“You like?” she taunts, passing a fingertip side to side across the swollen bud.
My gaze lifts to her face. “I likeallof you, Salvi. That sweet morsel is just the newest addition to the list.”
Her laugh is low. Tugging her knickers farther to one side, she aligns with the head of my cock and rotates her hips in a slow circuit. She sinks onto me an inch, then retreats.
“Dreadful girl,” I manage, my voice tight.
“You’ll wait and love it.” She slides down again, deeper, contracting to give me a squeeze before rising. “I am one hundred percent going to make you suffer for being awful to me on your stupid fucking blog—I warned you.” Another inch-deep plunge, pulsing her muscles. “You’re going to watch me come hard, and you’re going to need to do it too—more than you need your next damned breath—and I… am not… going…to let you.”
She punctuates her last few words with increasingly deep envelopments of my straining cock. Lifting off again, she grabsme in one hand and uses me to stroke that stunning clit of hers. Her pupils are wide black pools ringed in gold, her lips are parted, and her head is tilted to showcase the flaming peacock feather tattoo on her neck. Disheveled pastel hair drapes over the opposite breast, the nipple peeking through.
With a sudden cry, she sinks down on me, hard and full. Eyes closed, she grabs one of my shoulders and puts the other hand on my throat, stroking the column, following the lines of my tendons with her thumb and forefinger. She grinds harder into my lap, and I feel the slick heat of her arousal paint my thighs.
I hold my lower body rigid, fighting the need to move with her as she begins to arch on me. Her thighs flex and her tight, wet little cunt wrings me as she rules my cock with increasing ferocity. Behind my back, my wrists turn and my fingers tangle. I grab the edge of the cushion where it meets the chair back as I’m assaulted by waves of perfect fucking bliss.
She’s half gasping, half laughing for pure pleasure, her wicked angel face a gorgeous sight. I watch as signs of impending climax flit across her expression. There’s nothing pained or contrived, just a natural combination of gasping breath and happiness.
Her eyes fly open and she looks at me almost as if remembering I’m still there, and for a moment I’m slightly hurt, until an authentic smile radiates from her. She slows her movement and leans closer to me, rising to fuck mostly the tip of my cock as she aligns her tattooed left breast with my mouth.
“Do what you were doing before, Sandy,” she pants. “I’m almost there. I want you to lick my tit as I come…”
I apply myself with enthusiasm to the job, and she tips her pelvis so her clit rubs against my cock with her small, measured thrusts. She grips my shoulder with one hand, the other tangled in my hair. Unmistakably, I feel the tremors of her impending climax. A low, tight growling in her throat rises to a sensational wail, and she wrings my hair so hard that my scalp burns.
“Fuck! Yessssssss!” she shouts with an exhausted laugh, pulling her breast away from my mouth. The twitching of her pussy lingers, and she sighs in exultant relief, leaning her head against my bare, sweat-dewed shoulder. She stays that way for a minute as her breathing slows, and I realize it’s the closest thing to tender she’s ever been with me. My eyes close, savoring it.
I’m still miserably hard, but as warned, she climbs off me. Looking down at my lap, she says, “Uh, don’t move ’til I get you a towel. I squirted. Stay right there.” She dashes to the en suite, and the sight of her knickers askew—one arse cheek fully exposed—and her inner thighs bathed in glistening wetness is almost enough to send me over the edge without so much as a touch.
She trots back and crams the towel into my lap. “I end up paying for more goddamned hotel chairs that way,” she confesses. “Here, lean forward and I’ll, um, unshackle you.”
She releases one wrist and I bring my arms around to my front, rubbing at a red, dented spot. I breathe slowly and evenly, willing my cock to relax and accept that nothing more is forthcoming, but the sight and scent of a freshly fucked Sage is a powerful aphrodisiac.
“I’ll just, erm, excuse myself for a shower,” I tell her, planning to take matters into my own hands.
“Yeah, I messed you up pretty good,” she says with a mildly embarrassed chuckle, nodding toward the towel.
My eyebrows lift. “Oh, no worries there. I’d gladly be covered in you like a fuckin’ double-glazed Chelsea bun.”
Sage cracks up, resting a hip against the chair arm.
“I merely need a few minutes to… gather my wits,” I conclude.
“Ohhhhhh, right. Okay, that’s fair. You’re allowed.” She picks up her camisole and puts it back on. “By the way,” she says with a hint of something like uncharacteristic shyness, “I don’t always do that.” She points to the towel again. “Y’know,that. The squirting. Just sometimes, when, uh… I have a lot of energy. And—” She scrunches her mouth as if debating whether to say more. “Like, if I feel comfortable. When I can totally let go.”
Between this revelation and the fact that she called me Sandy just before she came, I’m assailed by a tender feeling that prickles behind my eyes. I stand, rubbing my face with the non-towel-holding hand and clearing my throat.
“Glad I could help,” I say, my voice gruff with emotion.
She ducks her head, then turns away to go to her mobile. “Yeah, thanks. It was fun.” She taps her screen. “I’ll order grub. Kinda hungry after that.” Without turning around, she waves toward the en suite, dismissing me. “Save me some hot water. I need to rinse off again.”
I collect my trousers from the floor in front of the chair and go to the shower.
I can’t help wondering,Is she feeling something too? What have we done?
14
MELBOURNE
SAGE
