A Perfect Virgin

Chapter Seven | 07

His groan isn't playful, if anything, it was commanding and menacing, yet oddly satisfying and fascinating since it has always been one of my fantasies to submit to a fully grown-up man who has me wrapped around his fingers.

He wants me to get on my knees?

Morris would have just dragged me to the floor and started his sinful assault, whereas this strange individual is being very considerate of my feelings.

Not like I'm attracted to the strange guy or anything, but his dominant aura of authority is carelessly flung to my face and thickens every minute that passes. 

And I keep away from drooling at this aspect of him since he is not worthy of being inserted into the category of men I find attractive. 

A single satisfactory quality of his doesn't outshine his numerous flaws. 

Let people see me as picky. 

Yes, I wish I was very much picky a few years ago when I met that joke of a fellow whose name sends confusion and grief to the bundle of nerves that fire through my wrist down to my toes. 

If he didn't exist, I won't be crying over an outrageous heartbreak. 

My subconscious mind takes control of the gears of understanding and navigates the absurd encounter with this foreigner who has tattoos nearly as many as the big birds in the sky. 

It quickly occurs to me that my attitude towards him, the guy who risked his life to save mine, isn't appreciative nor decent, but it's rather very toxic and annoying. 

I shouldn't have even argued with him when he was only trying to be a cavalier who aids a lady in distress. 

I should ask for forgiveness and shake his hands, then we will be free to go our separate ways, yet there is a small muffled voice at the back of my head.

It is subtly mocking my urge to give up control to a stranger. 

If I apologize, he'd think of me as a pushover, hence more motives for him to order me around like he was my supervisor or master which is never what I want.

Only a man I find mesmerizing can ask me to jump and I will dive, or sprint and I will gallop, kneel and I'll bow without complaining. 

It comes to me naturally, and this might be weird, but it's my way of showing him respect and admiration. 

The voice challenges me to put this man in his place and look down on his judgments. 

I don't know when that voice takes over my being, initiating something ferocious and arrogant that the guy doesn't see coming. 

"I should get on my knees for a man like you?" My tastebuds are very sour from the breakup, tarantulas spinning webs in my abdomen with each lump of froth that slides down my throat as I gulp the disgust. "Aren't you insane?"

I won't lie about his looks. 

He has a beautiful way of looking at me which makes goosebumps crawl beneath my clothing. 

My cheap clothing isn't even good enough to cover my arms from the cold, talk less  of his verbal assault and degrading gaze which has me weak at the knees. 

Not my type of man, let him ask his dad to prostrate at his feet. 

He nods, his fierce eyes trying hard not to lose their composure. 

"You will kneel for a man like me whether you like it or not." 

The rattling of his teeth can be heard miles away as muscles tick along his cheeks, they are tough and tense, but my facial expression gives him no satisfaction.