“Come here.”
Surprised, I turn back around, brow arched as his knee braces on the bed and he leans over me. Heat travels from his body to mine, his scent filling my nose. His hard, heavy cock calls me to reach out and grab it again. To stroke and caress and see what other noises this beast of a man will make with my touch.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says.
I pause. “Do what?”
“You don’t have to play a part, or check with me, or gauge my wants like it’s your job to please me. I just wantyou.”
Instant defensiveness rolls down my stiffening spine, but he grips my hand before I can pull away. “Hear me, woman,” he rumbles. “With me, you aren’t a saddle. You’re just you. That means you do whatever the fuck feels good foryou. In whatever positionyouwant. I’ll take you from behind, from front, backwards, forwards, upside fucking down. I’ll slam you against the wall or be fucking sweet in a tub. Don’t worry about pleasing me, because I promise, I’ll enjoy every second of whatever we’re doing, however we’re doing it, because I fucking love you. You get me?”
My heart pounds. How can his words make me feel both small and incredibly powerful at the same time? This feels like a chastisement, but also something so sexually liberating. My mind can’t quite decide if I want to argue or not.
Then he asks, “How doyouwantme, Yellow Bell?”
And I can’t be mad at that.
There’s heat all over my body, and a vulnerability that chases it with chills. I think for a moment, feeling his steady grip in my hand. He doesn’t rush me. He lets me sort it out.
No other man. Osrik is like no other man I’ve ever been with.
Tentatively, with my pulse racing, I let go of his hand so I can grip him instead by the shoulders, and then Iyank. He lets me move him, which I’d never be able to do by my strength alone, and I position him until he’s the one on his back, and I’m kneeling over him. My chest rises and falls, excitement and nervousness pushing against my ribs.
This feels new—like sex is some unknown thing to me, which is ridiculous. And yet…perhaps it’s not so ridiculous at all.Because this isn’t just sex, is it? This isintimacy. And I’m very, very new to that.
I move up and shift my leg over until I’m straddling him. He rumbles low in his throat, eyes latched onto my pussy. His hand moves to it, fingers skimming down my slit and stroking.
That means you do whatever the fuck feels good for you.
His words echo, urging me to do something I’ve never done before. I take his hand and guide him right where I want him, showing him without words exactly how I like to be touched.
I press his fingertips flat against my clit, moving him in a circular motion before going quicker and quicker, my own fingers pressing over the tops of his, guiding him, and he follows.
Unlike most men, Osrik doesn’t get a bruised ego, nor does he try to take back control or ignore my quiet direction. He followsmylead, looking thoroughly pleased to do so.
“You like that?” he rasps out.
My head tips back, eyes fluttering closed as I simply let myself enjoy it. “Yes.”
“Your gorgeous cunt is wet. Getting my fingers covered.”
He’s right. Wetnessiscoating him, some of it even getting on my own fingers, ropes of delicious fire stretching from my clit and spreading throughout the rest of my body. His touch is perfect, and I let my hands drop with a moan, while he continues exactly as I showed him, not moving away or changing pace.
I brace my hands on his thick thighs and let myself rock with his motions.
Great Divine, this feels good.
My hair tumbles down over my shoulders, my body tightening all over.
“What else do you like?” he asks, his voice as deep and as hungry as a growl.
“Dip your finger into my pussy,” I whisper.
One thick digit drags from my clit, and he hooks it inside, opening me. Even his finger feels thick, making me practically salivate at the sensation.
“Fucking hell, you’re soaked and tight,” he says before pumping into me. Again and again. Hooking that finger and rubbing against my insides while his thumb goes back to stroking my clit.
It feels amazing, but I’m not ready to come. I’m still climbing, yet to arrive at the peak. But I’m thoroughly aware of the seconds ticking by. Of the time he’s spending touching me. I don’t want him to get frustrated or discouraged. So my body picks up on my hurried cues. It’s habitual.
