He pulls me gently, guiding me back to his lap, his mouth finding the side of my neck.
I stop thinking entirely.
His mouth traces down from my neck to my collarbone. One hand comes up to cup my breast and his thumb moves across my nipple in a way that makes me moan. It would embarrass me if I had any capacity left for embarrassment. He does itagain, watching my face, learning what makes me react and cataloguing it with the same focused efficiency he brings to everything.
He's studying me.
I lower myself until I’m resting over his length, unable to stop myself from trying to find friction again, I slide back and forth over him, my wet heat coating him until I shiver with need. He inhales sharply through his nose and his fingers tighten, hard. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel.
"Do that again," he says.
I do.
His gaze drops to where I’m sliding over him without yet taking him inside me and his jaw tightens. He looks like a man exercising truly heroic restraint, and something about that, about the fact that I'm doing this to him, is the most powerful thing I've ever felt.
"Iosif." I lean forward, my tight nipples stroking over his chest. My lips brush his ear. "Stop holding back."
His hands come back to my breasts and he groans, a deep rumble that I feel everywhere.
"You don't know what you're asking," he says.
"Yes, I do."
He watches me for one more second. Then something in his expression changes. Like a door opening. Like a decision being made.
I reach between us and line him up with my entrance, then press down and wait for the pain.
There’s a sharp sting, and a burning sensation as I stretch, but the desire in me to do this overrides both.
“Take it steady,” he says, for me or him, I don’t know.
“Stop deciding for me,” I say, mimicking my earlier statement. This time his mouth drops open as his hands grip my hips.
I begin to ride him, taking the first few strokes carefully until I figure out the range of motion I need. Once I’ve found a rhythm I’m comfortable with, I pick up speed.
“Guide me,” I pant, needing the extra help in the confined space of the chair.
He does as I ask, lifting my hips and pushing them back down in time with my forward and backward motion.
“Fuck Mia, you look like a fucking goddess.”
I must look wild, riding this man like my life depends on it. Chasing the orgasm that’s building torturously slowly.
“Look at how well you take me,” he says, but I can’t see at this angle. I press my hands against his chest and move quicker, the orgasm within reach now. He digs his thumbs into the front of my hips, changing the angle of my pelvis so I grind against him on the down, backward stroke, and something in me snaps loose.
My head drops back as wave after wave of pleasure chases through me. The stinging pain has disappeared entirely, replaced by glittering shivers of pure ecstasy. I lift my head up and open my eyes, watching as Iosif loses himself inside me, watching the space where we’re joined.
His hands have stilled now, no longer lifting me up and guiding my rhythm, but pushing me down hard onto his throbbing cock.
The sounds he makes lights up something inside of me, and I want more. More of my own pleasure, more of his.
His teeth are gritted as he pushes up against me, trying to get deeper still, before his eyes go dazed and his muscles quiver one last time with a sound of startled surprise.
We’re both breathing heavily, staring at each other with something close to shock, blinking our way back to reality as my walls continue to spasm around him.
Neither of us have any words.
Iosif
