He adds, “But the second, third, millionth… whatever we want. But the first one, with you, should be real.”
The word “real” hits me. “Are you saying kink doesn’t make it real? How are you defining real? Is something for all physical pleasure cheap or somehow less? Or are you equating an emotional connection for something to be “worthy.” Because the two can go hand in hand, or handcuff.” I can’t read his expression, and I backtrack. “I mean you’re entitled to your opinion, but I just want to know what’s happening in your head.” So I can safeguard my future.
He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, there’s a new layer of lust looking back at me. “Maybe just a little kink for our first time.”
My little heart flutters as I agree with him.
“Now get your hands on the counter and don’t move until I tell you.”
The dress straps tie around my neck, and he brushes his fingers under my hair to loosen the knot. The straps fall against my shoulders, tickling the soft tender skin, but not in a pleasant way. I must have tensed, because he pulls back and watches me, trying to figure out what went wrong. When he moves the straps in front of my dress, the extra sensory stimulation vanishes, and I visibly relax. He raises his eyebrow for an explanation.
“It tickled,” I say.
He nods. “Tell me if something’s wrong.”
He waits for me to nod in acknowledgment before continuing his path down my chest, first exploring how my breasts feel over the dress, kneading them. He locks eyes with me as he slides the dress down, and I arch my back as his tongue dances across my nipple. Small groans escape my lips as his mouth brushes against the newly exposed skin.
Normally at this point, I would start thinking about other books I’ve read, which would lead to fan theories and other tangents. Things to keep me aroused or in the zone. Sometimes I need a little mental help to push me over the edge. But right now, all I can focus on is him. One hand holds my back, pushing me closer to his lips, while the other attends to the needs of my other breast.
The Narrator Lady is quiet for once, and I let the pleasure flow. I flutter my eyes closed, and he stops his attention on my body. Other guys have been fine, scratched an itch I had, but it wasn’t enough to captivate me. Even in the most intimate situations, I struggled to stay in the moment. But here, now, he’s all I want, all I can think about, every sensation is him.
“Eyes on me.” he says, dark and commanding.
I open them, and I am instantly rewarded with a “good.” Not a ‘good girl,’ but I’ll take it.
He pushes my dress over my hips until it lands on the floor, then takes a step back to take me in. “God you’re beautiful.”
The countertop is chilly against the small of my back, and the reality of the situation hits me. I’m nearly naked, standing in a mob boss's kitchen, and completely under his control. He’s fully dressed, covered in armor, while I stand here naked, vulnerable.
He rubs his chin as he watches me under hooded eyes. My body reacts, and it’s sent into overdrive.
His lips curl and my chest feels hot, my cheeks burn, and I ache for his touch. His fingers brush against my stomach, and I shiver. He continues to explore my body, his touch light but with enough pressure not to tickle me. His fingers run along my seam over my panties, and he groans. “Baby, you’re so wet.”
I nod because my words won’t work as his fingers dip beneath the fabric and tease me, sliding into my folds, hitting every spot I crave.
I want to reach out and touch him, to feel his beating heart, to run my fingers through his hair, to kiss him…if only to take away the torturous pleasure. Of course, that's the point of it—to make me weak and to crave him. To build anticipation until I’m at my breaking point.
His fingers slip inside, and with every pump, it brings me closer to the edge. The corners of his lips curl as he watches me break apart around him. It’s been so long since someone’s touched me like this. And even longer since I could enjoy it.
I get closer and closer, but he drops to his knees and slides off my panties so I can spread my legs wide. His hands grip my thighs as he buries his lips between my legs. His licks aggressively switch between sucking on my clit and long deep laps. But when he uses his finger inside me the world becomes an explosion of colors and sensations. The pressure and pleasure build, until his moans break me, and the flood crashes. He watches with lustful pride as I come.
He lifts his head and kisses my stomach, chest, and neck before meeting my gaze. “I didn’t say you were allowed to come.”
I dip my head trying to appear contrite. “I guess you shouldn’t be so good at it.”
He murmurs darkly, “I like that answer,” before he kisses me hard.
I can still taste myself on his tongue. My body arches to reach for him, while my hands stay locked on the counter. I can feel his cock through his pants pressing against my entrance, and he wants me as much as I want him.
He takes a step back and unbuttons his shirt, tossing it to the floor. A part of me is impressed that he’s not running to get a hanger and steamer. Wrinkles be damned.
His chest is defined, nice, and not overly done. There are a few scars across his stomach, but they’re old and faded. It’s the Claddagh tattoo over his heart that draws my attention.
“My eyes are up here,” he says.
“But I’m enjoying the view.”
He lifts my hands off the counter and turns me around. My chest presses against the icy granite, and with my face against it, I can tell this wasn’t one of the model features. I like it. I mean, I like my quartz more, but still, it’s nice. It has warm undertones.
