Want - Sex Stories

Want

... could finish law school. The choice is yours. I want you to be comfortable and have whatever it is you want.” “Wow.” That is all I can manage in my disbelief. I never told him that I dropped out of law school. He looks so content with himself, having made his terms clear Was this the part where he expects me to negotiate? Am I not going to be given that opportunity? “I do,” he supplied. “I want you in my life.” I stand up and position the chair back to the table. I slip out of my heels and neatly place them out of the way. I place myself in front of him, fighting the urge to touch him. His eyes search mine and all I can think is “Good Lord, this man”. I shake my head slowly, side to side. I know that there are women that would kill to have this man make them this offer. Somewhere, right now, I’m sure that there is a woman hoping that he will call. She might be satisfied with just his attention, no matter how brief or limited. He stands up and straightens out his shoulders so that now he is looking down at me instead of me looking down at him. I let my hand touch the side of his face. I run my finger along his bottom lip. I do love his lips. Then, I drop my hand. He gives me a half smile. I surprise myself with the force of my response as I slap the shit out of him. I have had enough. “Men like you think money is the end all be all, you arrogant fuck. Have I ever given you any indication that I give a shit about your money or what you do with it? And besides, if that was ...

... all that I wanted there are a lot less complicated ways to get it and still keep my self-respect. I have a place to live and I get around just fine.” I’m loud now and about to slap him again when he catches my hand. He glares at me for a moment, not so much from anger but from shock. Then, with a half-smile, he places the cigar between his lips and lets it dangle as he speaks. “I’ll take that as a no.” I go to my door and open it. “Thank you but no thank you, Bart . You can leave now. You can find yourself another little black blow-up doll to fuck senseless when the mood hits you. I’m not whoring myself out.” “That’s not what I meant. You know this. When have I ever treated you like a whore?” The way that he said the word whore, his accent never more prevalent, echoed through the apartment. “You just did. Now leave.” “No.” “What?” “I don’t want to,” he states flatly, as if that is going to make some type of difference to me. “You are old enough for your wants not to hurt you. Buy yourself another toy.” Bartholomew comes closer, but he does not position himself to walk out of the still open door. He places himself in front of me so that I can see nothing but him. He is close and what I see in those usually gentle brown eyes is suddenly frightening. “I did something. Or maybe, I didn’t do something. I don’t know.” He takes the door from my hand and slams it shut. “I’m…” He searches for a word as if his thoughts are suddenly untranslatable. “I’m not leaving,” he finally says, ...