His breaths are ragged, but he’s still trying to control himself, and I still find that so hot. He slides his hands under my back and unhooks my bra with ease, pulling the straps down with reverence and staring at my naked breasts as if they’ve just beaten him at a Mathletes competition and he intends to exact revenge. He folds the bra carefully and places it on the bed next to me. Then he touches eight fingertips to my right inner thigh and trails them down to the top of the stocking. He studies the garter straps and the clips.
“Oh my God. You have to?—”
Before I can instruct him, he unhooks all three of the straps on the left, followed by the ones on my right thigh. “I know what to do, Tiny Dancer. I like looking at you.” He dips down to kiss my mouth, and it is such a good kiss—sucha good kiss—but it lasts forever, so I bite his lower lip. “Ow.” When he snaps his head back, I see fire in his eyes.
“Two forms of birth control,” I mutter.
“Not yet.” He cups my breasts and kisses his way down my sternum. And then he massages my boobs and stares at them.He stares at my right boob. He stares at my left boob. He licks his lips and continues to not fuck me.
Why must he torment me so?
I shut my eyes and blurt out, “Fuck you.”
“Soon.”
I cover my eyes with my forearms and keep my eyes shut as he gives me a boob massage. It feels so good, I want to scream. My body begins to tremble when I feel the tip of his warm, hard tongue on my left nipple. His whole mouth covers it for a second, and then he applies more pressure with his tongue, slowly circling it around and around. He simultaneously rubs the area beneath my breast with his thumbs. My tits feel huge. They’ve grown for him. My entire body is swollen and ripe and ready to burst. He moves on to the other nipple as I squirm and whimper beneath him in delicious agony.
I stretch my arms overhead, reach for a pillow, and mutter again, for good measure, “Fuck you, Johnny.”
His body hovers over mine as he deep-kisses me, caressing my tongue with his, moaning. I realize that my body has begun to move rhythmically, but he holds his completely still just above me, which requires impressive arm and core strength. I don’t want him to stop kissing me, but when his lips travel down to my breasts again, I have no complaints. Aside from the wholenot fucking mething.
His approach is different—this time he sucks the nipples lightly and rhythmically, tickling them with the tip of his tongue, while using his hand to squeeze and pump the breast while sucking. My body starts to undulate because I have so much built-up energy, it needs to move. I gasp and groan, my head twisting from side to side. With all the pain and joy my body has experienced while dancing, it has never experienced this kind of exquisite torture during sex. This kind of sex is a marathon, and I have been sprinting since I was a teenager.
I am on the brink of orgasm, and I really don’t know how much more of this I can take, but I am determined to find out.
His sucking and squeezing reach a crescendo, and suddenly my saliva-dampened breasts feel cold when he disappears between my legs.
“Jesus,” he groans as he discovers what I’ve known for two days—it’s a river of lust down there. “You want it so badly, Olivia.”
“Yes.”
“Is this what it’s always like for you?”
I shake my head vehemently, even though the last thing he needs is more proof of his awesomeness. “Never.”
“This is just for me?”
“I had to change my panties three times yesterday because I was so turned on from thinking about you. Or two days ago. I don’t know when I am anymore.” I realize my face is wet now too because I’m crying. This is so stupid. I’m supposed to be making him dumb and helpless.
I try to lift my head because I need to get on top. But he pushes my legs apart and up so they are bent, feet flat on the bed.
John kisses around my pubic bone and inner thighs and then opens my outer lips with his fingers and kisses the inner lips, his tongue caressing them. I am so engorged, my pelvis tilts up, desperate for penetration. His tongue sweeps around, up and down, before thrusting inside me. In and out, in and out. Not rushed like at his house—more like he’s prepping me for something.
Soon I feel like I’m in a trance. I am breath and light and electricity and exploding melting colors. I keep saying his name, over and over. At least I think I’m saying it out loud. I may have already lost the ability to speak—I can’t tell anymore. I clutch the pillow and pull it under my head to keep still, because I honestly feel like I could fly around the room. When his tonguefinally flirts with my clit, he kisses it and then sucks on it gently. I scream. The orgasm demolishes me. He is squeezing my ass, trying to hold me still.
I don’t know if my body will be good for anything ever again.
This is too much.
This can’t be good.
This feels like the end of something.
Or maybe it’s the beginning of everything.
When I open my eyes, I’m not even sure if I fell asleep again. I can sense Johnny standing at the edge of the bed. I can’t lift my head, but I can tilt my chin down. He’s blurry, but I can see him rolling on a condom.
Oh, God—he hasn’t even fucked me yet.
