Her hands go to the hem of her satin nightgown. She pulls it off in one fluid motion, leaving her completely naked before me. A knot forms in my throat and my lungs forget how to work when the woman in front of me, my future wife,mine, mine, mine, moves her hands to cup her breasts, squeezing gently, testing the weight of them in her palms.
The moan that escapes her lips is all I hear and all I want to hear for the rest of my goddamn life.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" The question comes out strangled as I stroke my painful erection withincreasing desperation, my cock pulsing and demanding to be buried in her heat. Precum leaks steadily now, easing the glide of my hand, but it's not enough. Nothing will be enough except being inside her.
She's glistening. Still wet from her orgasm and getting wetter from watching me now. Her thighs are slick, her folds pink and swollen from my attention. And the knowledge that I affect her this way, that she wants me as desperately as I want her, that watching me stroke myself turns her on, makes my hand move faster. The wet sounds of my fist working my shaft fill the room, obscene and perfect.
"You're so beautiful," she whispers, and the reverence in her voice makes my cock jump in my hand.
I'm not beautiful. I'm damaged in ways that should come with warning labels, and a better man would keep his distance from her. But I've never claimed to be better. Just selfish enough to keep her anyway.
One of her hands stays on her breast, fingers pinching and kneading the soft flesh, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, while the other slides down her stomach, over her hip, to her center. She penetrates herself slowly with two fingers, and my vision nearly whites out. Her lips are swollen and flushed, her clit nearly red from my attention, but she doesn't stop the deliberate rhythm of her fingers, pumping them in and out.
"Fuck, Roxanne," I groan, unable to tear my eyes away.
My eyes fix on that spot, transfixed by the fantasy playing in my head where my cock replaces her fingers. Where I'm the one filling her, stretching her, claiming every inch of her. Where I can feel those walls gripping me the way they're gripping her fingers now. My hand grips my erection even harder, matchingthe pace of her movements, pretending it's her heat surrounding me instead of my own palm.
"Damien," she breathes, her voice breaking, "I'm going to come again."
My name on her lips makes my cock twitch violently in my palm. Tingles race up my spine and I clench my jaw, every muscle in my body going rigid because I have to suppress every primal instinct screaming at me to take her. I want to be inside her with a violence that terrifies me, want to pin her down and fuck her until neither of us can move. But she's not ready. Not yet. And I won't rush this, won't ruin our first time together. She deserves better than a desperate, rough fuck even though that's exactly what my body is demanding.
"Don’t stop," I command, my voice rough. "Let me see you fall apart again, baby."
Then, to put the final nail in my coffin, Roxanne starts to smile. That innocent, devastating smile that knows exactly what it's doing to me, that promises everything while delivering sweet torture. She looks at me through her lashes, her eyes half-lidded and dark with lust.
"Damien," she whispers, biting her lower lip, and her thighs start to tremble around her hand. Her pace increases, fingers moving faster, and I can hear how wet she is. "Come with me."
Three words. Ten letters. My undoing.
My head falls back, a guttural groan tearing from my throat as I come hard, pleasure slamming into me like a freight train. My cock pulses in my hand, spilling all over her stomach and thighs, marking her with my release. Thick ropes of cum paint her skin, claiming her, branding her as mine. The orgasm seems to go on forever, each pulse wringing more from me until I'm completely spent.
If I ever had any illusion that this woman doesn't have me completely wrapped around her little finger, the sounds she makes right now, those breathy moans as she watches me come undone, have made the situation crystal fucking clear.
I'm hers. Completely. Irrevocably. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
After I recover, I look down at her and can't help the smile spreading across my face.
"You've never looked better,slonko."
"Now I have to shower again," she grumbles, but there's no bite in her voice.
In fact, I could swear there's affection, but what the hell do I know about these feelings? I'm so desperate for her love and attention that I might be seeing things that aren't there.
I scoop her up, earning a small protest, and carry her to the shower.
After stripping off my pants completely, I step into the shower with her and pour some shampoo into my palms.
"What happened isn't okay," I hear her whisper against me.
"I agree. It was more than okay. It was fantastic," I tell her even though my heart squeezes when I see how conflicted she looks.
"We're not a couple, Damien."
"We're partners, Roxanne, and that's better than any couple could be. You want to keep resisting? Fine. But I'm going to push those boundaries until you realize that you and I are inevitable."
My hands massage the shampoo into her hair, and I can't help but feel warmth in my chest when I hear her purr as my fingers touch the sensitive spots behind her ears and at her temples.
"When I was little, I took dance classes. An activity I did because Ivette insisted since I was, according to her standards, too fat for my age."
