Can't Touch

by Chara Croft

Sean blushed, right on schedule. Then he yanked the rug out from under all my good intentions: “But I like doing what you want, Tyson.”

“You’re tired?” he asked, sounding like I’d just told him Christmas was canceled. And then he pouted. Fuck me.

I wrapped my hand around his arm as he started to turn away, still wearing a kicked-puppy look on his face that made me want to slay some fucking dragons for him or something.

I never had to worry about whether or not he’d be mad at me, because he always told me exactly what to do and then was super nice to me when I did it.

I’d rushed home just now intending to grant him some more how-to-deep-throat-my-monster-cock practice, but instead had walked in on his evil witch of a mother making him look like he was about to puke so was now hauling him off like some kind of avenging caveman who just wanted to wrap him up in a fuck-off-world forcefield where nothing could hurt him again.

Course I’m sure,” I said... which I should have followed up with something about what a hot little lay he was if I wanted any hope at all of holding onto my manwhore crown. “I want you to be my everything, sweetheart.” Oops.

Then he pulled back and slid home again, sending a wave of… of sensation through me that turned my fit of giggles into a sound so dirty I almost expected someone to pop up and wash my mouth out with soap.