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Jonah studies me for a moment. No doubt he’s taking in the rise and fall of my chest, the way I’m already shaking. He makes me wait for several breaths before he says, “Kick off your shoes. Get comfortable. ”
I obey, letting the heels slip from my feet, even as I say, “I don’t want to stay in your car. ”
“You want to get home, don’t you?”
“I—I appreciate you helping me—”
“I’m going to help you, but you have to help me. See?”
This is—softer than our first time. Not an act of angry brutality. Instead Jonah’s using coercion, putting me in a place where I say yes because I feel like there’s no way out if I say no. Edging me closer and closer to a line that he’ll then drag me over. It’s an entirely different kind of force, but force all the same.
And it turns me on just as hard.
Jonah brushes one fingertip along my bare shoulder. I shiver as I pull back. He clucks his tongue and smiles. “So shy. That’s no way to act with someone who’s trying to be nice to you. ”
“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. ”
“That’s okay. You’re going to be nice to me too. Here. Give me your hand. ”
His fingers close around my wrist, his grip as hard as his tone is soft. He guides my hand down to his crotch, then presses my palm against his cock.
God, he’s so big. I remembered that from last time—I couldn’t forget it, ever—but still I marvel at the length of him. His cock jumps slightly at my touch, the pressure clear even through the thin fabric of Jonah’s cargos. He starts moving my hand back and forth, the smallest, slowest strokes.
“See?” Jonah grins at me, openmouthed, already proud of himself for getting me into this situation. “I knew you could be nice if you wanted to. ”
If this were for real, what would I say now? What would I do? I whisper, “I just want to get home. ”
“You’ll get home. But there’s no rush. I like you when you’re being nice. ”
“Nothing but this?” By now I’m shaking. “Just my hand?”
“You could do more with your hands. Why don’t you show me? Maybe your hands are all I need, if you give me enough. ”
Jonah lifts his hand from mine, no longer pressing my palm against his erection. He wants me to give him more—to bargain, in the hopes he’ll demand nothing more than a hand job. So I have to give him the best hand job I can.
My fingers tremble as I clumsily unbutton his fly, then reach inside his boxers to draw out the length of his cock. It juts up, long and thick for me. Tentatively I close my hand around it. My reward is the first pre-come, slicking my fingers along with the head of his cock.
“Come on. ” Jonah doesn’t sound so patronizingly reassuring any longer. Impatience grates in every word. “You can do more than that. ”
I begin jerking him off in earnest, tightening and loosening my fist as I move up the length of his cock. Now down again, and I begin using my wrist. He’s hot against my palm, and so hard he must ache.
“I want it wetter,” Jonah says. “Lick your palm. ”
So I do, quickly, before going back to my task. Guys have always told me I was good at this part—and I start giving Jonah what I’d give a regular lover. Twist and grip and stroke, teasing the ridge around the head of his cock.
He breathes out hard and lets his head slump back. I whisper, “This is enough?”
“Wetter. ” But when I lift my palm to my face again, he shakes his head. “Use your mouth. ”
“—but—you said—”
“I said you were going to be nice to me if you wanted my help. You want my help, don’t you? Or do you want to stay out here all night? Somebody else might stop, and he might not be good to you like I am. ”
I wonder if Jonah will act out both parts. Whether he’ll drive off and leave me stranded—then return in a few minutes as the savage attacker he’s now using to threaten me.
Instead he reaches out as if to caress the side of my face—then fists his hand in my hair. His self-satisfied smile has vanished. “Play nice,” he says. It’s a warning.
I bend over, Jonah’s hand still clutching my hair, until his enormous cock is in my face. Parting my lips, I take him in. I have to open wide.
Pre-come wells in my mouth, slicking my lips stretched around his cock. Salt is warm against my tongue. I start sucking—soft, slow little swallows at first. Then Jonah pulls my hair, hard enough for it to hurt. He wants me to work harder for my freedom, for my chance to get home.