Am I bear baiting? Grabbing a tiger by the tail?
I should heed his warning.I’llfuck you so hard you’ll see stars,he said. Do I want that? It sounds downright scary, honestly. But yet…
Iwantit.
I want to know what that feels like.
I’m down the rabbit hole and there’s no going back.
I lie beneath him and watch his face as I plunge both hands, one atop the other, down his length, drag them back up. No rhythm. Slow. Just touching. Exploring.
I hear him scrape a raw breath in, a pained rasp of a breath. “Myka…”
I lift up and kiss his jaw. When I touched him gently, affectionately, it drove him absolutely insane. So I figure this is the best way to make him feel good. If he’s all hardness and roughness and edges and angles, what he needs is the opposite. Soft. Gentle. Delicate. Sweet.
So that’s what I give him. I kiss his jawline, ghostlike touches of my lips, dotting them in a slow line from chin to mid-jaw to beneath his ear. The other side, repeated. While I’m doing this, I grasp his erection and slide a slow touch down, and up, and down, creating a seamless rhythm where the glide up is indecipherable from the plunge down. With my other hand, I cup his sac, cradle them.
The one time I ever felt like I was able to please my ex, I’d done this to him, touched him like this, stroking his erection with one hand and his balls with the other—he gave every indication that he really enjoyed it. He just never gave me an opportunity to do it again.
So now, I try this technique on Rev. Hoping he’ll like it. Wanting—needing—to give him the most pleasure I possibly can.
He’s a stone above me. Eyes closed, now. Every muscle taut, isometrically tensed. Not breathing again. Trembling with exertion.
“Myka…” he growls through gritted teeth.
I caress his length with unhurried strokes, roll his tender balls in my palm—stroke them with my fingertips. I kiss his jaw, his throat. His cheekbones, just above his lips beside his nose. His ear, tracing the shell with my tongue. Kissing from his ear to his mouth, and then I kiss his lips, delicately dragging my tongue along the seam of his closed mouth.
He refuses to open for me, so I kiss him anyway, nip his lip, lick the seam again, and then kiss the tip of his chin.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “Myka, fuck.Fuck!—stop.”
“Mmm-mmm,” I murmur. “I like this.”
I feel him respond, now. A slight flutter of his hips. A subtle tilt of his pelvis.
“Myka, stop.” His shoulders hunch, then, and his belly sucks in, and he gasps a ragged breath. He’s shaking all over. “You have to stop.”
“I don’t want to.” I keep my touch unhurried, even as his hips tilt into my touch. “I want this. I want you, Rev.”
“I’m gonna lose control.”
“Good. So lose it.”
“I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“I can’t take it anymore, Myka,” he breathes. “I’m gonna snap. I need to fuck you.”
“Or…” I keep one hand on his erection, and the other I cradle against his cheek, thumb tracing over his lips. “You just let me do this.”
“Not fuckin’ fourteen anymore.”
“Does it feel good?”
He just growls, a wordless grumble in his chest.
“Does it?”
