Narrowing his eyes, he ground out, “It’s not fucking small.”
Why wouldn’t this conversation just end so I could open up a pack of toaster strudels and eat myself into a depressed coma? We didn’t have those back home, so sue me—I was eating them every day because I loved them so much. That was the definition of comfort, and I needed a lot of it after this.
“Did it hurt to get done?”
A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, but I can’t say it made me feel comfortable. More likely wary of what he was about to divulge. “I’ve got two.”
I’d heard rumors and read books about how good a penis piercing felt during sex, so maybe that was his way of rectifying the small issue at hand?
“I’ll correct my wording. Did they hurt?”
“The single frenum piercing didn’t, but the apadravya hurt like a fucker,” he said matter of factly like we weren’t discussing needles and metal in his torpedo.
Shuddering at the mental image of a thick needle going through the poor thing, I made a mental note to look up what both of those were. Don’t judge me, I didn’t have space in my tiny brain to store information like that away.
“When did you get them done?”
“The apadravya was done five years ago, and the frenum piercing was done last year.”
The next question was pertinent, and there was no way anyone wouldn’t have asked it. “Why did you get them done? I mean, if someone came near my poor vagina with a needle, I’d kick them in the face and run.”
He’d been smirking when I’d first started talking, but by the time I finished, he was glaring at me. Squinting, he suddenly rolled us so that he was on top of me, momentarily giving me all his weight and making the air squeak out of my lungs.
Seeing my predicament—if suffocation was classed as a predicament—he braced his forearms on either side of me on the mattress and lifted his upper half off me. This still left with his petite pee-pee pressed against my slut of a vagina, though.
“Let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we?” he started, and I bit back the sigh that automatically wanted to burst out of me at those words. I hated it when people said things like that—generally because I was in trouble, though. “One, I don’t want to hear about anyone touching your vagina. Not for piercings, not for a doctor's appointment, not even because you let some fuck head,” he growled the two worded insult, “touch you in the past. Do you understand?”
I might be blonde, but I definitely wasn’t stupid, so I nodded quickly.
“Two, I don’t have a small dick. The piercing you felt was the frenum one, and it’s halfway down.”
If I didn’t know that I’d look like the biggest loser in the world, I’d have burst into tears with relief at this news. Instead, I tried to do the math in my head. If that was halfway down and he wasn’t hard, then… ohh!
Seeing my expression, and again reading it correctly, he nodded. “Yeah, and now,” he ground down into me, letting me feel the piercing and how hard he was now, “you get it. Although, this one,” he pulled his hips back until I felt the hard tip pressed against my panties.
Pushing it forward again, he showed me the other piercing by skimming it over nerves that I swear were just begging for him, “is hard to miss. It feels better when the mid-shaft one follows behind it.” And then he proved it by gently rubbing them back and forth a couple of times.
Swallowing, I tried to find the ability to talk, but it was gone. I really needed to look up what they looked like.
Not liking the smile he was giving me because it was too smug, I stuttered, “D-do you have a… oh shit… a bar or a…” an embarrassing sound came out of me as he increased the pressure slightly, “a r-ring?”
He was just about to answer when there was a loud knocking on my door, and someone pressed the bell. Hiding how disappointed I was, I cleared my throat and squeezed his side. “I better g-get th-that.”
His smile widened into a full-on grin as he rolled off me and onto his back.
Cursing whoever was at the door at this time of day, I scooted down to the bottom of the bed and reached for the pair of sweats that were sitting on the chair next to the door, only realizing too late that they were Elijah’s.
With a groan, I rolled the top up until I was in danger of advertising a camel toe no woman wanted—well, few wanted—and opened my bedroom door.
I’d just taken my first step into the hallway when he called my name. Looking over my shoulder at him, I tripped when I saw him holding his penis up for me, and even the massive dressing on his hand couldn’t have distracted me from it. “That’s what both of them look like. Now you don’t need to look it up online and see another dude’s cock.”
Penises are ugly. Let’s face it, all genitalia are ugly. When they do so much for us and bring us so much pleasure, I've no idea why they weren’t beautified during the human creation process. Evolution had brought us from primates to humans, but they couldn’t make a pretty penis or vagina? Fuck’s sake.
But it had to be said, Elijah’s cock with sparkling silver jewelry through it? Now that looked pretty. Like when you put decorations on a Christmas tree, it goes from plain to beautiful. Well, Elijah’s pecker was my Crimble tree right now.
That’s why I didn’t take my eyes off it as I walked toward the door and ended up flipping over the back of my couch and landing on my shoulder. Like that wasn’t bad enough, thanks to his sweats being a million sizes too big around my waist even with them rolled up to camel toe proportions, they slid down my legs until they dangled off my ankles.
I probably would’ve wanted to die from embarrassment normally, but I couldn’t get the mental image of what I’d just seen out of my head. It was playing on repeat, and now the curious side of me wanted to know what they felt like.
More knocking at the door reminded me why I was walking away from the pretty pecker in the first place.
Using my shit upper body strength, I began to push myself up so that I could stand when two large hands wrapped around my sides, and I was lowered onto the floor with my back against his front.
“Answer the door, pixie,” he whispered in my ear, making goosebumps break out all over my arms. “Don’t forget, I’m your dirty little secret for now,” he added, smacking me on the arse and snapping me out of my dirty daydream.
Shooting him a glare over my shoulder, I yanked the bloody sweats back up and pointed at the bedroom. Pressing a soft kiss to my lips, he nipped the lower one before he sauntered back from whence he came.
The shift in the dynamics of our relationship had happened quickly. We’d gone from ‘nice to meet you’, to him flirting with me, to him helping me after I’d been shot, to him turning up looking like mincemeat, to jewelry in his Johnson, to him nipping my lower lip and kissing me.
Was I going to complain? Hell no. But I’d definitely glare at him so he didn’t think I was an easy Minnie—which is exactly what I did, only what I saw just added to my girly spanky banky.
His back, the muscles, the perfect backside.
This time when I tripped, it was because his tight arse cheeks had hypnotized me as they scissored with each step. It was also Dobby that I tripped over, so he let me know his feelings by swiping his nails across my foot and hissing at me as he waddled toward his bowl of food.