His lips quirk, and he kisses me. Barefoot, I feel every inch of the height difference as he spins us and walks me backwards towards the bed. When the back of my thighs hits the mattress, I break away, gasping for air, bending backwards in his arms until he has to let go of my face to catch me around the waist. Even then, he pursues, following and burying his face in my shoulder. There’s a sharp sensation as he bites the skin there, and a spasm of need wracks my body.
When I make a pathetic little whimpering noise, he pulls away and releases me. Realizing he wanted the space so he could start undressing, my mouth dropsinto a little O and I fall gracelessly onto my ass, totally transfixed. Butterflies start fluttering around like mad, making my insides roil and tingle.
This is it.
He’s meticulous and deliberate as he unbuttons his shirt and drapes it over the edge of my office chair. His pants get the same treatment, and then he’s standing only in a pair of boxer briefs, looking like he’s trying to smuggle a traffic cone.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
The first thing I notice is the tattoos, but only because they’re so bright and socopious. This is a man who understands patience and can sit still through days—weeks, most likely—of discomfort and outright pain of needles depositing ink under skin. Shapes and colors draw a continuous pattern, though a few stand out images strike me—a British flag, a gravestone, a red rose in the mouth of a skull, an ace of spades…
“Beautiful,” I breathe, pulling back on the need to run my fingers over them. “Did the same artist do them all?”
“Most,” he says, looking down and smoothing a hand across his flat abdomen. Somehow the tattoos accentuate the ridges, making them look even harder and emphasizing the cut of the V that disappears under the band of his boxers. “I had to find someone new when I came over here.”
I can’t wait to touch every single one, but there will be time for that later. And it’s fitting because his body is a different kind of work of art. He looks so… strong in a way that’s thoroughly exciting. Solid. Firm. He’s all rock-hard hills and valleys, with a smattering of light brown hair across his chest. My eyes drop to his package, and I stare unashamedly as he pulls down and steps out of his boxers. His cock springs up, curving slightly towards his body. Excitement coils and uncoils deep inside me at the sight. I was right—it’s pretty.
Like, I know that objectively, dicks usually aren’t. His is.
He smiles wickedly, seeing the intensity of my focus. “If you want this, show me what a good girl you can be for it,” he instructs, reaching down and gripping his length at the base. It makes it jut out from his body further and look even longer. “Lean back and open your legs.”
That normal bristling feeling I get at the phrasebe a good girlis nowhere to be found. Just eager submission—like my need for this man overwrites any resistance to being told what to do. “Yes, Sir.”
I scoot back a few inches and lean my weight onto my hands so I can draw my legs apart for him. He takes a stiff step towards the bed, and my stomach drops in a pure rush of excitement. Then, he stops himself, meeting my eye. The intensity there is almost scary.
“Tell me what you need now, Madison,” he orders, giving his cock a firm stroke that steals my breath. “It’s hard not to lose control around you, and once I’m inside that perfect cunt I know I’ll be lost. What can I do to make sure you’re comfortable?”
It’s hard to tell which warms first—my face or my heart.
“Well, we’ve got that,” I nod at the vibrator he made me. Then, I eye his size, stretch to the side and reach for the bottle of lube in the top drawer of my bedside table. I tilt it towards the fingers on my left hand, but as I start squeezing, he clears his throat. With a smile that feels equal parts thrilled and shy, I hand it to him.
“Lie back, my love.”
Face flaming at the endearment, I do as he asks. He pours a dollop into his hand, warms it, and leans forward. The first brush of his fingers against my aching flesh makes me gasp and spread my legs wider. He teases me with his touch, too gentle to give me the friction I crave, exploring and ensuring every inch of me is slick. When he dips two fingers inside me, I moan. I can just see out of the corner of my eye how his cock bobs in response to the noise.
“Does that feel good?” he murmurs. Breathlessly, I nod, but he clarifies, “Does it feel like enough lube?”
Grinning, I nod harder. Fingers shaking with excitement and need, I hand him the vibrator and hiss as the cool silicone comes in contact with my searing heat. It slides inside so easily, fits in place so perfectly, that I start rocking my hips in eager anticipation of what’s about to come.
I hear the lube bottle squirt again, and open my eyes in time to watch him spread more across the tip of his cock. My heart is racing, and my blood is pounding so hard and loud in my temples that I think I might explode from the anticipation.
Then, he leans towards me.
Finally.
With a moan of relief, I reach for him, but he grabs both my wrists, falling down onto them with all his weight and pressing them into the mattress above my head as he settles his hips between my spread legs. The tip of his cock taps against the device seated along my seam, and I gasp and writhe at the sensation.
“Oh, we’re doing this again?” I purr. “You’re kind of a control freak, huh?”
Not that I mind. Well… I don’t mindmuch. I mean, I want to touch him, too, but I love the feel of being trapped underneath him like this. The weight of him… it’s perfect. I couldn’t buck him off if I tried, even before his immobilizing grip.
“Well, the last time I let you have control, you handcuffed and pointed a gun at me, you little menace.”
“Touché,” I laugh, knowing he’s not serious about that being the reason.
His weight transfers as he shifts, pulling my wrists into just one hand and pressing them hard into the mattress to rebalance so he can grab his cock to aim it. We’re almost perfectly aligned like this—I only need to hook my legs around his hips and curl my spine a little to lift my pelvis.
I try grinding down harder on him, to force the tip inside, but his fingers tighten around my wrists.
