Gods & Monsters(35)

“It doesn’t hurt,” I assure him in a whisper and give him a small smile to tell him that I’m okay.

He grits his teeth but doesn’t say anything. His fingers though? They don’t stop. They travel upward, tracing the underside of my breasts, the valley between them. He even flicks a nipple, like it’s an afterthought, and it beads, turning an angry shade of red. I gasp out his name, arching my back. My thighs are slick; I’m pretty sure I’m leaving my wetness on his bed.

I reach out to touch him but he moves away, leaving me clutching the cold air instead of warm skin.

“Lift up your arms. Put them on the pillow.” He readies the camera, brings it up to his face.

Damn it. I hate this. Is this how he’s been feeling all this time? All horny and restless, with no relief in sight?

I am a cock-tease, then. So I obey now. I put my arms on the pillow.

“Arch your back,” he says.

I do that, too.

But Abel isn’t satisfied. He lowers the camera, studying my body once again. Then, he begins to arrange my limbs to his satisfaction. He presses his open palm on my lower stomach and my spine comes off the bed in a sharp angle. He curls his hands over mine and makes them clutch the pillow tight. He even goes as far as to arrange my legs: folding one leg up and forcing my thighs to smash together.

It’s like I’m rocking myself to orgasm on his bed. Only I’m not. I’m staying still so he can capture the fantasy.

And then, a current runs along the length of my spine when I hear the click. Then, click, click, click.

“Bite your lip,” he says.

I do it.

Click. Click. Click.

“Put one hand on your stomach.”

My hand goes to my stomach.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and I smile slightly. “Fuck, hold that pose.”

I hold it.

Click, click, click.

I moan and even though you can’t capture sound in a picture, something might have changed on my face because Abel praises me again, and takes multiple shots.

With every click, I become more aroused, more lustful, more free. My core is juicing up, all sensitive. My nipples are throbbing. My heart is close to bursting with all the love I feel for him.

He circles the bed, bends this way and that, squinting his eyes, looking at me through the lens. And I pose for him, obey his every command to the fullest.

Suck on your thumb.

Pinch your nipple.

Squeeze your tit.

Lie on your side. Arch up your ass.

I do everything. Every single thing. I moan, twist my hips, gasp. I give in to the sensations. Though in the back of my mind, I realize he never asks me to open my legs and show off my slit. He never asks to see it. I wonder why.

He’s growing sweatier, his voice turning raspier. Finally, the time comes when he lowers the camera with shaking hands and just stares at me with naked eyes. His noisy breathing fills the room.

“Tell me you want this,” he croaks.

“I do.”

He goes all loose, then. Years of chasing has taken a toll on my Abel. In a flash, his camera is gone and so is his t-shirt. My eyes try to latch on to every expanse of his bare chest. His tight pecs, those little brown nipples on the slabs, the hard lines and grooves of his stomach, his belly button almost hidden under the thatch of hair that trails down to where his jeans are riding low on his hips.

I hold my arms open for my god and he prowls toward me. My legs spread on their own and he’s in between them, his pants scraping against the soft skin of my inner thighs.

When he’s face to face with me, I whisper, “You never asked to see my… you know. Didn’t you want a picture of it?”

He shudders, fisting my hair, his chuckle sounding more like a rusty bark. “I was trying to be a good guy. A guy who doesn’t ask his girlfriend to flash her pussy just so he can capture it and jerk off to it later.”

I put my hand on his sweaty back; it’s rippling with muscles. “But you are that guy.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should know that I’m that girl too. I would’ve done it. I would’ve done anything for you.”

There’s peace in admitting that. So much peace in giving in that I smile. He groans and grips my chin fiercely. “You should look up at the ceiling and start praying to God. Because this is it. I’m not gonna stop. Do you understand that? I’m not gonna stop because I’ve waited too long for this. You’ve made me wait too long, and I’m too hard up. I’m too starved for it. For your pink cunt. And you know what else?”

I shake my head, clutching the strands of his hair.

“I’ve looked into the eyes of your God and I’ve prayed to Him. Me. I don’t even believe in Him. You’ve reduced me to that. You’ve reduced me to believing in something that doesn’t even exist.”

I’m gushing. My pink cunt, as he calls it — my heart, my eyes. Everything is filled to the brim with hormones, lust and love.

But his warnings are useless right now. I hook my legs around his hips and shudder with the first contact of his naked skin. I clutch the silver cross, dangling from his neck, hitting me on the chin. “What do you pray for?”

He gets even closer to me, the slight hair on his strong chest rubbing against my engorged nipples. “For you. For you to be on your knees in front of me. Looking at me with your innocent eyes, while I wrap your sweet yellow hair around my wrist and feed you my cum. Every last drop of it. And when it’s all gone, I pray that you beg me with your pouty lips to fuck you. So I can claim that last part of you as you’ve claimed every single part of me.” Another rusty laugh. “Isn’t that crazy, huh? I pray to a god who’s dead. He probably died a long time ago.”