I bite down on my lip.
Ren: Begging me for what?
Roma: Please.
I suck in a gasp when a photo pops up.
Ren: God, your dick is gross.
I mean cocks in general are hardly good-looking. But I swallow as something stirs in my belly. His cock is rock hard, and I imagine my fingers trailing up a prominent purple vein. I know every inch of that dick and I’m not sure if I should feel proud or disgusted at the fact.
Because I hate Roman Zimin. It’s what’s defined my life for the past few years.
Yet here I am staring at a picture of his cock. That he sent me.
Why the fuck am I getting unsolicited dick pics from Roma?
Ren: Good boys don’t send pictures of their cocks without asking first.
Ren: I’ll tell you when I want a picture.
Roma: It’s photo proof of me dying over here.
Ren: RIP
I snort at my own joke, falling back onto the couch. I propmy feet up on the wall, stretching out however I want because this is my house.
Roma: I made you come last night
Ren: I’ve had better from my vibrator.
Roma: You’re being mean.
The sad little emoji is pure Roma. Images of pouty faces flood my memory. It’s deceiving, though, thinking Roma is a puppy dog.
Roma: Ren please
My feet wiggle against the wall. There shouldn’t even be a debate. I need to block his number and move the fuck on.
Ren: Sorry about your sad dick.
I throw the phone on the end of the couch, swearing that will be the end of it. But seconds later I tear my shirt off.
It’s my house and sitting around naked is no big deal. It’s a lazy Sunday. Why would I be wearing a bra in the first place?
My phone is back in my hand. There’s no way in hell I’m stupid enough to send off a naked photo with my face in it.
But after a few adjustments, I snap an image of my bare shoulder. It’s clear I’m not wearing anything. My hair fans out and there’s the curve of my neck, but my face remains off-camera.
He used to claim my nipples all the time. He’d tug and tear at them. He enjoyed it when I cried out and the memory of the pain brings a wetness to my thighs.
Until I encountered sex with Roma, all my liaisons were vanilla. I’m talking missionary style in dark bedrooms. Theonly true rebellious encounter came during my sophomore year in college when I gave car sex a try.
Last night I didn’t care who saw me. I wanted to humiliate Roma. I wanted the cab driver to pity the poor man with his cock out.
I’d never asked nor taken so much control. I used to happily comply with whatever Roma demanded. He bent me backward, my body strumming for him.
Roma sends me another text.
