When he doesn’t respond, you push him away. “I said—”
“I heard you.”
He rolls away from you, onto his stomach, arms folded beneath his chest and head on the mattress just below his pillow, turned so he can watch you. The sheets are draped over his legs in a sudden modesty you don’t care for at all. Angry, you tear at the sheets and pull them off, exposing smooth skin covered with light downy hair, thin thighs, a round ass.
Without thinking you slap him, hard. Your hand stings with the smack of flesh on flesh and he flinches, biting his lower lip, but doesn’t say a word.
That pisses you off—if he has opinions now, thoughts and wishes and desires you didn’t put in his head, he can tell you to stop. He can tell you he doesn’t like it. You hit him again, your palm flat on his ass, and he s
