Chapter 1: Introduction
I walked out of the bedroom, pausing at the threshold of the hallway, naked as the day I was born. I could have been dressed in a tailored three-piece suit, and the outcome would be the same. A twinge of anxiety knotted in my stomach. I took a breath and stepped out of my room.
In the kitchen, Dior stood by the counter, wearing a loose white T-shirt and a pair of green shorts, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun. A soft humming escaped her lips as she reached for a mug in the cupboard.
I saw her start, the mug slipping from her grasp, and shattering on the tile floor.
"Shit!" she exclaimed, eyes wide as she turned to me. The blue ceramic pieces lay scattered at her feet, surrounded by the dark liquid she had been about to pour.
Dior stared at me, her eyes flicking down to my waist before darting back up to my face. She blinked, as if trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
I looked down, following her gaze. There it was, my erection, jutting out like a flagpole in the middle of winter. I gulped, and glanced back at Dior, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that I had never seen before.
"Sorry," I stammered, trying to think of something witty to say, but failing miserably.
Dior bent down, her eyes still locked onto mine, and began to pick up the broken shards of ceramic. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and I couldn't help but stare at the curve of her back, the way her T-shirt hugged her figure.
I stepped closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
I pressed my erection into Dior's ass, as she was bent over cleaning up the mess. She tensed, and I pulled away, apologizing profusely. But she looked over her shoulder, her green eyes glinting with something I couldn't quite place.
"It's okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I felt my heart skip a beat, and I stepped closer again, my hands hesitatingly reaching out to touch her shoulder. She leaned into my touch, her body softening.
I don't know what came over me, but I couldn't help myself. I pressed myself against her again, my erection firm against her ass. She didn't pull away this time, instead, she pushed back, grinding her hips against me.
My heart raced, but as I looked down, I saw the erection start to wilt. My anxiety took over, and my insecurities came flooding back.
I pulled away from her, taking a step back, feeling like a fool. "I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to hide my disappointment.
Dior turned around, a confused look on her face. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I just thought that... never mind," I trailed off, not wanting to admit my deepest insecurity.
Dior took a step towards me, closing the distance between us. "Tell me," she said, her eyes soft.
I hesitated for a moment before finally spitting it out.
"I just thought that I would be enough for you, but I guess I'm not." I said, feeling my eyes start to sting with tears.
I could only nod, unable to speak as she began to stroke me in earnest. Her fingers moved up and down my shaft, her grip tightening as she increased her speed.
"Dior, what are you doing?" I asked, my voice strained.
She looked up at me, her green eyes gleaming with desire. "I'm showing you that you're enough," she said, her voice low and husky.
I shook my head, feeling my doubts creeping back in. "But you said-"
She cut me off, her finger pressing against my lips. "I said I like bigger cocks, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy what you have to offer."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt a surge of desire course through my veins.
"I want to make you feel good, George," she said, her voice full of sincerity.
And just like that, all my doubts disappeared.
Dior led me to her bedroom, and we tumbled onto the bed together.