Beg Me(23)

The brunette nodded before taking another bite, her eyes almost closing as she bit into the thick sourdough coated with mayo. I looked on approvingly. Oh yeah, the little girl was already learning that it was better not to argue, better not to put up a fight, everything would work out if you just listened and obeyed.

Because I wanted everything to go smoothly, and for that, there were rules.

“Lindy,” I drawled, casually seated on the chair next to her, fingering a tumbler of whisky, the amber liquid fiery through the glass. “I have a couple rules around this place that I thought I should explain.”

The girl swallowed, taking a sip of water.

“Rules? Sure, no prob, I’m a really great houseguest,” Lindy nodded before biting into the sandwich again. “I hang up all my towels, do dishes, all the good stuff,” she volunteered.

And that made me chuckle deep in my chest.

“No, not rules for houseguests, nothing like that,” I rumbled. “What I meant are rules especially for nubile young females that stay here.”

The brunette frowned suddenly.

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly. “You’ve had girls here before?”

And I cursed internally. Of course I’ve had women at the house, I lost my virginity thirty years ago and was still enjoying the pleasures of the female sex each and every night since. But Lindy was new to all this, precious and innocent despite the fact that she’d just been breached, so I tried to be gentle, brush it under the rug a little.

“I’m forty-five honey,” I said gently. “And I’m not a virgin, so I’ve had girls over before, yeah.”

And the brunette thought for a moment.

“But are you… are you still seeing anyone now?” she stammered, flushing as she put down her sandwich.

And that one was easy to answer.

“No one but you, honey,” I said genuinely. “It’s only you.”

And she smiled hesitantly then, biting her lip.

“Good, I’m glad Mr. Jones,” she said quietly, “Because I’m not sure ….” Her voice trailed off.

“Not sure exactly how you’d feel if I were seeing other women?” I finished.

And she nodded silently, her eyes wide and fixed on mine, her lips trembling as emotions crossed her face, a rush of elation, confusion, indecision, the mix so new to her that it was impossible to put words to.

But I merely took her face between my big palms and dropped a kiss on her lips before looking deep into those warm pools of caramel.

“Honey,” I rasped, imbuing my gaze with genuineness, with truth. “So long as you’re with me, I won’t be with anyone, I promise. It’s just you.”

And the girl grew rosy again, a smile breaking out and wreathing her lips, the indecision falling away.

“Oh good,” she whispered, “Thank you, Chris.”

And my heart swelled with what, I’m not sure. The way she trusted me? The way I felt like I had her heart in my hands, her sweetly giving nature, that warm body available and pliant in my arms? But I shook my head. This was a ten day thing, nothing more, so there was no long-term planning, no serious investment.#p#分页标题#e#

But something in my heart, my brain, knew I was lying to myself, knew that this was starting to be more, a kernel of emotion blossoming, taking root. I shook it off, cursing myself internally. This wasn’t the time to have second doubts because I was just about to lay down the rules, establish myself as the man of the house.

So I turned back to the brunette, who was nibbling on her sandwich once again.

“Baby,” I said gently. “While you’re with me I want to set some ground rules. There aren’t many, but there are a few I thought you should be aware of.”

And she nodded, licking her lips slightly, lapping up a couple crumbs. I was so distracted by that pink flicker that I almost lost my train of thought again, almost jumped her right there, under the kitchen lamps. But fuck, back to business.

“Of course, Mr. Jones, I’m all ears.”

And I nodded approvingly.

“Good, because the first one is this,” I said, pulling a tiny black g-string out of my pocket, the lace sheer and fine, the crotch nothing but a postage stamp of cloth. “When you’re in the house, this will be the only thing you wear. I want everything else bare, boobs, butt, ass, open and creamy.”

And the girl gasped, her cheeks flushing. Again, that g-string couldn’t have been more than a square inch of cloth at most.

“But Mr. Jones,” she sputtered. “I –I –I’ll get cold!” she protested helplessly.

I grinned wolfishly at her.