Authors: Stephanie
"Why are you in such a rush to leave?" he whispered, the breath stirring the hair on top of her head.
"Because I shouldn’t have come over to begin with."
"But you're here," he pointed out.
"I shouldn’t be," she said, but it sounded weak and pitiful in her own ears.
"We'll stop whenever you say the word," he promised.
And she believed him. Why, she couldn't say. It was instinct. Or maybe it was the gentle way he treated her, the way he seemed to understand her fears and objections.
She was a great fool, but it felt wonderful to do something completely foolish for the first time in her life.
His fingers left her skin and reached for the hem of the shirt again. He pulled it up and over her head before she drew in her next breath. When her flesh was revealed to him, he just stared at her silently for several heartbeats. He took his sweet time, taunting her nipples until she feared she’d die from yearning.
"I love your skin," he murmured. "So soft and smooth. I can’t wait to taste you again.”
If breasts could sigh, hers would have as they strained, eagerly awaiting his caress. His touch came, a hot, wet assault. She thought she’d been prepared, but that wasn’t the case.
The last of her resistance melted under his hot tongue. She clutched his head, her fingers curling into the soft, springing hair, her own head thrown back as sensation bombarded her.
His tongue curled around a nipple, which she knew without sight was clenched tight and hard with desire. He licked and teased, then sucked on her so hard she gasped. Once more he soothed her, his tongue swirling round her engorged nipple. He scraped the sensitive flesh with his teeth and, as she drew in her breath tensing for the sharp nip, he again surprised her with soft suckling. First one, then the other breast.
Her legs quivered as he dropped to his knees before her. His finger traced the curving line of her bottom then slipped up to caress a cheek. As his hand feathered over the crease between her cheeks she could feel an odd fluttering and knew she'd just broken out in goose bumps.
"Your ass is as beautiful as your breasts," he told her, his breath warm against her hip. He squeezed and kneaded the flesh for a few minutes, in a rhythm that had her shuddering. He was tormenting her, she knew, yet she couldn't stop her body from responding. His breath was warm and moist against her mound between her thighs, tantalizingly close, so all she could think about was his mouth on her. But he made her wait, building up her pleasure so slowly it was almost painful.
As his breath wafted against her, it felt cool, and she moaned, knowing it was because her own wetness gathering there. Again, she wondered if he'd read her mind, or at least divined the direction of her thoughts, for his hands slipped between her legs and traced her shape, following the crease of her bottom with his index finger, pausing at the spot soaked with her juices.
"You liked that," he said.
"Yes." Her voice trembled as she waited for that finger to continue its journey to where she needed it most. But it stayed put, increasing in pressure so she could feel him at the entrance to her vagina.
"Spread your legs a little more," he said.
They felt so boneless she wasn't sure they'd support her, but she did as he asked, clutching his shoulders for balance and opening herself to him. The pressure increased and she could feel the slight abrasion as his finger entered her, scraping her skin lightly as it absorbed her moisture. He didn't push it in far, just enough to remind her of how empty she felt and to make her throb from wanting him to fill her.
Her legs trembled and still he hadn't touched her where she most wanted to be touched. Oh, his breath was hot against that spot, though, driving her wild. Her hands tried to pull his head forward, but, with a quiet chuckle, he refused to be moved.
He withdrew his finger then pushed her back so she lay on the bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to regain some balance. She heard the tearing of a condom package and could feel the movement beside her as he sheathed himself.
The mattress shifted so at least she had some warning before she rolled against his body.
Although, she still suffered a slight shock as she bumped into warm male skin. Very hard and very hot, and as he rolled up against her, she felt the jut of his penis against her hip.
When had he removed his clothes? How had he done it so quickly?
A shudder traveled through her and his hands gripped her waist. She seemed ultrasensitive to every nuance, her imagination as supersensitive as her skin. From head to toe she was one big, throbbing need and the filler of that need was here beside her.
She wanted him.
Inside her.
Now.
She felt his hands on her bare shoulder, his lips at her throat.
She wondered if he felt her purring.
Her hands started to wander, tracing warm skin, tangling with his hair.
His hand was on her knee, her inner thigh, moving up. Moving up.
Oh, yes
. He cupped her intimately, pressing his palm against her as though checking for fever, which she definitely had.
Raging fever. Thermometer-shattering fever.
He slid one finger inside her, then two, rubbing and stretching until she rocked her hips to his rhythm. If he was trying to keep her on simmer until she burned dry, he did a great job.
"I want you to touch me," she whispered.
"Where?" he whispered back, and damn if she didn't hear the laugh in his voice. He was playing with her. Deliberately. Sadist.
"Here." She dragged his hand out of her body and pressed it against her clit.
"You mean here?"
All that came out of her mouth was a combination between a sigh and a grunt. She was incapable of speech. He'd found it all right. He held that exquisitely sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger.
Oh, she was so close. So marvelously close. The excitement built as she waited for his fingers to move, giving her the orgasm trembling on the edge.
He didn't move at all. Just held her, applying enough pressure she could feel the pinch, not pain, just intense sensation.
Hours seemed to pass.
Sweat beaded on her forehead and words, cries, appeals, crowded in her throat like a gridlock so nothing coherent could emerge. She moved her hips, desperate to get some friction, some relief from the relentlessly building pressure, but his hand just followed the motions of her hips, refusing her the release her whole body begged for.
Undulating turned to thrashing and still he just held her, all that exquisitely sensitive flesh imprisoned between his squeezing thumb and finger.
It was torture. He was killing her. And yet, she'd never felt so alive.
"I want to tell you a story," he murmured in her ear. He leaned forward to kiss her damp forehead, the pressure on her trapped clit increasing slightly as he moved.
She growled.
"Shh. This story will help you relax."
That was it. She was going to kill him. She was damn well going to kill him.
If she survived this sexual torture.
"The story is about a beautiful woman who is stuck at a crossroads in her life." His words were soothingly hypnotic, his voice soft and relaxed, completely at odds with the relentless firmness of his fingers." I mean she is drop-dead gorgeous, honest and vivacious, but she has one imperfection. Do you know what it is?"
She whimpered.
"Her weakness is she doesn't know how to let go and allow someone else to take care of her.
She likes to be in control. All her life she’s done well at everything she’s set out to accomplish."
Her brain was so muddled with frustrated need, she could barely take in the words. She just wished she had control over her own body at this moment. She was so close, so painfully close, it was killing her. The pressure built so much she was positive she’d blow apart any second.
"Since this woman is extremely attractive and smart she never has trouble gaining the attention of men. But she keeps them all at a distance, only allowing them as close as she desires before pushing them away. She said she is quite happy with the way her life is and felt no need to change it. For that is how she’d had her heart broken before. But one guy came along and he saw inside her heart. He knew she was lonely."
He paused long enough to kiss her breasts, licking the sensitive nipples and tracing the undersides with his tongue. Wildly, she hoped this was it and he'd shut up with the pseudo bedtime story and get on with the issue at hand. The problem trapped so helplessly in his right hand.
But he didn't. His damn fingers never moved.
She jerked her hips, hoping to catch him off guard and get a little friction going.
He merely chuckled, and his tongue caressing her breasts only added an extra layer of helpless frustration. His mouth cruised back to her ear, stopping to taste and nibble his way until his head was again beside her on the pillow, his whisper an intimate caress against her ear. "Where was I?"
"Please," she whispered hoarsely, hating herself for begging, but knowing she couldn't take much more.
He kissed her, a light feathery kiss that just brushed her lips.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Right. He knows he has to teach the woman of his dreams it’s okay to give up control once in a while. That she could be as strong, or stronger, with the right man. He knew there was only one way to do that. He had to show her she could still be the strong woman she desired to be and be with him. He needed to show her the pleasure shared between them wouldn’t be a distraction. But first he had to get her alone. Do you know what he did?"
In spite of herself, she was fascinated. This story sounded nothing like the ones she remembered as a child. Since she was currently incapable of speech, she shook her head.
"Mr. Knight in Shining Armor convinces Ms. Right to come to his beach house one last time. He takes her to his bedroom." Somehow his whisper grew softer. "She is completely under his control."
In spite of herself, Naja trembled at the deliberate parallels he'd created between his story and their current situation. She was alone with this man in a beach home. And she was under his spell all right. Firmly in his grasp, as his damn fingers, reminded her every throbbing second.
"What did he do to her?" she asked.
"He kissed her when she pleases him. But sometimes he disciplined her."
"How did he reprimand her?" Her voice was husky. She couldn't take much more.
"He made her beg. He takes control of her body and then he makes her plead for him to pleasure her."
"This is a very strange story," she informed him, biting her own lips to stop herself from begging this man who was certainly no knight.
"I don't think so. They live happily ever after."
She groaned.
"That story didn't seem to help you unwind at all. Perhaps I should try a backrub."
"Oh, yes." Her heart pounded so she could barely breathe. And she could feel the wetness of her unfulfilled desire sticky between her thighs.
"What's the magic word?" he taunted.
She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
He increased the pressure ever so slightly and her body squirmed. She couldn't hold out any longer. "Please!" she begged.
He left her for a moment to take care of protection and when he came back he gathered her wrists into his left hand. Held them over her head as he swung his body over hers, keeping her immobile. He held himself poised over her throbbing vagina, which wept with need. "Did I tell you he sometimes tied her up when he punished her?"
With a strangled cry, her hips jerked up toward where she felt him hovering in the darkness of the room, his hardness pressing against her entrance. He released the pressure, leaving one finger on that engorged and tortured spot, and he plunged inside.
The cry came from somewhere deep inside her.
This
, she thought,
is how volcanoes erupt
. The hot, wet pressure had built and swelled behind the barrier, but now burst free in hot torrents. She wrapped her legs around his hips and raised herself to meet his powerful thrusts. Oh, how he filled her, claimed her, drove her up and up.
The climax swamped her, wave after wave, while her body jerked and writhed completely out of control. He captured her cries in his mouth, except the last one, when he joined her with his own groan of release.
Every part of her was clasped around him, and against their pressed chests she her heart beat so frantically she was amazed she'd even survived.
Slowly, gradually, the waves ebbed to soothing ripples and her breathing approached normal.
She felt drained, empty, and at the same time curiously full. That little incident had been more than just sex, and when she could think again, she'd ponder it at length.
Sterling rolled onto his back, making sure he gave Naja room to breathe. He was wiped out physically and mentally. Closing his eyes, he did his best to slow his heart rate.
Telling her the story had been an impromptu idea. He just hoped it worked. Her ex had really done a number on her. She still fought him the entire way anytime he tried to bring up the subject of where they would go after the vacation was over. He needed her to understand he wasn’t ready for anything to end.
She pulled him from his thoughts when she spoke.
"If you ever do that to me again, I'll—"
"You'll what?" He grinned at her.
"I'll come up with something."
There was a lengthy silence and then a muffled laugh. There was another moment of silence while he waited for her to share the joke. "What?" he finally asked.
"I'm thinking," she said in a haughty tone that had him narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
"Thinking what?"
Her hand slid along the bedside table. He heard the moment she found what she was
looking for; a supply of condoms he'd piled there earlier. If Naja had round two in mind, he liked the direction her thinking had taken.
He stirred with renewed excitement.
There was no pillow talk of any kind, which he'd kind of expected, given the pointed story he’d told. Maybe she'd missed the significance, or just didn't feel like talking. Fine by him. Especially now that her hands were exploring his chest.