“No, that’s not it—please, Alfred, continue. I want it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He stands there, his eyes boring into me, his cock absurdly erect.
“You haven’t hurt me. Please. I need?—”
My core is in a strange state of agitation. Despite three orgasms, he tantalized me anew with his cock, and it is actuallyuncomfortableto be in such a state of arousal with no relief.
“Why did you say no?”
I huff in frustration. Must he knoweverythingabout me? Will he always insist?
“I will not continue until you tell me. And I believe you. I won’t hurt you, Annabelle.”
“I didn’t think I would have another orgasm,” I say. “So when I felt myself tightening around you, I was merely surprised.”
“I don’t understand.”
I am frustrated. My core burns. A look at his cock has me hot and unsatiated all over. I need it—him.
“Every time you make me come, Alfred,” I say, irritation lacing my voice, “I feel—I feel things for you. Youaffectme. It’s not only when you make me—orgasm. Though I feel it particularly acutely then. I said no—because I didn’t want to—feel more. But I need it. Physically.”
Now he is smiling.
“You feel things for me?”
“Don’t,” I warn darkly.
He holds up his hands, a grin on his face. He will use this knowledge against me, surely—he will probably neverstopgiving me orgasms now. And unfortunately I am always hungry for his touch.
“You needn’t say another word, my darling,” he says. And I am thankful—he isn’t going to make me wait. “Lie back down.”
I obey and he winds his arms around my legs. He eases inside of me and begins to thrust in and out in an unhurried manner. I moan. I canfeelmy eyes rolling back into my head. The sensation is that exquisite.
“How is that, my love?” he murmurs—but his face tells me that he already knows the answer.
“Very—very good.”
“Are you going to come for me again, Mrs. deLacey?”
I close my eyes, letting the pleasure build up within me.
And then his fingers brush against my clit, swollen and sensitive once more.
I open my eyes.
I come then, this last orgasm somehow deeper and more intense than the already exquisite ones that came before.
This time, however, I am able to savor Alfred as he watches me. He looks so gratified to see me wracked with pleasure. He swells even more.
“Are you going to give me all of your seed, Mr. de Lacey?” I tease once I catch my breath. “Are you going to get me with child?”
“Fuck, yes,” he says, bucking into me, his fingertips digging into my upper thighs.
“Then do it,” I say. “Make me yours.”
I have no idea where the words come from. I want him to come. And, I suppose, I want to feel like heismine.
