Shit.
"But—" she started as she took a step in my direction.
"Stay right there, Shanice." My voice came out commanding, authoritative. The same tone I used when I needed someone to obey without question. "Don't move. Don't come closer. Just watch, baby."
She obeyed, rooted to the spot about six feet from the bed, her hands clutching the towel. Water coated her shoulders, running in rivulets down her chest, disappearing beneath the terry cloth.
I kept stroking, kept my pace slow and controlled even though every instinct screamed at me to rush, to finish, to find release. But where was the fun in that? Where was the torture, the delicious agony of denying myself what I wanted? And since I couldn’t have her the way that I wanted, I’d settle for looking at her fine ass while I got off. She could watch.
My eyes traveled over her body. The curve of her shoulders… The way the towel molded to her breasts, showing the shape of them, hinting at the nipples I'd had in my hands yesterday morning. The expanse of her thighs, strong and soft all at once.
I wondered if she was wet. If watching me was affecting her the way I knew it was.
"How was your shower?" I asked conversationally, as if I wasn't currently stroking my dick while staring at her.
She blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "I... what?"
"Your shower. Was the water hot enough?" I ran my thumb over the sensitive head, collecting the bead of precum there, using it to ease my strokes. The sensation made my abs tighten, and made me want to speed up again. I didn't.
"Yes," she managed. "It was fine."
She wasn’t though. I could tell that it was killing her not to be doing something right now. She wanted to come over here just as much as I wanted to pin her against the wall with her legs around my waist. We were both suffering.
"Good. You were singing. What was the song?"
"I don't... I can't remember." Her eyes were glued to my hand, watching every movement. "Mikhail, please."
"Please what?"
"Let me touch you."
"No." I stroked myself base to tip again, slower this time, making sure she could see every detail. "You're not ready for that yet."
"I am ready," she insisted, taking a small step forward.
"Stop." The command in my voice halted her immediately. "I said don't move."
She froze again, and I saw her thighs press together. Saw the way her breathing had gone shallow and fast. Saw the flush spreading down her neck and across her chest. She was affected. Good. It wouldn’t do anything for me if she wasn’t.
I adjusted my grip slightly, changed the angle, let my head fall back against the pillow with a low groan. The pleasure was building, a slow burn in my spine, in my balls, spreading through my entire body.
But I wouldn't rush it. Wouldn't give in to the urge to speed up and chase the release. This was about control. About showing her what restraint looked like. About making her understand that when I finally took her, it would be because I chose to, not because I couldn't help myself.
"Do you know what I'm thinking about?" I asked, my voice rougher now.
"What?" The word came out breathless.
"Last night. Holding you while you slept. Feeling your body against mine. Knowing I could wake you up and have you if I wanted." I stroked myself harder, just once, then returned to the slower pace. "Kissing your neck. Playing with those perfect tits. Making you come just from touching you. How damn responsive you are. I can only imagine what you’ll sound like when I’m finally inside you."
Her breath hitched. Her hands loosened on the towel slightly.
"I'm thinking about how wet you must be right now," I continued, watching her face. "How badly you want me to stop being patient and just fuck you already."
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I want that. But you insist on making me wait. You think I’m not ready, but I am, Mikhail. So, yes, I want you to fuck me already." The frustration was heavy in her tone, but I liked that, too.
"I know you do." I squeezed myself tighter, my hips starting to move slightly, fucking into my own fist in small, controlled thrusts. "But you're not getting it. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow either."
"You're cruel."
