The long slow strokes of his tongue are interspersed with small flicks across my clit, increasing its sensitivity until the throb competes with the increasing beat of my heart.
His fingertips are rough as they curl over the top of my thighs, digging in when I try to shift away, holding me steady, keeping me spread wide.
Zane’s tongue drives into me, stiffening to offer more pressure against my entrance, a spot that makes my thighs tremble, my muscles contracting until I have to fight not to clamp them together. My hips joining in the action, gently curving at first, then pumping as the first tears jolt free, spilling down my face.
The first curl of his finger inside me makes my heart skip a beat. When it thumps to catch up, lights flash in my eyes, my body obeying the rhythm he sets for it rather than following my commands.
An insistent beat takes over, driving me forward until I’m close to the precipice, the rough skin of his finger and the soft wet thrust of his tongue making my head spin. Making the cells of my body feel like they’re shaking apart.
And the moment I feel myself falling, he moves away, leaving me teetering on the edge, desperate for one last push.
Zane stands and gathers me into his arms, collapsing onto a chair with me on his lap, swivelling so I’m facing the painting and he’s facing the door.
His finger finds me again, this time while I’m straddling him. His free hand yanks at my blouse buttons, wrenching my top apart while he reaches further, flicking the clasp of my bra free.
Too impatient to wait for me to shed my clothes, his mouth fastens onto my breast, leaning me backwards while his finger pumps inside me and I clench my muscles around him, squeezing, squeezing, until I tumble headlong off the cliff, gasping for air while the exquisite overload of pleasure sends a new cascade of tears down my face.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says while my body is in freefall. “I want you like this all the time. Crying with ecstasy while your cum trickles over my fingers.”
His digits slip free while he tugs my head back until my face is fully exposed to the light. I try to wipe my cheeks, but he captures my hand, pulling it to his mouth to kiss the palm.
“Don’t you dare. I love watching the emotion on your face.”
And something in my chest loosens, opening until I’m filled with joy.
I don’t understand how he can appreciate the things about me I hate, but I bask in his gaze as he stares at my imperfect body and imperfect face with the same rapt adoration that I give to the works of art in front of me; the work of art sitting on the chair most of all.
“Are you ready for me?” He pulls me down for a kiss, his lips gentle at first, then becoming aggressive, demanding, sucking in my lower lip, and releasing it slowly through the gauntlet of his teeth, the tender skin already smarting.
And the truth is, I don’t know. My mind stutters as the pain from my first time breaches my memory banks, flooding my senses.
“You have the word to stop me if you need me to.”
I nod, taking comfort in his promise. “Can I…?” My tongue tangles, blushes burning me.
Instead of asking, I take. Unbuttoning his glossy black shirt, sliding my hand across the defined muscles of his chest, slipping farther down to tease at the thicket of hair that grows denser as it leads to his belt.
My fingers turn to spaghetti. I can’t get a grip, fumbling at his buckle and only sheer determination lets me finally gain access, easing down his zipper while his warm hand cups my face, the thumb stroking along my cheekbone, sending new tendrils of heat to dance across my skin.
I reach inside his briefs, my hand turning from clumsy to shy, nervously touching him.
A tilt of his hips makes it easier. His skin is supple, smooth, delighting my senses until I grow bolder, encircling his girth and feeling the rhythmic pulse from his fat veins against my palm.
“That feels so good,” he whispers, then groans as I stroke his full length, tightening my grip.
He draws my head down, devouring my mouth with his kisses while his hips buck towards my hand. I close my eyes to concentrate better on the flood of new sensations. When its shape is drawn in permanent marker inside my head, I try to position myself but can’t make everything line up while I’m still holding onto him, giving an exasperated sigh.
“Here.” He removes my fingers, taking my hips and tugging me forward, rearranging me before he guides my hand behind me.
For a moment, it’s like I’m in an erotic game of Twister, then the head of his cock nudges against my entrance and I lose all sense of where my body is in space and time. If he weren’t guiding me, I would collapse.
The slow pressure of him moving deeper creates such a unique sensation, it takes me a few moments to decide that I like it. There’s a weird twang in the back of my head, a split second of memory, teased away from the awful mess of Saturday night to stand alone, a frisson of pleasure that shamed me then but gives me an impulse to continue now.
Then it’s too much.
“Rose.” My voice cracks, though it was just the one word. Instead of pressing against his chest, my hand clings to his shoulder, leaning forward as I try to move off him, trembling and shaking.
His hands cup my hips, moving me upwards, easing that strange sense of fullness. He holds me, wrapping an arm under my arse to keep me steady, with just the tip of his cock left inside.
