Does Mara send Dre off?

Mara felt Dre's fingers brush against her bare slit and a jolt of reality hit her harder than any of the wine had. She grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," she said. "Wait. I can't— I don't think I can do this."

Dre paused. He didn't pull his hand away but he didn't push further. He looked at her, that confidence still sitting easy on his face. "You sure about that? 'Cause your pussy telling me something different right now."

Mara squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand. He was right — she was soaked and they both knew it. But this was insane. She'd broken up with Hugh three hours ago. She had a stranger in her house. A stranger whose fingers were currently between her legs.

"I just — this is too fast," Mara said. "I think maybe you should go. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sent you my address."

Dre leaned back slowly. He pulled his hand free and looked at his fingers — glistening wet — and then looked back at Mara. He sucked his index finger clean. Casually. Like he was tasting something he was deciding whether to order more of.

"Aight," he said. "That's cool. That's your choice." He picked up his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. Started scrolling. "I just hope you remember what you sent me tonight though."

Mara's stomach dropped. The photos. The video. Fuck.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Dre turned the phone screen toward her. There she was — lying on her bed in nothing but those white panties, tits out, looking directly into her own camera like she was begging for it. He swiped. The video. Her fingers between her legs. The sounds she'd made.

"I mean, I ain't the type to share shit like this," Dre said, his tone easy but his eyes locked on hers. "But you did send these to a man you barely know. On a platform where I can see every one of your friends. Your boy Hugh on there too." He shrugged. "I'm just saying. You already let me in your house. Already let me taste that pretty pussy off my fingers. Why you acting like we ain't both here for the same thing?"

Mara's mind raced. He wouldn't actually send those to anyone. Would he? But she barely knew him. She didn't know what he would do. And the thought of Hugh — or anyone — seeing that video made her feel physically sick.

"Dre, please don't—"

"I said I ain't gonna do nothing." He set the phone down on the armrest beside him. "But you ain't gotta kick me out either. We both grown. You invited me here because you wanted this. So stop playing games." He spread his legs wider on the couch, completely at ease. "Stand up."

It wasn't a question. Mara hesitated. Her heart was pounding and she couldn't tell anymore if it was fear or arousal or both twisted together into something she didn't have a name for.

She stood up.

"Good girl," Dre said. He looked her up and down — slow, appraising, like she was already his. "Now take that dress off. Let me see what's mine tonight."

Mara's fingers trembled at the hem. "Dre, I don't—"

"You sent me pictures of your naked body two hours ago," he said, his voice harder now. "You sent me a video of you playing with yourself. Don't act shy now. Take. It. Off."

Mara swallowed. He was right, wasn't he? She had done all of that. And she was still wet — god, she was still so wet. Maybe if she just did what he wanted, he'd finish and leave and delete the photos and this would all be over. Maybe part of her still wanted this even though every rational brain cell was screaming at her to stop.

She gripped the hem of her black dress and pulled it up over her head in one motion.

She stood in front of Dre completely naked. No bra. No panties. Just her pink lip gloss and those black heels she'd barely gotten on before he arrived. Her body was the kind that made men do stupid things — a tight, toned stomach that curved down to a slim waist before flaring out into hips that begged to be grabbed. Her tits sat high and full on her chest, round and firm with soft pink nipples that had tightened into stiff little peaks, pointing straight at Dre like they were asking for his mouth. Her skin was creamy white everywhere, not a tan line in sight — the kind of pale that would show every mark, every handprint, every bruise. Between her legs she was perfectly smooth — waxed bare so there was nothing hiding the puffy, swollen lips of her pussy, already flushed pink and glistening. A thin string of arousal connected her inner thighs and she could feel it — feel how exposed she was, how her body was literally dripping for him in a way she couldn't deny or hide. Her ass was round and tight behind her — the kind of ass that looked even better from behind, two perfect handfuls of firm white flesh that jiggled just slightly as her legs trembled in her heels. She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands, but there was nowhere to hide. Every inch of her was on display, and every inch of her was betraying how badly she wanted what came next.

Dre exhaled slowly, his eyes eating every inch of her. "Fuck," he said, low and deep. "Look at you. That white boy really didn't deserve this body." He reached down and gripped the bulge straining against his jeans, adjusting himself. "Come closer."

Mara took a step forward on shaky legs. Then another. Until she was standing directly between Dre's spread knees.

Dre unbuckled his belt — the metal clink loud in the quiet room — and popped the button of his jeans. He lifted his hips and pulled them down just enough. His cock sprang free and Mara's breath caught in her throat.

It was even bigger in person. Thick and dark — almost black at the shaft, with a heavy, swollen head that was a shade lighter, already slick with precum. It hung with a weight to it, not fully hard yet but already longer than Hugh had ever been at his hardest. A prominent vein ran up the underside and pulsed visibly. His balls were heavy, sitting full between his muscular thighs. He wrapped one large hand around the base and gave himself a slow stroke, and Mara watched it stiffen further in his grip — growing thicker, the head swelling, curving slightly upward toward his stomach.

"This what you've been thinking about all night," Dre said. It wasn't a question. He stroked himself again, lazy and confident, his eyes fixed on Mara's naked body. "This what made you send me your address. What made you put on this little dress."

Mara couldn't speak. She stood there, bare and exposed between his knees, watching his massive cock throb in his fist, and felt her body betray every objection her mind was trying to form. Her nipples ached. Her clit pulsed. She hated how badly she wanted to touch it.

"Get on your knees," Dre said.