“On the bed,” he says. “On your back.”
I climb onto the mattress, acutely aware of how exposed I am. He circles the bed slowly, looking at me from every angle, and the way he's studying me should feel clinical.
Instead, it feels like worship. He’s memorizing every dimple, every freckle and every curve on my body. Looking at me like a starving lion about to devour his prey.
He strips off his own shirt, revealing a body that's all lean muscle. There are scars, more than most men carry. Some are faded, some newer and I want to ask about each one. Want to map them with my fingers and my mouth. I want to know him as intimately as he knows me. I reach for him.
“Later,” he says. “Right now, this is about you.”
He joins me on the bed, settling between my thighs but not touching me where I desperately need him to.
“I'm going to make you feel good,” he says, voice low. “And you're going to let me. No hiding. No holding back. If it's too much, you use your words. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good girl.”
His hands skim up my thighs, his touch is feather-light, barely there, making me squirm. When I try to press closer, his hands clamp down, holding me in place.
“Stay still. Take what I give you.”
The command settles over me like a physical weight. I force myself to go still, to let him set the pace. It’s much harder than I thought it would be.
“That's better.”
His mouth follows the path his hands traced, and he kisses along my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where I'm aching for him. My clit is pulsing and I want so badly for him to touch it, lick it, dosomethingto it… When he finally puts his mouth on me, I cry out, arching off the bed.
He pins my hips down with one forearm and works at eating me out with devastating precision. His tongue and lips apply just the right amount of pressure. Enough to drive me fucking insane but not enough to hurt. I feel the orgasm building and when I try to squirm away from the intensity, he tightens his hold.
“You can take it,” he says against my skin. “I know you can. You are going to be a good girl and orgasm for me.”
And he's right. I let go of all control and lay there, with this beautiful man between my thighs, lapping at my clit. It feels good. So damn good. He inserts a finger into me and the first orgasm hits, so intensely I see stars. But he doesn't stop. He works me through it and right into another one, not letting up until I'm shaking, oversensitive, begging incoherently. I’ve never had back-to-back orgasms; never knew it was possible.
He pulls back, wiping his mouth with a satisfied expression.
“You taste like heaven,” he says. “And you look even better when you come apart for me.”
I can't form words. Can barely form thoughts. I'm floating, weightless, completely wrecked. He strips off the rest of his clothes, and my mouth goes dry. He's gorgeous and his cock is hard and ready.
He reaches for the nightstand and pulls out a condom. I watch, as he rolls it on. Even after two orgasms I realize I needmore. I need to feel him inside of me, completing me as I know only he can do.
“Tell me what you want,” he says.
“You. Inside me. Please.”
He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, so slowly I could cry from the anticipation. The stretch is intense, perfect, exactly what I need.
When he's fully seated, he pauses. “You okay?”
“More than okay.” If this man checks in with me one more time…
As if reading my mind, he thrusts forward and starts a controlled rhythm, hitting exactly the right angle with every thrust. His hand fists in my hair, roughly tilting my head back so he can kiss my throat.
“Mine,” he growls against my skin. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasp. “All yours.”
“That's right.”
