He loves that, too.
Seeing my pleasure.
Seeing me struggle.
The contradiction of him sucks me down like a swirling eddy, and suddenly, we’re kissing. We’re kissing while he massages that sensitive place between my legs with the tip of his erection, moving that fleshy crown in tight circles, my excessive wetness making the friction so slippery. So hot.
“Yeah, I should fuck you, but I won’t…” He exhales jaggedly against my mouth. “I won’t, because you’re such a sweet angel, aren’t you? You’re my fucking angel.”
“Yes,” I gasp.
His expression is tortured as he presses his forehead against mine, his breathing coming in giant pants. “I want to give you an orgasm as much as I want to…do bad things.”
“I know,” I whisper, kissing him, opening my thighs wider to feel his strokes deeper.
Deeper.
Right on the verge of being inside me. Stopping just short.
“Say the word. Don’t let me do bad things,” he begs against my mouth. “If I fucked you right now, I’d rip you to pieces.”
A light blinds me.
It comes from my mind. A part of my mind that’s connected to my body. I’ve hit some kind of feverish peak, and I convulse with the intensity, my sex drawing in on itself so aggressively I scream.
If I fucked you right now, I’d rip you to pieces.
Sensual teeth rake through my nervous system, and I tremble from the onslaught, my jaw clenching on a call of his name, my muscles shaking, and oh God, oh God, the damp ribbon that flows from me in degrees matches the spasms of my flesh in a high I didn’t know existed.
Tripp falls to his knees in front of me and licks at my release with panting grunts, moaning in appreciation of the taste, his hand riding up and down a shaft I can see for the first time is enormous.
My intuition tells me to struggle against my restraints…
…and I do.
I yank hard and beg to be let go. And Tripp leans back on his ankles and watches me writhe and attempt to free myself, his fist tightening on the trunk of flesh, up and down, faster and faster, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He watches me yank and twist in awe from his kneeling position in the sand, a groan rocking him, putting him in a state of visible agony, until finally ropes of white spend belt out of him, landing in stripes along the sand.
“Oh God. Oh fuck!Oh fuck!” He doubles over onto his hands and knees and continues to abuse himself, his back heaving upand down, rippling beneath his shirt. “Oh my God, Vida. I can’t stop coming. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s so good.It’s so good.”
After what feels like a full minute, Tripp’s hand stops moving between his legs, and he struggles to his feet, looking sated and dazed, zipping himself up hastily. Panic and concern transform an expression that was so fierce only moments earlier, and he lurches for me, his hands unsteady as he works on releasing my wrists from the knotted belt.
“Are you okay, angel?” He plants kisses on my face. “Vida.Angel.Talk to me.”
“I’m fine. I feel…” I drop down into his waiting embrace, my half-asleep arms dropping like stones, my body limp. “I feel so relaxed,” I finish on a yawn.
He holds me tight, studying my face with nothing short of amazement. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”
“It was for me, too,” I whisper, feeling kind of shy.
What have I discovered about myself tonight?
Do I like to roleplay? Am I…his perfect counterpoint? What is this called?
“I loved it,” I breathe, reaching up to play with his hair.
But he catches my wrist before I can touch him, going pale when he sees the red, angry ring left behind from the belt. “No. No, Vida.” Misery laces his tone. “Look what I did to you.”
I’m not sure where I get the boldness to say, “But you know I loved it.” I trace my lips along his collarbone. “You tasted the result.”
