His palm cups my groin fully, his heel grinding against my clit through the fabric while his thumb circles my nipple through the lace bra. The dual assault makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
He drags his mouth downward, leaving a trail of hot, open kisses along my trembling abdomen. His teeth graze my love handles, and I gasp. When he hooks his fingers into my panties, he doesn’t remove them yet. Instead, he teases the soaked fabric against my folds, creating friction that has me bucking against his hand. “Please—”
“Tell me what you need,” he commands, lifting his head. His eyes are black fire in the dim light.
“You.”The word tears from me. “Everywhere.”
He rewards me with a groan against my inner thigh, his tongue licking a path toward my core. Through the lace, he bites down gently where I’m throbbing, and I cry out.
The vibration of his low chuckle against my skin is pure agony. “Patience. I’m savoring you.”
When he finally unhooks my bra and slides off my panties so that I’m completely naked, I’m trembling like a leaf.
“Please,” I gasp.
“Not yet.” His voice is dark. Commanding. “You cum when I say.”
He settles between my legs, and the vibrator finally hums to life. He runs it over my inner thigh. Teasing. Building. Never quite where I need it.
“Marco.” His name comes out as a whimper.
“I know, my vixen. I know.” He finally presses it where I need it and circles slowly. “Feel that?”
“Yes!” I pull against the cuffs. Not to escape. Just to move. To do something with the energy building inside me.
He works me higher. Right to the edge. Then pulls back.
I make a sound of pure frustration.
“Good girls ask permission,” he reminds me.
“That’s evil,” I pant.
“That’s edging.” He sounds pleased with himself.
He builds me up again. Slower this time. More deliberate. Until I’m shaking and desperate and ready to beg.
“Please,” I finally gasp. “Please, Marco. I need to cum. Really bad!”
“Not yet.” But his voice has gone rough. Strained. Like holding back is costing him, too.
His hand leaves my clit just longenough to fumble in the nightstand drawer. A foil packet crinkles as he tears it open.
I watch, breath caught, as he sheathes himself with deliberate slowness. His eyes never leave mine, dark and possessive, while his thumb strokes the length of himself through the latex. The visual is obscenely intimate: the flex of his forearm, the swell of his bicep, the way his abs tighten with the movement.
“Look at you,” he rasps, shifting back between my thighs. “So fucking ready for me. So fuckingwet. Are you going to squirt for me tonight?”
The broad head of his cock nudges my entrance, slick and insistent. He pressesjustenough to make me gasp. A teasing stretch that promises oblivion.
All the while, the vibrator stays at my clit, humming at its highest setting. He circles it relentlessly, igniting sparks that race up my spine.
“Now,” he growls, surging forward.
The invasion is exquisite. A burning, incredible stretch that steals my breath. I feel every ridge, every pulse of him as he fills me inch by torturous inch.
He bottoms out, his hips flush against mine, and holds there. Deep. Claiming.
The vibrator never stops, its buzz syncing with the hammering of my heart.
