Why Should I Care?

The way he looked at me, the way his Adam’s apple kept bobbing every time he swallowed, it was making me think things I shouldn't.

I remembered how he was that night, how he kissed like he had mastered the way of the tongue. The way he took his time, and the size of him. God, the size. 

“Do you want to know the way you felt that night, Isabella?”

The way he asked made me know he didn't care what my answer was; he was going to say it regardless. 

“Why should I care?” I asked, hating how my voice came out as a whisper. 

It was everything about the moment. I had to remind myself he was a bastard. 

“You’re right,” he said. “Why should you care?”

When he said nothing after that, I thought he was going to leave it at that, and for the life of me, I didn't know why I was disappointed. 

“You felt like you wanted to suck me dry,” he said finally, and I gasped. “The way you tightened around me, I feared you were going to snap my dick in half. You kept sucking me in like you didn’t want me to pull back. You were so wet, so slippery that I–”

I didn’t know when I moved, but I was leaning in front of him, my two hands pressed to his mouth. I was so close to his face, my chest heaving, my cheeks red. 

“Shut up.”

And he did. He said nothing, just stared at me, but it wasn’t my eyes he was staring at. No, his eyes went low, to my chest, to where I had an opening in my dress, and my cleavages were peeking out. 

His breath grew ragged. 

“And what about you?” I asked, suddenly regaining confidence. “You were moaning like it was your first time fucking a girl. Groaning like you wanted to stay buried in my pussy.”

His breath hitched, his eyes growing heated. 

I leaned it closer, bringing my cleavages close to his eyes. 

“You want me,” I breathed. “Don’t you, Alexander Hayes?”

It happened without a warning. 

He grabbed both my hands and shot up from the seat, placing me on the table. He held both my hands together with one hand, grabbing my leg with the other. He pressed himself against me, and I gasped when I felt a great bulge pressing against my stomach. 

“I’ll be a fool to say I don’t want you,” he rasped, his eyes dark. “Any man with eyes will want a beauty like you.”

“A-a beauty?” I breathed, and he scoffed. 

“What? Are you acting modest or you don’t really know how you look?”

“I… I…”

Richard’s words from that night kept playing in my head. 

Alexander must have seen something on my face because his screwed up. 

“Your husband is a fool and in love with another.”

A sharp pain went through my heart, but I didn't let it show on my face. 

“I don’t like you, Isabella,” he said honestly. “And I know the feeling is mutual, but we don’t need to like each other to fuck. Hate sex is actually better.”

“And who says I want to fuck you?”

“Your body,” he answered as he leaned down, digging his nose into my neck, and inhaling. “Your scent. You want me to fuck you. Hard. Fast. Rough. And right here.” 

“I don’t want any of that,” I lied through my teeth. 

He pulled back and looked at me, a glint in his eyes. “No? If I go down there, I wouldn’t find you wet and dripping? Ready to take my cock?”

“I. Am. Not. Wet," I gritted, and I didn't even understand why I was still lying when the truth was obvious to both of us. Maybe… maybe it was because I wanted to dare him, to push him. And I knew it worked when the glint in his eyes grew. 

With his hand on his leg, his fingers trailed up slowly, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His fingers reached my inner thigh, and I shivered. 

“Hmm,” he hummed. “I can only feel it from here.”

“Feel what?”

“Your eagerness for me,” he answered.

I scoffed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His fingers moved higher and higher, and I gasped when I felt them on my folds. 

“There,” he breathed as his two fingers gripped my folds. I gasped, my back arching. “Wet and soaked.”

He moved his fingers, rubbing my folds together, and I couldn't hold back my moans. 

“Are you still going to deny it, Isabella? Are you still going to tell me to my face that you don’t want to fuck me when it’s so obvious that you want to?”

He touched my folds through my underwear, rubbing them, teasing them, and I needed more. 

“More,” I breathed, grabbing his hand and pressing it to my core. “I need more.”

“Admit you want me, and I'll give you more, Isabella,” he rasped, removing his hand, and I cried out, about to sit up, but he pressed me down, positioning himself on my entrance fully dressed with my underwear still on. “Say you want me to touch you. Say you want me to fuck you and I’ll fuck you hard.”

And as he said the word ‘fuck’ he thrust, pushing his hips forward and I felt his bulge pressed against my wet core. 

I moaned loudly, unable to hold back. 

“I want you,” I breathed. “I want you. Please, I want you to touch me, to fuck me. Please, Alexander.”

He groaned deeply. “Say my name again. Say it.”

“Alexander,” I breathed, my chest heaving. 

He grabbed my hips and turned me so my belly was resting on the table and my ass was facing him. 

He raised my dress without grace, dragging my panties down. I heard his knees hit the ground, and I looked back to see him kneeling, looking up at me with his eyes dark with hunger and lust. 

“I’m going to drive you crazy the same way you’ve been driving me crazy,” he grunted. 

And then he grabbed my ass, spreading them apart before he went in, putting his face between them. 

I moaned as I felt his hot tongue on my entrance.