I’m pulled back into consciousness early the next morning, not by the light, but by a deep, pressing need radiating from my aching member. Fuuuuck, I mentally groan. How can I be this horny? It's almost painful. I toss and turn, fighting to ignore it and fall back asleep, though it's a useless effort.

Visions of Angeline, clad in her temptress attire, haunt my thoughts. It doesn't matter how much I tell myself I don't want her anymore; my body has practically been Pavlov-ed, conditioned to see her as the source of all sexual release.

Giving up the fight for sleep, I crack my eyes open to the unfamiliar room. My gaze immediately flicks over the pillow barricade, remembering my bedfellow. Belle is a still lump on the other side, her back turned to me. I can see her breathing is deep and even. I exhale, rolling onto my back and stare up at the ceiling as the pulse in my groin becomes a relentless, demanding thing.

A war wages inside of me. My body has a singular demand, but my mind screams at the sheer indecency of it. Could I really be so desperate as to rub one out while she sleeps? What if she woke up?

My hand moves down my stomach, sliding under the covers almost of its own accord. I guess I am that desperate. How pathetic. I bite my lip, breathing out a soundless ‘oh’ as my fingers wrap around my solid shaft. God, it’s only been a day, but my body reacts as if I haven’t touched myself in weeks. I pump once, relishing the pleasure that spreads through me, promising release. I ease into a steady rhythm, and let my eyes fall shut against the sensations.

For a moment, my mind is a blank slate, my concentration solely on coaxing and building the exhilaration. But my focus starts to break down as my brain continues to fret in the background. I need a fantasy to fuel the fire, to give my mind something to do other than worry. 

Without a second thought, my treasonous imagination conjures up the most familiar sequence it has. The details sharpen behind my eyelids, coalescing into a scene I know too well: The work Christmas party.

Angeline had been a vision in a slim red dress, a long slit running all the way up her thigh, hinting at the curve of her hip. She’d cornered me by the bar before pulling me into a dark supply closet full of spare decorations. I almost tripped over a tangle of braided nylon silk, after she roughly pushed me inside. 

I saw the idea brighten in her eyes as she glanced down at the rope, then slowly back at me with a wicked grin. The way my cock pulsed in anticipation was disgraceful. She’d used the decorative cords to bind my wrists behind my back and pushed me to my knees. 

she pulled aside her dress, revealing nothing underneath. "Lick it," she had demanded. My mouth went dry yet, I obeyed all too eagerly. 

I satisfied her with my tongue until she gripped my hair, pulling my head back. "So obedient tonight," she’d smiled, looking down at me. "Lay back so I can play with you some more."

Holy fuck. My hips roll into the motion of my hand as the memory continues. 

She tormented me, stroking the bulge in my slacks while her mouth whispered filthy promises into my ear. Her deft hands unzipped my fly, allowing my shamefully rigid sex to spring free. I sucked in a shaky breath as she’d let one finger feather down my length. The simple touch drove me insane and she knew it too. 

“You always play hard to get, so I need you to tell me you want this Leo.” Angeline had stalled, while her index finger swirled teasing circles around the head. 

“I-I want it… Please…” I gritted out, not even sure what I was begging for but finding myself helpless to her whims. 

“Of course you do.” She wrapped her hand around me, stroking with an expert rhythm. My hips thrust wantonly against her hand, chasing the pleasure, a desperate sound caught in my throat. “Ah-Ah-Ah,” she tut and had released me before I could explode. 

She drew it out, bringing me to the brink once more only to withdraw again. By the third time I was a mess, writhing on the floor begging for the end. Finally, she climbed over me, presenting her slick heat to my face as she hovered above my tortured sex. 

“Make me cum, and I’ll ensure you do as well.” I hadn't hesitated to shove my tongue into her, mapping out her center until I found that small bud. She pushed back against my mouth just as I felt hers swallow me down. I had faltered, the ecstasy far too overwhelming.

Under the covers my hand is coated in precum and sweat, allowing my strokes to glide smoothly along my erection. 

Flash; Angeline’s tongue flicked across my sensitive tip. Which caused me to lurch in response. 

Yesss, I’m getting close- I use my free hand to brush over a hardened nipple.

Flash; She fingered my lower entrance pressing in just enough to be threatening.

Come on…. a little more… My release is near. I only need one more image to fall over that blissful ledge.

Suddenly a single, devastating thought snakes into the back of my mind, stealing any steam the daydream held: If you had satisfied her, she wouldn't have punished you by leaving with Jed that night.

My heart skips a beat and my pumping fist slows. It was true… Within the next few weeks after the party they made their relationship official. 

The memory of her betrayal, the humiliation, the disgust, it all comes rushing back like a douse of ice water on a hot flame. Shit. I grit my teeth, forcing away the memory. Not her. Never again.

My pleasure begins curdling into self-loathing. Who am I kidding? Their engagement cut deeper than I ever admitted. I knew I would never fit into the mold of man she desired and I was fine with that, but a part of me illogically believed she'd never become serious with anyone.

Just as I’m about to pull my hand from my erection, the covers are suddenly ripped from my body. The cool morning siphons any lingering warmth from my skin. "What the—?" My eyes fly open. "Belle?!"

Belle is no longer sleeping. No. She is sitting up, the blanket pooled in her lap, and looking down at me with her head tilted. Her expression isn't angry or appalled. It's... intrigued. Her gaze flicks down from my face to the erection, frozen in my hand. Then darts back up, meeting my horrified stare, a silent question in her eyes.

I remain solid as stone, my mind screaming with alarms. I should cover myself, should say something, but I can't move. I'm trapped between total mortification and a strange, detached wonderment of what she might do.

Before I can process a single coherent thought, she leans down, her hair falling forward to obscure her face. Her focus is entirely on my arousal, like an animal examining something new and strange. She lowers her head until her nose is only an inch away and tentatively sniffs my phallus.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I shrink further into the mattress as her warm breath puffs against the sensitive skin, and it responds with an involuntary twitch. An intrusive image flicks into my mind—her tongue darts out, licking a lazy trail up my length-

That impression is so potent, so wrong, that a fresh wave of guilt immediately crashes over me. God, what would Ronnie say? He had equated these animal hybrids to being his own kin. Would he consider this defiling his daughter?!

My thoughts are obliterated as a hot, wet mouth suddenly envelops my shaft. A jolt of total euphoria shoots straight through my core. I have to fist my hands in the sheets as Belle adds a gentle suction, her tongue testing the sensitive slit at the top.

My eyes roll back in my head. I reach for her, fumbling for purchase as the pressure in my balls builds, indicating the climax is dangerously close. Do not cum in her mouth-Do not cum in her mouth! I chant internally, my fingers finally finding and grasping one of her delicate horns. 

I push against her head, trying to escape, to slide into a sitting position, but she’s impossibly stubborn. She moves with me, holding me prisoner to her experimental, oral exploration of my cock.  Nope. I am not going to make it.

"B-Belle! I'm gonna—oh, sweet Jesus," I stammer, my words a mess as she ignores my desperate attempt to push her off, her own strength a surprising counterforce to my panic. 

At last, she relents. I yank her head away by the horn, but it’s too late, I’m already tipping over the edge. My balls tighten and my back arches as a powerful orgasm wracks my body. With a final shudder, I collapse back into the pillows, my mind completely disoriented in the aftermath.

That’s when I realize I’m still gripping Belle's horn. My focus snaps to her as embarrassed clarity cuts through the haze in my mind and-... God damn it. My thick fluid is strung across her face. I had practically held her there to be Facialed.

"Shit-I'm so sorry." I let go of her and leap out of bed, hastily stuffing my deflating junk into my boxers. "Just hold on, I-I'll get you a towel." I quickly disappear into the bathroom.

Upon returning with the damp cloth, I stop short in the doorway and gawk. She’s already wiping the jizz from her face with her fingers. She brings them to her mouth, lapping at the gathered fluid and tasting it curiously. If I hadn’t literally just now, spent my seed, I probably would have been ready to go again from that sight alone…

I blink, shaking the thought from my head as I cross the room. Sitting beside her, I gently use the cloth to wipe the last of the mess from her forehead, eye lashes and cheek and then her hands. I keep my attention solely on my task, intensely aware of her eyes on me.

Chewing my bottom lip, I desperately try to figure out how to move past this. But as I finish cleaning her fingers and meet her eyes, I realize she doesn't seem to have a care in the world. It’s as if nothing unusual had occurred at all in her world. 

Maybe that's the answer—just pretend it never happened. I could do that. After five years of pretending everything is normal, I’ve become a master at fooling myself. I quell my pride realizing I should not be bragging about that, even if it is only to myself.

The silence filling the room is heavy, and I use the rag as an excuse to move away in order to throw it in the hamper. Now what? I’m scrambling for any reason to keep an appropriate distance between us and forget what happened, when Belle breaks the silence. She rubs her stomach, then pats it with her palm. Her stare is purposeful, her expression earnest. 

At first, my brows pull together as I try to understand her meaning. Then she opens her mouth, and emits a soft sound. “Fuha-Fuhhad.” It’s a clumsy attempt at the word, but it’s clear enough.

"Right. Breakfast," I blurt out, maybe a little too eagerly, grabbing onto the perfect excuse to busy my hands. I get up exiting the bedroom, and concentrate on the simple mechanics of walking down the stairs, because if I stop to think about recent events, I might actually lose my mind. 

Yep, I think with a grim, internal sigh. I definitely need therapy.