His other hand slides down my body, his fingers finding my clit.
He rubs me in slow, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of my hips.
"Yes," I moan against my lips. "Right there. Please don't stop."
I don’t even realize it when the “please” slips out.
He continues to rub my clit, his touch firm, his movements sure, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
My body tenses, my movements becoming frantic, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I’m so close.
My pussy clenches around his cock, pulling a groan from him, and my nails dig into his shoulders.
Still, I whimper, a frustrated, desperate sound as it eludes me.
"Please, Nico," I beg, my hips bucking against his hand as I bounce on his dick. "I'm so close."
My body tenses, a wave of pleasure starting to build, and I start trembling as I approach the brink.
But I can't get there. Something is holding me back. The frustration is palpable as I continue to ride Nico with desperation. I whimper again, the sound a mix of pleasure and pure agony, on the very cusp, but unable to break through.
And the worst part is that it's not even Nico causing it. Not intentionally, anyway. His movements haven't changed at all, same speed, same intensity.
It's me.
My body isn't cooperating with me.
It's not responding.
It's waiting.
For a command.
For permission.
For him to take control.
It's the most humiliating realization of my entire life.
And has made me wetter than I've ever been before.
He groans as his cock reaps the benefits, and he runs his hands up my body and squeezes my breasts. I lean forward into his hands and grind harder into his cock. I close my eyes as frustrated tears prick the back of my eyes.
It's not like I haven't had an orgasm before Nico. I was a virgin, but I've masturbated before, and it was great. And I never needed someone to say when.
But it's like something inside me knows that I'm with Nico. And it needs it. Needs him.
And his particular brand of pleasure.
A frustrated sob escapes my lips as I finally stop and drop my forehead to his chest.
Nico presses his lips to my temple in an effort to comfort me—but can't hide the curve of his smile against my skin.
The smug bastard knows.
He knows exactly what he's doing to me.
