Even I don’t have that much willpower.
Her sexy little moan has my cock straining, my balls tightening, and my fists clenching. I tell myself that if I don’t touch her, then I can enjoy what she’s doing. And I do.
So fucking much.
Looking at her spread before me, like a feast ready to be devoured, has my inner beast pacing inside my chest. I want nothing more than to climb onto the table and fuck her until that pretty pussy is so swollen I can’t fit my cock inside anymore. Or I pass out from exhaustion. Those are the only options.
I grind the heel of my hand along the length of my cock and groan, in both pleasure and frustration. Masturbation is all well and good when you don’t have a cunt to sink into, but not only is there one, Violetta is offering it to me on a platter.
And I’m starving.
I’ve been this way since the beginning and I tell myself it’s because she’s attractive, young, and a virgin, but I’m lying. I’d want her even without those things. Those characteristics only make staying away from her that much harder.
“Tristano,” she breathes. The desperation and sexual tension coming from her is almost more than I can take. “Please.”
“Not yet.”
I might kill us both by denying her.
She gives a little cry, but remains obedient, continuing to massage her clit. Her breasts heave with her jagged breaths and her thighs tremble from the strain of her position and also from battling her orgasm.
It’s the best thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
Against my better judgement, I lean forward. Now I’m so close I can smell her arousal and feel the warmth of her cunt. Fuck me, I’m definitely a masochist.
“On the count of three,” I rasp. “Let me hear you.”
“One. Two. Three.”
As soon as the last syllable leaves her mouth, I drive my fingers into her cunt. Violetta’s scream is beautiful; it’s full of ecstasy, surprise, and gratification.
I thrust in and out of her body as it convulses violently, her hips lifting and her breasts swaying. Every second of bliss for her is a threat to me and I almost come. To keep from that from happening, I focus on drawing out her orgasm, and the next one that follows.
“It’s too much!” she pants. Violetta’s hand falls away from her clit, but I don’t stop. Not even when she reclines to lie prone on the table and her feet slip from the armrests of my chair. “Please, no more.”
In response to her whispered plea, I lift my other hand and take over where she left off, my fingers now busy stroking her cunt and clit. She nearly jackknifes off the table by arching her spine and low moans pour from her lips. Tendrils of her dark hair glide across the linen as she thrashes her head back and forth, gripping the tablecloth with both hands.
“You’re going to take it like a good girl,” I say, “calling my name and begging me for more until I’m satisfied,notyou.Hai capacito?”
“Yes, I understand. Tristano I need you, all of you.”
I’m unsure if Violetta realizes she’s speaking Italian because she’s so overwhelmed and beyond coherent. It only serves to turn me on all the more.
I withdraw my hands and shift them to grip her inner thighs and she laments with a tiny wimper. But when I wrap my lips around her clit and suck hard, she shrieks. And comes. I revel in her orgasm, experiencing every wave of rapture through her body’s quivering. She goes to new heights and I can only go so far with her.
When some of her euphoria has dwindled, Violetta lifts her head and props herself up on her forearms. Our gazes collide in a clash of silver and blue-green, two opponents scrutinizing each other for weaknesses.
She finds and exploits mine.
“I want you,” she says, her voice clear and strong, despite her exhaustion. “Do you want me?”
“You know I do.” My voice, on the other hand, is low and guttural because of the strain I’m putting myself under by resisting her.
“Then fuck me, Tristano. Give me what I want, what we both want.”
I close my eyes and lean my face against her thigh, drawing in several deep breaths. I gather the last threads of my self-control while silently reinforcing the belief that denying myself gratification for the betterment of others is nothing new. I’m doing what’s best, although it goes against every instinct I possess.
“The risks are too great,” I grit out, my frustration at a dangerously high level, “and I don’t want to hurt you.”
