Warmth on the nape of my neck, his lips. A shaky breath audible, unsure if it was mine or his.
The rough skin of his hand pressed flush against me, smoothing over the bare skin. Slight pressure on the tips of his fingers as if to mentally note every dip and curve. Was this what it was like to be one of his sculptures? Oh, to be art. To be the object of his infatuation.
“Isn’t this what you want, Petre?” His words were soft, sincere. “The luxury of being desired?”
“Not just to be desired,” I breathed, glancing over my shoulder at him.
His eyes caught mine, and he leaned in. “Will you let me?”
I neglected to answer, we were too close. Claustrophobic. If I spoke, our lips would touch with no room for words.
And I was right.
Our lips met, skittish at first, then with more confidence, more reassurance, with every breath we could steal. He began pulling my dress up the front, digging desperately until he could finally touch my skin, cupping his palm between my legs, the warmth nearly melting me in more ways than one.
I gasped, my hand grabbing his arm, but not willing to pull it away. He pressed into my backside, his arm securing me in place. His fingers slipped between, gently pressing on the nerves before reveling in the wetness, the arousal.
His lips twitched into a smirk against mine, shifting the gathering of fabric to the back.
I expected the warmth of his fingers, to be touched and teased.
No, something else.
The chiming of his belt. Pressed firmly between my legs was a hot, smooth sensation. It wasn’t his palm. I didn’t dare look under the bunching of fabric.
I rolled my hips forward, along the shaft of his cock. I only felt length without an end. The lack of visuals making the mystery more unbearable.
I leaned back against his chest for stability, going up on my toes.
His hand guided the tip, swiping it between my legs, teasing the entrance.
He gasped, slow in his movements as if to savor, gathering the slick of the arousal.
Is he stalling? Hesitating?
I crossed my legs, his cock firm between them. I reached down, and he thrust forward, the wet tip hitting my palm.
So hot. So hard.
I was getting dizzy. I couldn’t believe the size, the thickness. I was fully prepared to be let down, with the way he avoided sex, but now it was clear it wasn’t out of embarrassment.
His arm wrapped to the front, his palm pressing on my chest to keep me close. He ground up against me, his chin resting on my shoulder with his eyes closed, tense with focus.
“Arkady,” I whispered, rolling my palm over the tip of his cock poking out from between my thighs.
He exhaled shakily, kissing my shoulder as he pulled out, using his leg to push mine apart.
The moisture dripped down my thigh. I was so hot, so ready. I was worked up like a cat in heat, mind and body eager. Even if it was only an inch, whatever he would give.
He touched me first, making sure I was ready. He began with two fingers, aware of my willingness. He curled them inside, knuckle deep, as my muscles twitched in anticipation for much more.
“How malleable you are,” he whispered.
“Careful, even lithe thingsbreak.” My chest rose and fell against his palm, my insides pulsing against his other.
His hand slid up my chest and to my jaw, caressing my neck as he kissed me. He removed his fingers, my body wanting to collapse from the disappointment of being empty. My adrenaline was the only thing that kept me upright.
Then was when I felt it, the hot tip of his cock prodding timidly, carefully, as if afraid I’d have teeth down there.
