Chapter Sixteen
Delia
Greedy,greedy, greedy.
Lost in lust, I want nothing but him. Nothing but Thai’s fat cock in my hands, his hard body tensed and shaking, his narrow hips flexing helplessly as I torture him to orgasm. His wide, tapering upper body is heaving with gasping breaths.
He’s mine—under my spell. I’ve never felt such…power, over anyone. I love it.
I don’t know who I am, right now. I don’t do this; lights off, penetrate, finish, done. That’s how it usually goes in my life.
Not this.
This is erotic.
Daring.
Wild.
Full daylight, the sun setting behind Thai in a blaze of reddening orange brilliance, staining the once-silver sea salmon and crimson and a thousand hues in between.
His body is a god’s.
His lats are wide and powerful, shoulders round and thick. Arms are columns of carved ivory, abs shredded down to blocks of titanium. Narrow hips, an ass like a pair of cannonballs, hard and round and taut. Thighs like tree trunks. He’s got a scrim of hair on his chest and a thicker trail on his belly from navel to groin.
And god, his cock.
It’s a thing of beauty, glorious and impossible. Even in the porn I watch to get myself off, I’ve never seen anything so perfect. Touching it, even just being allowed tolookat it is a privilege. Golden brown flesh wrapped tight around thick veins, so thick and so wide I can barely fit my fingers around him in a circle. The head is broad and lighter shade, almost pink, fat and bulbous and weeping a clear, trickling tear at my touch. His balls are heavy and taut. He’s trimmed but not shaved, a thatch of hair slightly darker than anywhere else.
I’m living in this moment—it’s all there is. There will be mental and emotional hell to pay, later. But for now? Just this.
Just Thai.
Just his snarling grunts, his moans, his breathless gasps.
All I want is to touch and grip and stroke him and watch his belly tighten concave as his hips drive forward. All I want is to feel him in my hands, feel his balls tense and pulse, feel his cock throb. All I want is to make him feel good. All I want is to watch him come from my touch. To make him explode, to know I can do that to him.
All I want is this moment. Nothing more. Nothing else. No thoughts, no feelings but this wild lust for this man’s body, for his pleasure.
Now, he’s desperate. I feel it in him.
It’s in his eyes. It’s written in every line of his tense, taut body. It’s in the way he holds utterly still, barely daring to even breathe.
As if he’s…almost as if he’s scared I’ll stop. That I’ll take away my touch and leave him begging.
Could I make him beg? The great Thai Bristow, begging me to let him come.
It’s a tempting thought.
But for this moment, I’m too greedy to wait.
I’ve never in my life wanted anything so bad as to watch that fat pink tip spurt his seed all over my hands, and to hear him groan in release.
I could almost come myself, just thinking about it.
God, it’ll be so beautiful.
Instead of hurrying him to it, I torture us both, slowing my touch until my hand is barely sliding down, barely grazing upward. Barely twisting around his head before slowly sliding back down. My other hand holds his balls—as weird as they are, objectively speaking, I’m so delirious with maniacal lust for all things Thai that I find his simply beautiful, and I want to pet them, caress them, hold them, cradle them with as much wonder and appreciation as I have for his cock.
