‘Don’t come, not yet,’ he whispers quite coolly.
My gaze shoots to his, the echo of yesterday’s tone making my heart jump. His eyes are darkly dilated, lust stealing the flame, but not cold and aloof.
‘Don’t,’ he repeats, his fingers still inside me as his phone holding hand finds my hip, stilling me.
Just the mere suggestion of his command twists my insides, sends me to that place; the place where it’s all about him. It’s such a heady high, one in which I’m compelled to concentrate on.To not come.I want so much to lose myself in this moment, to fall over the brink, because what he asks of me is unfair. He asks that I lose myselftohim, notinhim, when the very tone of his voice, his demand and control, makes me crave. Pushes me to the opposite effect.
I whimper my protest, grabbing his forearm in both of my hands, my insides tightening, my clit pounding like a drum.
‘No, sweetheart. Not yet,’ he replies on the breath of a laugh.The sadistic shit.
I close my eyes tight as his thumb begins massaging my clit and... is that his little finger uncurling between my butt cheeks? Pushing down against his hand, I exhale a strangled moan. A conflicted moan. A moan begging for release.
His phone stops clicking, falling to the bed as he pulls me against his chest. I twist away, running my tongue over my teeth, reminded that my mouth feels like the bottom of a cockies cage.
My nan had a cockatiel. He was a bit of a sadist, too.
I hold my head at an awkward angle, avoiding the clashing of our lips.Man, I’d kill for a shower.I’ve forgotten the last time I was clean. I certainly didn’t shower yesterday. Not between all the drama, and the massive amounts of jet-lag induced sleep.
‘You’re thinking again.’
‘Shouldn’t make things hard for me, then.’ My answer is a kind of breathless whine.
‘I’m always hard for you.’
I groan. I’d meant it as part-protest to his awful pun. Funny how it sounds more like encouragement.
My mouth inaccessible, his hot, insistent kisses trail instead against my neck before moving to my breast. His tongue circles my nipple in a hypnotic rhythm, making me forget my questionable hygiene, forget everything.
‘Get on my cock.’
His forehead rests against my breastbone, his hands clasping my waist as he coaxes me into place, watching between my legs as I slide over the length of him. He exhales a shuddering breath, his hands gripping me tighter, but I’m no puppet as I begin to move. More shallow movements at first, then increasing tempo and depth at my leisure, drawing my body slowly upwards, before pushing down deep and fast.
The noises he makes border on painful, his head falling back as I ride him. I relish his look, the mixture of pleasure and pain, as I contract my muscles around him. Still strung tight by his fingers, the ripples of my own orgasm begin to crest. I crash down against him, again and again. Images begin to flicker in my head—the phone in his hand. My mouth on him. Our bodies where we join, skin to skin. The images begin to blur around the edges, like negatives. I grind against him, dark flashes behind my eyes as I cry out. Catapulted into oblivion, I come explosively.
Unable quite yet to return—to come down—I circle my hips to draw the moment out, skin to skin. His breath hitches as his thighs begin to twitch. Tell-tale signs not needed as he rasps that he’s coming, that he can feel every inch of himself tight in me. That I’m the best he’s ever had.
My head rests on his shoulder. We’re a twisted mess of sweat-shining skin and rumpled sheets. My fingers stroke the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck, his arms resting on my waist and winding around my back. Drawing me closer, he breathes in deeply, exhaling one word.
‘Heavenly.’
I snort into his shoulder. I expect his nose must be bunged up from the flight.
‘Don’t laugh,’ he chastises on the breath of a soft laugh, my insides reacting around him, causing him to shift. ‘I’m serious. When we’re fucking—’
‘Oh, you’re always serious aboutthat,’ I say, running my hands through his hair.
His hands tighten against me in a silent reprimand. ‘It’s more than sex. It’s...’ He closes his eyes, leaning back his head. ‘Like it’s meant to be.’
