The Fighter's Prize
By: Jessa KaneHer smile is lopsided. “Why start asking questions now? You’ve already picked me up without permission like a caveman.”
“You are tiny little thing,” I rasp. “I wanted to cradle you.”
For some reason, her features soften at that. “You don’t spend much time around women, do you?”
I shrug. “They are around once in a while, but they do not have eyes that hurt my stomach. In truth, I don’t care enough to look at them.” I grunt, bundling her closer. “You…you will be major distraction, kotik. Bad for my career.”
She purses her lips. “Oops.”
I hear a strange sound and glance around for signs of a threat.
Then I realize it’s the sound of my laughter.
Whitney smiles up at me and my heart jams painfully.
With a wrench lodged in my throat, I continue stomping toward the back office. “I will murder this man who wants to marry you!” I roar.
When we reach the office, I don’t know what to do with her. She said kissing. Does that mean I will be on top of her? On the resting couch? I don’t think that would be wise if I want to keep my seed. No, definitely not. With her pinned underneath me, I would ejaculate immediately.
Neither one of us pretends she actually needs to use the phone. But I still don’t know why she came here. What she needs from me. I want to question her further and determine her game, but I doubt I would be able to focus on anything knowing she’s willing to kiss me.
Whitney must notice my indecision, because she pats my shoulder. “Could you maybe sit down?” She glances around. “In that chair.”
It is amusing that this fragile girl seeks to direct me.
It is alarming how quickly I obey her.
I settle her carefully on her feet and sit down in the overstuffed armchair, stretching my arms out on the rests, though my hands dangle well over the edges. I didn’t bother to turn the lamp on in the office, so Whitney is backed by the halogens from the main floor, rimming her in light like an angel, and my chest starts to lift up and shudder down, my palms sweating. I’m very aware that I could rip off her tight, flimsy red dress with a swipe of my pinky.
I make a rough sound when she steps between my outstretched thighs and settles her hands on my shoulders. Tentatively. This has brought her tits even closer, those tiny buds straining so close to my face, I might live up to my nickname and go mad. This is when I notice her smell. Fresh fruit. Cantaloupe, grapes, pineapple. It imprints on my senses forever.
“I guess I’ll just go for it, then,” she whispers, lowering her face to mine.
My fingers dig into the arm rests.
Her soft, painted mouth touches mine and she sips at my upper lip. Feather light. My lower lip is given the same exquisite treatment. She teases my mouth so softly, but my cock reacts as if it is being suckled, standing straight up like a column in my shorts. I open my mouth to groan and she hesitates a second, before sliding in her tongue, lapping at mine like the kitten she is. And I can no longer let her explore.
I reach for her hips and drag her down into my lap, giving her no choice but to straddle me, though I am so much larger, her knees do not even reach the seat of the chair. Caught off guard, she loses her balance slightly and her tits land hard against my bare chest, her hair falling forward over one wide blue eye.
Beautiful. So beautiful it feels as if someone is sawing my windpipe in half. It is also obvious that whatever game Whitney came here to play, she is clearly very innocent.
She pushes up slightly, but the hem of her dress is caught between us, so the material pulls and out pop two luscious, little tits.
My hoarse moan is loud in the small office.
“We cannot let me spill, kotik.”
“Right. Right.” Whitney scrambles to pull up her neckline, but the dress is too short. She cannot accomplish the task without sacrificing the material covering her ass.
“See?” I rasp, reaching behind her yanking the hemline up and over her hips, baring her backside. “This is why pants are important, da?”
She stares at me with pink cheeks. Nods.
And then she slides closer in my lap…and her warm pussy pins my cock to my belly.
Every nerve ending from my head to my toes twists into tight knots, my balls wrenching up and digging into my lower body. Ordering me to ease the pain. But I can’t. I can’t.
