“Please,” he begs. “You can’t undress. Seeing you will kill me. Destroy every last ounce of restraint. Please, keep it on this time.”
Instead of answering, I lean in again and capture his mouth with my own.
He doubles his efforts, thrusting against me, maximizing the contact and the pleasure. His hand leaves my hip and lands on my thigh.
He slowly starts trailing it up.
Under my skirt.
Up my hips.
Stopping at the lacy strap of my thong.
He pulls against it lightly, then traces his fingers along the seam, until he’s at the front.
“Is this sweet pussy wet for me?” It comes out so quietly, I’m not even sure he meant to say it.
When I don’t answer, he lifts his gaze to mine.
“Cecilia, I asked you a question. Is your sweet cunt wet for me? Wet because of me?” His voice comes out sternly.
“Yes,” I say after a gulp.
“Are you sure?”
“It is, I swear. You can check,” I gasp out, needing him to believe the effect he has on me.
The grin that breaks out across his face is beautiful. It lights him up. He looks alive in a way I’ve never seen.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” he says in a low voice.
Then, his fingers trail down, over my thong, until they’re covering my opening. My wet opening. So wet, I’ve soaked through my thong.
He growls when he finds what I promised would be there.
He pulls the panties aside and runs his fingers along my core. He does it a few more times, soaking his fingers.
Then, he pulls his fingers from my panties and lifts them to his mouth.
He sucks off my arousal while maintaining eye contact. The loud sucking is positively sinful. I can’t help the flush that stains my skin.
He drags his fingers from his mouth, and they crawl back up my thigh. He stops at the strap of my thongand tears it. He moved to the other side and does the same.
He pulls my thong off and brings it up to his nose, inhaling my scent.
He places it to the side and brings his fingers back to my exposed core.
He runs his fingers through the wetness again, collecting it, then brings them up to my clit. He rubs circles around the swollen bud, and I throw my head back in pleasure.
He stills immediately.
“Cecilia, eyes on me when I’m touching you. When I’m playing this perfect body like an instrument I’ve mastered. When I make you feel this good, you watch me and know who’s doing this to you.” It’s a promise of pleasure and the threat of denial rolled up in wicked words.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Good girl,” he says after a growl.
He trails his fingers back down, until they hover over my opening. Then he dips one in me.
