pig.”

“It’s what you wanted.” You make no move to wipe away the spittle-tinged semen from your cheek.

“Not to be forced to it!” I shout.

I am seized, spun around, pressed flat against the door, and then you are up against me, and you bend at the knees and slide up and into me. Slowly, gently. Your lips touch my shoulder. The back of my neck, just beneath my hairline. You hold my hair up in a pile on top of my head and kiss my neck, down the curve to my shoulder again. Thrust.

You’ve already come, but you are either still hard or impossibly hard again already.

“Like this?” Slow, gentle, gliding thrusts, kisses to my neck.

Yes, part of me says.

“No,” I growl. Push back, elbow you as hard as I can.

I let you put your penis in my mouth, but then you took more than I was willing to give.

I never said no, did I?

I question everything now. Myself most of all.

I still have your come on my face.

“Tell me to stop, X.”

“Stop, Caleb.” My voice is calm. I am proud of this, because I am not at all calm.

You release me, back away. Empty, I sag. Brace against the cold silver metal of the elevator door. Chest heaving. Gasping. Tears prickling my eyes. I turn around. Take a step toward you.

I slap you, open handed, as hard as I can. My palm cracks against your face. I slap you again. And again. You make no move to defend yourself.

“That is how I treat them. I do not ask them what they want. I fuck them. I do what I want. I am not gentle. They take it, or they leave.You... I don’t do that with you becauseyouare not like them.” Your cheek is red from my slaps.