‘You’re going down,’ I say with an evil chuckle, to which he replies, ‘Ladies first.’
~*~
It takes very few adjustments to the camera for Flynn’s sequence. In truth, though the camera is worth thousands, this part of the business is a pretty basic affair. I didn’t go to school to study cinematography. As with most things in this business, I’m self-taught.
I move away from the setup, changing the settings for one of the lights.
‘Do your hands always shake?’ Flynn’s voice catches me off guard. The answer is no. Not for a long time. I’m at ease being around naked people and totally at home watching them fuck. In fact, I rarely watchthem. I’m more concerned about the scene as a whole, constantly questioning the look. Flynn being here in my studio, making his kinds of offers, has rendered my mind and my control a bust. But perhaps the best defence is an offence, so I make my way back to the desk with a sway in my step as I begin to loosen the buttons of my blouse.
Turning to face him, I prop myself against the edge, letting my fingers trail down my throat, lingering between the sides of my open blouse.
‘You’re a fucking tease,’ he says on a deep chuckle, twisting his hand around the head of his dick. Not that I can see exactly—his trousers abandoned, he’s still wearing his tight boxer briefs, his hand holding the outline of his hardness as he flexes into his palm.
‘Says the man with his cock in his hand.’ The beautiful man. Tanned under the lighting, his legs planted wide.
‘Babe, talk dirty to me.’
‘I thought you were the expert?’
‘Fuck,’ he hisses tightening the fabric over the outline of his substantial erection, displaying for me and the camera both girth and length. ‘You know what I’m imagining? You. Naked. Squirming and soaking wet.’
‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ My retort is without conviction as he straightens his cock, pulling out the head to rest against his toned stomach. ‘You’re on your hands and knees with your pussy glistening and ready for me.’ Despite my retort, I think I might moan a little, especially as he licks the tips of his fingers and rubs saliva over the head until it’s shining and wet. ‘I want to spank you until your arse gleams red and suck on your pussy until you scream.’
I gasp, blood turning molten in my veins.
‘Give me your underwear, duchess,’ he demands.
He rubs and squeezes his thick head, groaning as though he’s in the best kind of pain, the muscles of his abs contracting as though suffering through a solid workout.
I can’t . . . not do as he asks. Out of the shot of the camera, I shimmy my skirt up over my hips, hooking my thumbs into the sides of my knickers and sliding them down my legs.
‘Jesus fuck,’ he rasps. ‘Thigh highs.’ He rewards me and the sight of my stockings by slipping his hand under the soft cotton to release his hard cock from the confines. Tipping his head back, Flynn holds his length in both hands, yes, both hands, his thumb and forefinger teasing his engorged head, the other holding the base as he rubs.
I’ve never seen anything quite so explicit. Quite so erotic. And coming from someone who makes a living from sex, that’s saying something.
I don’t even debate the merits of my actions as I throw the balled-up scrap of lace at him, shucking out of my shirt and blouse. My skin feels alive and the fabric too heavy to bear. And I think my brain breaks a little as he catches my knickers against his chest, bringing them to his nose to deeply inhale. And all the while his other hand doesn’t stop. Holding himself, he rubs hard, then soft. Fast, then slow.
Smooth skin. Wet hand. Gasping, broken breath as he begins to pant.
‘You’re not touching yourself,’ he rasps. ‘Cheat.’
Never let it be said I don’t ever rise to a dare. At least, not when I’m aching and not when moisture is gathering between my bare legs. Not when something heavy and needy causes my heart to beat wildly.
Leaning back against the desk, I spread my feet and slip two fingers between my legs. My body bows at the contact, and I gasp.When did I last feel this kind of electricity when touching myself?Certainly not over the past six months.
‘Wider,’ he grunts. Images and sensations coalesce, drowning me in need as he bites the lace of my knickers, tipping his head back with a groan as he stretches the pale fabric, the colour contrasted against his darker skin. ‘Let me see.’
‘First—first to come gets the tape.’ This from me as my slick fingers reach a place I thought I’d lost—a place I thought had abandoned me. My body arcs into my hand, almost bringing me up onto my toes as I seek a pleasure that my body has denied me for long months.
‘That’s it, duchess. Come here, please.’ I shake my head, unable to form words. ‘The tape, it’s yours. Just, please. Come here.’
I was never going to make it public, anyway. And in a moment, I’m in front of him, and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the tape. One hand on my hip, he brings my body over his, and as I straddle him, he tugs me down for a rough kiss. I seek to centre my body.
‘No, love. You need to finish this.’ He slides his fingers through my wetness, making me to buck and hiss. Then with the gentlest of kisses to the softness of my stomach, he takes his rock-hard cock into his hand once again.
‘That’s it—that’s it.’ His eyes are glued to where my fingers move fast and slick, my body bowing forward as I support myself with my hand on the back of the chair.
‘You’re’ killin’ me,’ he groans, his hand moving faster as his body twists, his mouth in line with my breast. ‘I’m gonna come on you.’ He wraps the scrap of lace around the base of his thick length as he begins to jack in earnest now. ‘Come on your sweet pussy and your tits.’
