Part 24 (2/2)
And he does. Filling my mouth with his thick, throbbing shaft. The taste of him mingles with the sweet cherry juice still lingering on my tongue. I slacken my throat muscles and close my eyes behind the blindfold, feeling his tension, the grip of his fingers on my head.
When he starts to thrust, I'm ready for him, loving the sensation of him pumping gently in and out of my mouth. His restraint is palpable, as it always is, his care not to thrust too deep, but this time-maybe for the first time-I don't want him to be gentle.
I start to ease back, and he pulls out at the same instant, the head of his erection brus.h.i.+ng across my mouth. I wish I could see it.
”I don't...” I swallow and lick my lips, my breathing rapid. ”I don't want you to be gentle, Mr. West.”
”You don't, huh?”
”Not this time.” I squirm, wis.h.i.+ng he would touch my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rub my nipples. ”I want you to f.u.c.k my mouth.”
A groan rumbles above me. ”You're sure?”
”Yes. Please.”
His hands tighten on my hair as he pushes forward again. Then the length of his c.o.c.k is in my mouth as deeply as I can take him. I relax my jaw muscles and let him pull back and push forward again. He's still gentle at first, before urgency coils palpably through his body and his thrusts increase in pace.
And oh my G.o.d, my blood fires with bolts of heat as I sit there, hot and dripping, tied up and blindfolded with silk, unable to do anything but suck the c.o.c.k driving in and out of my mouth.
Dean's breath is heavy and harsh, his fingers gripping my head so tightly it hurts. I struggle to take him in deeper, breathing through my nose, my wrists straining against the bonds las.h.i.+ng me to the chair.
When Dean pulls away from me, releasing his hold, a sudden bereftness and fear sparks in my belly.
”Dean?”
”Right here.” He puts his hand on the side of my neck, the gesture both rea.s.suring and welcome. ”Okay?”
I nod, my chest heaving with rapid breaths. I squeeze my thighs together, aching for the sensation of his c.o.c.k pus.h.i.+ng into me down there, so thick and hard...
G.o.d. A violent shudder rocks through me.
”Wait,” he says, lifting his hand from my neck.
I wait again, forcing my breathing to slow. Then Dean is in front of me, his hand slipping under my chin. The cool edge of a gla.s.s touches my lips. Obediently I open my mouth. The crisp, sparkly flavor of champagne spreads over my tongue. I gulp it down too fast, and a trickle spills down my chin to my neck.
With a soft laugh, Dean lowers his head, his faint stubble sc.r.a.ping my skin as he licks up the stray drops. The touch of his tongue creates a warm, swirling pool of desire in my lower body.
Then his lips brush against mine. I draw in a breath of relief when our mouths press together in a hot, familiar kiss that reminds me exactly why I've always been so willing, so eager, to let this man alone take me places I've never been before.
The kiss deepens, s.h.i.+fting from familiarity to an edgy l.u.s.tfulness as Dean slips his hand down to cup my breast. A moan spills from my throat. I arch into his hand, aching for him to rub my tight nipples.
He grabs the straps of my baby doll and tugs them over my arms, baring my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I s.h.i.+ver-even though I can't see, I feel his gaze traveling over my body like a touch. I wiggle a little, spreading my thighs in the hopes that he'll slip his fingers into my p.u.s.s.y and stroke me in the expert, precise way of his that makes me crazy with need- His hands linger on mine as he works the knots of the silk ties. I swallow my questions about what's going to happen next. He doesn't remove the blindfold, instead lifting me up into his arms as if I'm light as a feather.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist, loving the solid strength of his body as he carries me across the room. His s.h.i.+rt is smooth and soft against my bare skin. For some reason, the thought of him still fully dressed while I'm half-naked and clad only in skimpy lingerie is shockingly arousing. A few seconds later, he lowers me onto the bed, the comforter plush and pillowy beneath my half-naked body.
”Don't move,” Dean instructs, and he spreads my arms out to fasten the silk around my wrists again-this time, it seems, tying the other ends to the bedposts.
I s.h.i.+ft, tugging experimentally at the cloth again but the knots are as tight as they were before. I pull in a breath, uncertainty flas.h.i.+ng through me.
”Christ in heaven,” Dean whispers, his voice guttural and hot. ”You have no idea how f.u.c.king s.e.xy you are.”
My pulse hammers. I can imagine how I look-disheveled and blindfolded, my lingerie pushed to my waist to expose my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, my messy hair falling in a tumble over the pillows, my skin sweaty, and my inner thighs damp with arousal. I turn my head toward the sound of Dean's voice, aching for the rea.s.surance of his touch.
The bed s.h.i.+fts with his weight as he moves onto it. He touches my thigh, the edge of his sleeve brus.h.i.+ng against my skin.
”I'm going to f.u.c.k you now, Olivia,” he says, his deep voice a wash of heat over me. ”And you're going to take my c.o.c.k as deep as you can, over and over again. You're going to twist and flex your gorgeous body as I pound my c.o.c.k into your sweet p.u.s.s.y. You're going to scream, moan, and beg for more... and if you're good, I'll give you more. Are you ready?”
My mouth is so dry, my pulse pounding so hard, that for a second I can't even answer. I manage to nod, straining toward him.
”Please,” I gasp. ”Sir. f.u.c.k me. Now.”
A faint chuckle rumbles from his chest. The mattress s.h.i.+fts again as he moves, his fingers adept as he strips off my panties. There's the sound of rustling cloth before he slides his hands against my inner thighs and spreads my legs apart. Obediently, I lift my knees, dizziness was.h.i.+ng over me when I feel his c.o.c.k pressing against my spread folds.
Oh G.o.d. Oh G.o.d.
I've made love with this man countless times, but this night is so drenched in erotic fantasy it's almost impossible not to feel as if he's a beautiful, domineering stranger who is about to f.u.c.k me for the first time ever.
I flex my hands, arching my hips upward. He pushes his c.o.c.k into me with excruciating slowness, as if he wants me to feel every inch of his throbbing flesh. And I do. My nerves fire with sparks as he fills me, stretches me, going deeper, deeper... oh, so deep...
I draw in a heavy breath. Sweat trickles between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He pauses, and his hands spread over my hips, up my torso to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He pinches my stiff nipples at the exact instant that he plunges all the way into me, his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es slapping against my p.u.s.s.y.
Electric currents arc through me. I whimper, aching for the exquisite friction of his thrusts, but he stills. His shaft throbs, sending heat rippling to my blood.
”Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible past the heaviness of my breath. ”f.u.c.k me hard, sir.”
”I'll f.u.c.k you hard.” His grip moves to my waist. ”I'll f.u.c.k you rough.”
He pulls back and plunges inside me again, the rhythm edged with l.u.s.t and the drive toward release. Again, I can do none of the things I would normally do-grip his arms, pull him against me, gaze into his desire-drenched eyes, watch his gorgeous muscles flex and strain. All is darkness, except for the bright, glowing light burning right in the center of my soul.
I twist my hands so I can hold on to the silk ties as his thrusts increase in pace, jostling my body back and forth, each push and pull firing me with fresh heat. I draw my legs up, letting him go as deep as he can and knowing I can take as much as he can give.
His breath rasps harshly in the air above me, echoing the rhythm of my own breath. He pauses once to circle his thumb around my aching c.l.i.t. I moan, arching into his touch. My eyes dampen behind the silk blindfold.
”I need you so badly,” I gasp, pulling ineffectually against the restraints, desperate to touch him. ”Oh, please...”
He pulls out of me, and I feel his fingers working at the knots of my ties. When they're loosened, he grabs my hips and turns me around before fastening the silk back around the bedposts.
Air brushes against my naked bottom. I tighten my hands into fists-this position has always made me feel intensely vulnerable, even at home with Dean, and now that sense of helplessness. .h.i.ts me harder than ever.
I sink my face into the pillow, s.h.i.+vering when his big hands stroke over the length of my back.
”On your knees, Olivia,” he orders softly.
I swallow, pulling myself onto my knees, my head and shoulders still lowered onto the pillow. There's enough give in the silk ties that I can rest my arms on either side of my head, but the tension pulls my muscles tight.
”Ah, f.u.c.k.” Dean's voice deepens with l.u.s.t, and I feel the burn of his gaze on my upturned a.s.s. He nudges his knee between my thighs. ”Spread them wide.”
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