Excerpt from 'Commanding Casey'
Cole:
I try to think about the arrogant little shit she is, but my brain refuses to connect with my body and I’m so hard it’s painful. Living with her, smelling her flower-scented soap, watching the shadow of her moving around, and imagining the taut little body beneath those ugly, bunched-up work clothes that are a size too big for her, has blue-balled me for weeks.
Jerking off, I keep seeing her perfectly rounded hips before me, imagine my hands on them, sliding up to her perky breasts and those delicate pink nipples. I wonder what she looks like when she’s in pain, when she comes. I explode. I come harder than I’ve done in a long time, feeling like a total ass for lusting after someone I should see as a workmate and nothing more. And too young. She’s too young. I’m only five years older, but there’s something so girlish, so innocent about her, despite her cocky surface. I feel like filth and my chest crawls. My old addiction flares up, the desperate need for a body, for heat, to thrust my cock into a wet, tight pussy as I maul soft breasts, to clamp my hand around someone’s throat and feel their fear and excitement. My belly aches. I need the whimpers, the primal desire, the few blissful moments of numbness after a release. I hate her. I hate that she pulls all the shit back to the surface. I want to smack her ass so hard, punish her for even existing.
I grit my teeth as I wipe off, pull on a pair of sweatpants and grab my book, but then it’s as if my feet have a will of their own, as if my body has disconnected from my fucking messy mind. Putting the book down, I push aside the curtain and move toward her room, fixated on that thin, ugly yellow door with dents in it, scraped and worn. My insides burn. My heart pounds. Fuck her. Fuck everything.
I’m going to hell.
I knock. At least I knock. It’s decent. That’s got to count for something.
The last decent thing I’ll do in a long time.
“Eh, yeah.”
That’s as far as my civility goes. I push open the door fully and take in my prey. Because she’s my prey. I will have her. I can’t stay away anymore. I did everything I could to make her keep her distance, told her everything hurtful I could think of, attacked her work, the one thing she seems to take the most pride in. If she hates me, she’s safe from me, but instead she eats me up with her eyes. She’s defying me with her every breath. There’s a tension between us that can’t be quelled with anything less than action.
She’s begging me to take command, and I’m not going to refuse myself this anymore.
Casey half-lies on her bed, a book in her hands, but sits up straight when I take a step inside, putting her book on the bedside table.
“What?”
“Take off your top.”
Her hand shoots to her chest, clutching the fabric. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Her mouth opens and closes. A whole slew of emotions cross her face, then she squeezes her legs tighter together. “Have you gone insane? You can’t just—”
“I can, and I will.” I let my gaze travel along her body, down, back up, coming to a rest on her breasts. Her nipples tent the fabric. “Are you cold?” I smirk. Her eyes follow mine and then she gives out a little gasp and pulls up the comforter.
“Ah-ah.” I grab the bottom of the comforter and pull, just a light tug, testing her, giving her a final chance to get out of this.
She stares at me, transfixed, as she lets me take it. It slides out of her hands and I uncover her whole body before I drop the comforter, letting it fall to the floor.
Done deal. She’s ripe. She’s mine. Time to play.
“Now take off your top.”
Jerking off, I keep seeing her perfectly rounded hips before me, imagine my hands on them, sliding up to her perky breasts and those delicate pink nipples. I wonder what she looks like when she’s in pain, when she comes. I explode. I come harder than I’ve done in a long time, feeling like a total ass for lusting after someone I should see as a workmate and nothing more. And too young. She’s too young. I’m only five years older, but there’s something so girlish, so innocent about her, despite her cocky surface. I feel like filth and my chest crawls. My old addiction flares up, the desperate need for a body, for heat, to thrust my cock into a wet, tight pussy as I maul soft breasts, to clamp my hand around someone’s throat and feel their fear and excitement. My belly aches. I need the whimpers, the primal desire, the few blissful moments of numbness after a release. I hate her. I hate that she pulls all the shit back to the surface. I want to smack her ass so hard, punish her for even existing.
I grit my teeth as I wipe off, pull on a pair of sweatpants and grab my book, but then it’s as if my feet have a will of their own, as if my body has disconnected from my fucking messy mind. Putting the book down, I push aside the curtain and move toward her room, fixated on that thin, ugly yellow door with dents in it, scraped and worn. My insides burn. My heart pounds. Fuck her. Fuck everything.
I’m going to hell.
I knock. At least I knock. It’s decent. That’s got to count for something.
The last decent thing I’ll do in a long time.
“Eh, yeah.”
That’s as far as my civility goes. I push open the door fully and take in my prey. Because she’s my prey. I will have her. I can’t stay away anymore. I did everything I could to make her keep her distance, told her everything hurtful I could think of, attacked her work, the one thing she seems to take the most pride in. If she hates me, she’s safe from me, but instead she eats me up with her eyes. She’s defying me with her every breath. There’s a tension between us that can’t be quelled with anything less than action.
She’s begging me to take command, and I’m not going to refuse myself this anymore.
Casey half-lies on her bed, a book in her hands, but sits up straight when I take a step inside, putting her book on the bedside table.
“What?”
“Take off your top.”
Her hand shoots to her chest, clutching the fabric. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Her mouth opens and closes. A whole slew of emotions cross her face, then she squeezes her legs tighter together. “Have you gone insane? You can’t just—”
“I can, and I will.” I let my gaze travel along her body, down, back up, coming to a rest on her breasts. Her nipples tent the fabric. “Are you cold?” I smirk. Her eyes follow mine and then she gives out a little gasp and pulls up the comforter.
“Ah-ah.” I grab the bottom of the comforter and pull, just a light tug, testing her, giving her a final chance to get out of this.
She stares at me, transfixed, as she lets me take it. It slides out of her hands and I uncover her whole body before I drop the comforter, letting it fall to the floor.
Done deal. She’s ripe. She’s mine. Time to play.
“Now take off your top.”