Turned Out – Part 2

Rick called a week later. 

At first Dominique was indifferent, holding her own, before folding under his relentless verbal game.

They made plans to meet at his place on Friday, though she still had doubts.

She didn’t know him and, like any sensible woman, understood the dangers of going to a stranger’s place.

Still, as much as she tried to fight it, they had a connection. 

To counter her desire, she hoped Rick was a jerk, making it easy to walk away so she could focus on her career. 

Though he caught her at the right time. 

She’d been alone for a while because of a bitter breakup, and just started dating again. 

But the men she dealt with were needy. Plus, their sex game was weak, making it easy to discard them. 

Further, she loved “hard” and didn’t want to endure another broken heart. 

“Please Rick, be a loser,” she thought, before knocking on his door.

He stood in the doorway; her hopes denied. 

Dressed casually, and looking fresh as ever, he invited her in. 

“Hey, baby,” he said in a smooth baritone, his chocolate skin glistening.

The kiss was rough. 

She bristled at first, then relaxed, excited and irritated by his certainty.

“You have no regard,” She said, taking off her coat, which he put on a rack.

“Only for you,” he said, smoothly.

His one-bedroom apartment was tastefully decorated. The eat-in kitchen was enormous, flanked by a medium-sized living room. 

The kitchen and living room each had large single windows running almost the length of the wall, with the small bedroom having two regular sized windows. 

However, what most impressed her about the place was its cleanliness. Everything was appropriately stored with no clutter. Unusual for a straight bachelor. And with the way he moved, she didn’t have any concerns about him being otherwise. 

“Nice,” she said, 

“Thanks… your choice?” he asked, standing behind an ample selection of wine and hard liquor on the kitchen counter. 

“Red is fine.”

He poured two glasses.

“I’ll be straight with you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman that I want to spend time with.”

She focused on him, her gaze unwavering. 

“I’m not gonna simp, try to hold you down or myself back. I don’t do jealousy. When you’re mine, we’re cool, if not. That’s cool too.”

“Just like that?”

“It’s not complicated.”

“You’ve got it all figured out.” 

“That’s right. Skip the drama and confusion.” 

He moved closer. Her breathing got heavy.

“Don’t play yourself.” she said, before taking a sip.

“I’m not. Are you?”

Their eyes locked. 

She gave in first. “Maybe I just wanted to talk?”

He gave her a once over. Everything was black: tight jeans, mock neck, pumps and leather jacket. 

His instincts kicked hard. The truth was right there, he’d seen it a million times before. She was ready to go but didn’t want to seem easy. Cool, he’d clear the runway for a landing. 

“If you say so,” he said, putting his glass down and kissing her hard. 

Stunned by his aggression, she was getting used to his ways. 

Running a hand through her hair, he kissed her again. 

“You taste good.” He said. 

Words jumbled in her throat, before finding their mark. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“You’re safe with me.”

She wanted to respond, tell him “no” or “stop.” Her thoughts slammed into each other and she couldn’t speak, becoming mute under the force of his nature.

He took her into the living room, pushing her onto the sofa. He started with the shoes, jeans, panties, then sweater. 

Her body looked even better without clothes, which was often the reverse with clothes hiding imperfections. 

He put his right index finger in her mouth, running it along her tongue. She was slack at first, then obliged, moving to the rhythm of the finger and puckering her lips to create more tension. 

Grabbing her hair, he pulled her on the floor. She settled on her knees. His eyes said enough, and she unzipped his pants, pulling out his joint which gained full size as her tongue ran across it length.

He guided her head as the pace quickened. Nearing the finish, he abruptly turned her around and propped her on the sofa with her back to him and her hands gripping the padding.

Running two fingers inside of her, he then slipped one in each place. She groaned and tensed, her back flexing. He didn’t stop and kept the fingers moving until she adjusted. Just like before, he just stopped and slapped her ass hard with two quick strokes. Then a few more hits. 

She collapsed under the force and remained bent over with her behind in the air. Moving behind her bruised tail, he entered both places, alternating between the two until time faded in the distance.

The next morning she awoke alone on the sofa. A blanket covered her nakedness. 

He was in the kitchen when she entered, shrouded by the comforter. 

“Hungry?” He asked. 

Her mouth was dry and before she could speak, he pushed away wild strands of hair from her face. 

“Just some water.” 

He handed her a glass. 

“I…” 

“No,” he interrupted. “Don’t figure it out.”

She went to him, resting her head on his chest. 

A single tear rolled down her check. 

End of part 2/4