Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“Ten.”
His ass is red, his cock is hard, and he’s wearing an
expression like a tiger that’s been released from its chains after
fifty years of captivity.
He bends and pulls up his sweats. Then he turns to me,
smoldering.
In his hard, dominant voice, he says, “Come here.”
Cold panic floods through my veins. Oh god. Oh god oh
god oh god!
Quaking all over, I take a tentative step toward him. When
I don’t go any farther, he gets impatient, holding out his hand.
He gestures with his fingers for me to hurry the hell up.
I take a deep breath and keep walking, biting my lip as I
go. When I’m standing right in front of him, he takes me by
the wrist and pins my arm behind my back, gripping my jaw in
his other hand.
Looking down at me with half-lidded eyes, he says,
“Permission to do with you as I please.”
Even though it’s technically a question, his tone is still that
dark, commanding one.
My heart wasn’t made for this kind of stress. It’s dizzy,
swooning inside my chest like a drunk with balance problems.
“What if…” I moisten my lips, trying to catch my breath.
“What if you do something I don’t want?”
“Say ‘red’ and I’ll stop. If you get uncomfortable but
aren’t sure if you want me to stop yet, say ‘yellow.’ If you like
something, say ‘green.’”
I picture myself writhing around on the bed as he has his
way with me, blabbering deliriously, “Green, green, green!”
“I’ll check in with you as we go to make sure you’re doing
okay. I won’t harm you. You’ll be in charge. Everything stops
if you say so. Now give me your permission.”
He claims I’ll be in charge, but I’m barely even in charge
of my bodily functions.