“I got it.”
“I’m serious, Rosalie. This instance, with the ‘too much’ and the overstimming is the only exception I’m going to make, because you asked for it. Any other time you show you’re uncomfortable, or in pain, or not wanting to do something, I’m going to stop.”
“I got it, Locke. It’ll be fine. That’s what I want.” His glasses start slipping off his face, and I readjust them for him. I tap the plastic of his frame and smirk. “I want this too, actually. The glasses stay on. And the watch.”
He chuckles. “My accessories turn you on?”
“Yes.”
An image of Locke in this same position, with a thick band around his finger while he works his way into me flashes through my brain. It sends my hips chasing his again, and my hands moving back to my waist band.
The last layers of our clothes are slowly working off our bodies—finally—when I ask, “What about you? What do you want?”
His pants are off. The outline of Locke’s cock is unmissable in his skintight, name-brand boxers, and I throw my head back in a moan.
“That’s what I what. More of those.” Like a magnet, he’s hovering over me again. We can only go a few moments separated before we’re attracted to each other again. I’d think it’s adorable and heartwarming if I didn’t want him naked so fucking badly.
“What else?” I tug at his boxers for only a few seconds before Locke is grabbing both my wrists, pinning them down at the sides of my head and pressing his lower body onto mine. The rigid pressure pressing against my clothed clit is so intoxicating, I almost miss what he says.
“I don’t want you to do any work. You lay back and enjoy. The only thing you need to do is tell me how much you like it, and give me the orgasms I earn, alright?”
He grinds his way down into me, and I see stars.
“Yes. Okay. Got it.”
Locke grinds into me once more, and my jaw goes slack. The smirk plastered across his face is sinisterly sexy and so far from the shy guy who couldn’t make eye contact with me when we first met.
Shakily, I ask, “Anything else?”
He removes himself from me. Sitting back, he carefully runs his hands over the expanse of my thighs. We both watch the motion. It’s torture, but the build-up feels so good, I almost come just from the blissed-out look in his eyes. He takes just as long inching my panties off, grunting deep in his throat when I’m laid bare across his navy comforter.
The air that hits the most sensitive part of my body is cold, but I’m warm under his lust-filled stare. His hands are immediately busy, one gripping the hair at his scalp and the other holding himself under the hem of his underwear.
I don’t feel exposed. There’s a rush of realization, and his words from earlier echo in my mind. I might be the one lying under him, asking him to rough me around and have his way with me, but I’m in control. I could ask Locke to fall to knees and kiss my feet right now and he’d do it.
It’s the most sexual experience I’ve ever had.
“Last thing.” He finally groans out. His lean fingers start to slowly work his own underwear off his body, and I’ve never been so engrossed with something in my entire life. “I’m last. Always.”
“What does that mean?”
The black fabric drops off his thighs, down his calves, and onto the floor of his bedroom, and I forget how to breathe.
The length of him is too much. It’s too big.
I’m so frustrated by everything. The heated air in the room, the shadowed muscles of Locke’s body, the fact that he’s hard and pulsing and nine inches, at least, that my hands instinctively reach between my legs to feel some sort of relief.
My wrist is caught before I get the chance.
“I told you you’re not doing any work.”
Both hands are pinned above my head again. This time, though, Locke only needs one hand to keep me in place. The other works its way exactly where I want, rubbing along my slit and gathering the traces of my arousal before slipping a finger into me.
My back arches. I chase it—whatever it is. The pulsing need to have Locke’s finger deeper in me. The uncontrollable desire to moan for him and beg him and let him give me he wants, because he promises. His finger pushes around the hottest place of my body, and I know he’ll make everything so, so good.
“As I was saying,” he mumbles and presses another finger beside the first. I can’t stop the loud, explicit moans if I wanted to. I barely muster the strength to look him in the eye and watch his shade of green shift deeper and darker. “I go last.”
His movements are methodical. He doesn’t push into me with speed, but with careful precision, caressing the parts that make my nerves stand up. I’m forgetting how to breath when his thumb starts drawing circles into my clit.
