Then his signing hand dipped down between my legs.

No, he was no longer that boy. The one who had kissed me for months to get me ready for him and made love to me slowly to make sure I came.

Instead, his hand worked me expertly, rubbing around but not directly on my clit with just the right amount of pressure. Soon I was wet enough for him to sink two fingers in, and God…I let him. My legs fell open to receive him, telling the truth I would never let cross my lips. That my pussy had been waiting for this moment.

Waiting for four years.

He watched me in the mirror while he pumped his fingers into my core, steady but relentless until I was slick with arousal. So slick, we could both see how much I desired him, how much I wanted this in the mirror.

Then he pulled his fingers out.

“Taste and ride,” he commanded before sticking his fingers in my mouth and his non-dominant hand back into my pussy. The taste was tangy and mixed with the salt from his fingers.

I watched…

I watched as I sucked my essence off his fingers. I watched as I rode his hand at the same time.

I wish I could say I was only doing this because he commanded me. But a well of pleasure was already building inside my womb, making me grind into his fingers, my body yearning for more.

Instead of giving it to me, he pulled his hand out. “Do you want to come?”

His signing was less angry now. More cold and precise.

Those fingers. I wanted them back inside me. I had tried. Every chance I got, I had tried with other boys. But this…

This was what I had been missing. What I had never been able to achieve with any of the guys I hooked up with after parties or drunken meet-cutes at bars.

Yes, yes, I wanted to come. I nodded and reached for his hand.

But he didn’t let me have it.

“You forgot to beg,” he signed, raising his hand comically high in the air where I couldn’t possibly reach it.

I would love to say that this was the part where I found some pride I didn’t know I had and told him where he could stuff his request. Maybe I would’ve gone that route if the moaning, “Please,” hadn’t fallen out of my mouth so fast.

A hard beat. Anything could’ve happened next. He could’ve laughed and made fun of me for actually begging him to make me come.

But he didn’t.

He roughly placed my hands on the mirror, forcing me to brace myself against the cold glass.

“Now watch this monster,” he signed. “Watch this monster fuck you the way you fucked me.”

He fisted my braids and plunged into me without any warning beyond that.