“I’m not sucking this little clit.” His deft fingers surround what feels like the nucleus of every active nerve in my body and pinch, hard enough to make me gasp. “Christ, that looks good. You know how much I’ve wanted to see you when you’re like this, huh?” Another pinch makes me try to bend double. Of course he stops me with that body. The bastard.
“Let me sum up, though, what we’re crossing off the menu, huh?”
“Okay,” I whisper, half hating myself for agreeing and more than half turned on that he’s calling it a menu.
“Restaurant sex: Check. Biting: Check. Unnecessary foreplay: Double-check.”
I hum while he caresses me deep and firm.
“Is this petting? Huh?”
I shake my head, still somehow fighting to maintain a boundary or two.
“Every expression on your face, Kit, is so goddamn perfect.” His sharp inhale sounds hollow in my ear. “Like now. When I slide in between your lips like this.” He eases down, separating me smoothly, explicitly. “Sweet, silky soft, fluttering open for me, like a flower. Like petals.”
I work hard to give him a bitter half-laugh. “You a poet now?”
“Can be.”
“When it…suits you?”
“Sure. I could tell you how the swell of your bottom lip makes me think of biting ripe fruit, my teeth sinking in.”
I can’t help a moan at the idea, the way his hand’s working me while his words wind me up.
“Yeah. Hell, yeah. Look at that mouth. Plump and plush and prime for the picking.”
“That’s…nice alliteration.”
“Fuck, I love when you talk in big words for me, Katarina. So smart. So fucking hoity-toity and well bred.”
“Don’t…”
“No? Too much?” Another easy skim down, down to breach me, deep and slow and we know—we bothknow—that he’s taking his time with this. He’s making it last. And the only thing I can’t figure out is if there’s a power thing happening here or if it truly gives him pleasure to watch me writhe. Maybe both. Definitely.
The point fritters away to irrelevance when a second finger joins the first and his hand twists to an angle that no one’s ever used before and suddenly what felt languidly sexy becomes an urgent need to…
“I’m gonna come.” I sound shocked—Iam. At once somehow begging him to stop and to make it happen and hurry up and I don’t even know how or when my free hand wrapped itself around his wrist, but it’s there and it’s holding him and my fingers don’t even span his width there and that…that…that…
His size, his smell, the way he nudges closer with his nose and tells me how good he’ll suck my pussy when I let him. Not if, when. How his tongue and his hands together will make me come so hard I’d see stars. How I’ll beg for his cock. How he’ll get on his back and drag me on top of him and split me wide open on his face and just feast.
“Stop, stop, stop talking,” I whisper against his chest while my insides screw tighter and the ache gets deeper and I tug at his wrist, and it’s not to pull him off me, but to press harder, drag him closer, more.
More. Please, more.
His thumb’s strumming me, fast, and his fingers press deep and if I let myself suck in his scent I’ll be nothing but animal pleasure and want, and want.
“Should I stop?” He grates out, low and mean. “Stop telling you how you smell like sex and I’ll bet you’ll taste like goddamn sugar? No? Yeah? Should I not say that I’m gonna come sodeep and so hard inside you today I’ll be leaking out for hours. Tomorrow at work. And then, Kitty, you know what I’ll do?”
I shake my head no, though the words are almost meaningless against the swelling tide he’s conjuring between my legs. It’s almost too much and also nothing, nothing could stop me from bearing down and seeking out this thing he’s hell bent on giving me. “What?” I gasp as if I need the answer as much as the climax.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you in the supply closet. You head in there for bevnaps or straws or some shit and I’ll shove a box against the door and bend you over and use this perfect little hole to empty my balls into. It’s what you want, isn’t it? What you asked for? You want to be bred, right?” He’s fucking me hard with his hand now, and, oh god, how does he do it so well? The motion of his fingers like acome hereis somehow pressing on the part of me I didn’t know needed pressure and it’s twisting me higher and higher, making my insides feel tight and full enough to burst. I’ve got to pee for a second, but not. “In’t that what you wanted me to do? Fuck you full of my come and fill this belly up so it’s huge and tight and your tits…” He groans and I realize his hips are moving with the cadence of his hands. My entire body is moving with it. Dancing to the rhythm he’s forced on me. “Christ, you’ll look so good like that. You want that? My come overflowing your pussy every second of the day?”
I clench,too tight, at the crassness of his words. I can’t… I can’t… “No,” I mutter, though I’ve no idea if it’s in response to the dirty way he speaks or the idea that he can take me at work—again—and I’ll just let him. Or or or it’s something else. The way I want exactly what he’s offering. Promising.Threatening.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’ll take it like a good girl.” A grunt. His, I think. Or was it mine? “My good girl. My sweet, good girl.”
Oh god, oh, god, oh god, every word is punctuated by a deep thrust of his fingers. I’m up on my toes, straining. Stretching, arching. Trying to escape it, while every cell reaches toward it.
