Page 39 of Use Me Up

Plus, she takes direction well. I bet she takes direction especially well in bed.

I bet she’s never given a blow job.

I bet I could teach her to give a blow job exactly the way I like to get a blow job.

Admittedly, I maybe taught Callie to give a blow job, sort of. She taught me how to lick pussy, too, but it was just us leading each other around, mutual experimentation, and a lot of it was while we were desperate, in heat, and practically in pain from how badly off we were.

This wouldn’t be like that. It would be me turning Hannah into my personal cocksucker, and she’d like it, and I look at her, drinking her pomegranate drink, and think about having her on her knees, think about caressing her face and telling her that she can definitely fit more of me in her mouth, and that she’s supposed to gag on it, and it’s awful and really hot and I can’t actually do that to her. Can I?

I have an erection and this is part of why I don’t get up and go to Callie, even though I think about going over to talk to her all morning.

Around 9:20, one of Callie’s girl friends shows up and sits with her at the bar, and they never look at us, never once, and this is both maddening and relieving.

Eventually, Hannah and I go to the buffet for the hot food, which is finally out. We get hashbrowns with onions, bacon, cream cheese scrambled eggs with parsley, and little silver dollar pancakes. By this time, I’ve managed to get my stupid erection to go down, but as we’re walking back with our plates, I scent her—her beta arousal, which is heavy and all over her, as if she’s been sitting there, staring at me, getting hotter and hotter for me all morning. She must have been.

I walk too close to her.

When she looks at me, I give her a smile that makes her scent change. It’s a beta scent, so it’s muted and muffled, but I pick it up, and I like her scent, anyway. It’s nice. It’s, um, it’s safe. It reminds me of them, actually, because they are the only time I’ve ever been turned on and felt safe at the same time.

I didn’t know it could be like that with a woman. I guess I assumed that wanting women was all about the fear of rejection and riding that risk was what made it hot.

But she’d let me do anything to her, anything at all. She’d never say no to me.

“Eat fast,” I tell her in a husky voice as we sit back down, and her scent jumps in that cute, muted, beta way of hers, and she fucking wants me, and I like it.

We sit down, and she stabs some potatoes. “Eat fast, huh?”

“Yeah, I have things I want to do to you,” I say.

Another jump in her scent. She puts the potatoes in her mouth and chews. She swallows. “I thought we were giving me a break.”

“Who says we’re using that part of you?” I say.

Her scent goes fucking haywire.

“I mean, as long as you do a good job, I’ll return the favor,” I say. I resolve to keep the orgasms roughly equal. If I come, she comes. It’s fair. It’s probably the only element of this that’s going to be even close to fair. Even if I’m not using her to make Calliope jealous or something, the dynamic here is very much that she does what I want and we both think that’s hot. I think she might have a little kink for being humiliated, too.

Why else did she come downstairs to see her brother not wearing any panties, for instance? And when she came back up to me and I slid my finger into her little swollen pussy, all reddened from the times I had stretched it out, she was wet.

I think about the fact that this woman has never been touched by anyone except me, never been fucked by anyone besides me, and that makes my cock throb.

She doesn’t eat much at all, but then I don’t either. I motion for the check, and I pay for everything, and she doesn’t say anything, because she’s one of those people who’s so casually rich that buying things doesn’t matter.

Belatedly, as I’m signing the check, she says, “Oh, do you want to split this?”

“I can handle it,” I say. “You know, with all the money I made selling my body to strangers on the internet.”

She goes stiff.

I grin at her, letting her know I’m not at all bitter about it. I’m really not. It was hardly selling my body. No one touched me. I resolve to show her the pictures I took at some point. My listing on the site is down now. I took it down, but I have the pictures, still. I feel like the pictures were tasteful, almost artistic. I took them myself, setting up my phone and lights to get the angles I wanted, the look I wanted. I’m sort of proud of them.

And I like the omega in the pictures. He’s not me, he’s not a fucking mess like I am. He’s some kind of fantasy man, the sort of man that an alpha would want to work hard to attain, the way an omega should be.

That’s not like me either.

Those alphas that came sniffing around me, I pretty much rolled over with my ass in the air and let them do whatever they wanted with me.

Fuck, I need to stop thinking about them. I did not call them.