“Tease me with your tongue. My clit. Just barely touch me with it,” I whisper, and on command he does what I ask. It’s torture to feel him, and I run my fingers through his hair, gently, closing my eyes to try to hold on to the feeling of pleasure and agony wrapped up into one.
“Put your fingers inside me again. Slowly, in and out.” He follows the instructions perfectly, hitting a tormenting rhythm that I want to give him a gold star for.
“Fucking fuck, Ben. If this is beginner’s luck for you then I don’t want to know what you’re like when you’ve got experience.” I can feel the weight of my orgasm, the building wave of it and I know it’s going to be white hot. His mouth and his tongue are fucking spectacular.
I slide a hand up my shirt to give my breasts and my nipples the attention I need to bring me closer to the edge, and as I look down, the sight of him between my thighs nearly has me coming.
He looks up at me, breaking his concentration, his eyes darkening as he sees my hands move under my shirt. He pulls away from me and I whimper, the cool air whipping across my flesh where he’s left me exposed.
“Take it off,” he grits out the command roughly, and I do as he says, his teeth pulling at his lip as he watches. “Fuck you’re gorgeous, Vi. So fucking gorgeous. Touch them for me, yeah? Let me watch you.”
I do as he asks, thankful that his fingers are still inside me, working me to the same rhythm he had before.
“Does that feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Tell me what you need.”
“You. Your mouth back on me. I’m so close, Ben.”
He kisses and nips at the skin on my inner thigh for a moment, stalling, but then returns his mouth to me, kissing me like he needs it to breathe.
“Spread me with your fingers and use your tongue on me again. Be rough. I need you to be rough with me,” I plead quietly, trying to remember that while we’re tucked away upstairs, we still need to be careful.
He does as I ask, and it pushes me to the fucking precipice, just hanging there with his mouth and hands holding me in the balance. My whole body eager to do whatever he wants.
“Suck on me, then hard with your tongue and fuck me harder with your fingers. Please. Fuck. Please, Ben.” I sound like someone else. Someone desperate. Someone he’s broken into a million pieces.
He does it on command, and I would swear that a supernova has just ruptured inside me from the way my nerve endings melt at the feel of it. He stands abruptly, his hand going to my mouth, and I realize I’d started to cry out despite my best efforts. I rock forward on the desk as I ride out the aftershocks, and he slides inside me.
He fucks me rough, hard, sloppy, like he can’t control himself and his hand slips off my mouth and slides down my throat, wrapping around the base of my neck. And I wish I could memorize every second of him.
“Christ, Violet. The way you fucking feel is insane. I can’t. It’s embarrassing…” he mutters, gasping for breath.
“Come inside me. I want to feel you, please,” I beg him.
He thrusts into me, hard and fast, a few more times before his fingers curl into my shoulder, pinning me in place, and I feel him coming.
He hits me just right, the perfect rhythm and one of the aftershocks of my first orgasm creates another wave and this one is even more devastating than the first. Sending bright waves of satiating lightening through every single nerve in my body, flooding with me with too much and not enough at the same time. I run my hand up the back of his neck, anchoring my fingers in his hair as I brace myself against the last of his waning thrusts.
He collapses against me, his chest heaving against my shoulder, his body racked with attempts to get more oxygen into his lungs. He pulls out, and I feel the warmth of him against my inner thighs. I feel so sated I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier than in this moment, a dumb sort of happy that has my brain foggy and my limbs heavy.
He raises his head finally, cupping my jaw with his hand and sliding his thumb over my lower lip, back and forth like he’s concentrating or debating something. I purse my lips, kissing the tip of his thumb.
“Be honest, that could not have been your first time,” I say smiling at him, studying his face to make sense of what he’s trying to see.
He smiles absently in return. “It was.”
“I get one of Lawton’s firsts? How lucky am I?” I make a little gasp and press my hand to my heart, grinning hard at the thought of it.
“I wanted it to be you.” His voice is raw, like it might crack.
“What?” I say, because I can’t have heard him right.
“I shouldn’t tell you that. Fuck…” He looks down at the floor. “But I couldn’t imagine, didn’t want it with anyone else. And fuck, it was worth it.”
The way his eyes travel over me, the way he looks, it’s reverence. Like I’m some treasure he’s managed to unearth. Like he’s been given the keys to the Louvre and told to explore to his heart’s content, and I’m a particularly fascinating piece of art that’s touching him in a way he hasn’t felt before. I rub my hand over my sternum to try and stem the swell of emotion that’s coming as a response. One I’m not sure I can contain.
