As his fingers circled my clit I leaned back but pushed my hips forward and his fingertip played with my pussy, teasing, sliding over the moisture but not entering.
"Jesus, you're wet," Leo murmured, almost to himself. "I love it. Is there...?" He looked around and suddenly his hands were off me.
No contact, no finger almost inside me, no light kisses on my thighs and I gave a silent gasp of shock.
"I want to be able to see you properly," he said as he reached over to my bedside table, fumbled for the lamp's on switch. "There. That's better. Don't move." He stood and made for the door.
"Where are you going?" my voice followed him as he left the room, nearly driven mad with frustration. He'd played me and damn, I could have killed him in that moment.
"Turning the hall light off." On his return he pushed the bedroom door shut. "There. Now we're... I thought I told you not to move?"
All I'd done was pull my skirt down. "I was just
making myself more comfortable."
"Yeah, and undoing all my hard work. I wanted to come back in here and see you waiting for me."
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I was too..."
"Exposed?"
"Yes."
"There's no need for that." He sat beside me on the bed, leaning on one hand, with his other above my knee. "I would have thought a woman like you wouldn't have any, what's the word, stumbling blocks, especially in the bedroom. Especially with a body like yours. You should be proud of it."
"Maybe I still have to get used to you yet. Get used to trying certain things I mean."
"Sounds good to me." Leo's hand crept higher, under the hem of that misbehaving skirt. "I like a woman who's adventurous. Open-minded. Openlegged is even better. You know what I think?" He didn't wait for any response. "I think it'd be an awful lot better if you weren't wearing this skirt at all." Leaning in to kiss my neck, he pulled me down onto the bed. "Does this damn thing have a button or something?"
"Here. Let me. There's a zip at the back." I arched my back, lifted my hips clear off the mattress and somehow managed to work the zipper down before falling back again. "There. Done."
He propped himself up on one arm and looked at me, not making any further move.
"I thought you said it would be better if I wasn't wearing this skirt at all?" I asked tentatively.
He stared. "Oh you expect me to take it off, do you?"
"No, but I'd like it if you did."
"Really?" He slid off the bed, knelt in front of me again and inched the skirt over my hips. "I'll just bet you would."
"I like being undressed by a man."
"Like unwrapping a gift," he whispered. "Trouble is, I've been known to tear the paper."
A ripple of heightened awareness ran up my spine as my skirt finally came off.
Leo's breath waved across the V at the top of my thighs and he placed his hand gently across the area his breath had just been. He paused and just as I began to worry, his thumb moved in slow circles over my clit.
It wasn't enough and he knew, he must have known, because he told me to move further back on the bed.
"Make sure you're comfortable. I'd hate to think you weren't enjoying this as much as I am."
I wriggled as his fingers worked their way inside me. Gasped.
"Am I being too rough with you?"
"No, no. Just gimme a second to get used to you."
I didn't know what was wrong with me. This guy was a stranger, everything about him alien. His touch, his taste, where he'd go next, what he'd do. There was no expectation, no knowledge of what was going through his mind and that realization was what finally tipped me over the edge from arousal to need. I needed to find out what he would do next; curiosity, the excitement of simply not knowing heightened my arousal.
He stroked me from the inside, crooked fingers slowly drawing out again, taking their time, not trying to force an orgasm out of me, letting it happen at its own pace.
When my breathing became shallower still and my hips moved in time with his teasing fingers, he dipped his head, flicking the tip of his tongue in butterfly kisses on the insides of my thighs, lapping at the moisture around my pussy and stubbornly not touching my clit.
"Don't..." A single breathy word and I didn't understand it myself. Don't what? Don't stop?
But he did. He looked at me. Exposed again. Strange how I didn't want him looking at my face while he stroked me like that.
"Don't what?" he asked. "Am I not doing it right?"
"You know you are."
"I thought I was hurting you. Or doing something you didn't like."
"I don't know what I meant. But you've stopped. Don't stop."
"I'm still touching you."
"But your..." Again my nerves failed me. Damn them. "It's not enough."
"I know what you want," he said.
"Then why don't you—?"
"Because I like it when you can't think straight. I like it that you're frustrated. I like it that your pussy's soaking wet around my fingers and I know you want my mouth on you because when I finally do give you what you want, I bet you'll explode." The tips of his fingers dragged slowly along the most sensitive spot inside me and I jerked up to meet them, sighing with a desire for more. His closely trimmed goatee and the stubble along his jaw and upper lip tickled as he dipped his head again, not making full contact, just letting me know he was there, knew the effect he had on me.
And then the briefest of touches. His tongue made contact with my clit, just one flicker and then nothing. The low sound of laughter as my hips strained to meet him and then thank God, he did it again, and again, each time more forceful than the last, all the time his fingertips circling inside me in the exact same rhythm as his tongue on my clit.
There was something just out of sight, just out of reach and I ached for it, arching my back, forcing myself up, scared it would always be just beyond me but every time his tongue ran from my pussy up to my clit and circled, I got nearer and nearer and my gasps became moans became cries.
"You are fucking delicious," he said against me, lifting his head just enough to make his words clearer, then tasting me again. "Jesus. I could taste your pussy all night; it's fucking perfect."
All I knew was that I wanted him; I wanted him to make me come, and I grabbed his head, pulled him by the hair. He didn't push his fingers deeper inside until I moved in a certain way and he followed me, let me lead the rhythm as his tongue circled on my clit, faster and faster the closer I got to release.
"Jesus..." I gasped out one single word as the pulsing began deep inside me and his strokes became more insistent, the flicks of his tongue more rapid. "Oh God... oh God... fuck!"
I rarely screamed words like that, so helplessly as I came, but I did then as something exploded inside me, so rapidly and forcefully I threw my head back, blind from the intensity of one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever experienced.
He lifted his head but kept his fingers teasing me inside, moving with each pulse, one wave coming quickly after another. I grabbed his arm and gripped it so tightly I could have left a bruise on his skin but didn't care. I wanted him, some part of him still on or in me, until the last wave of pleasure faded, so he could ride it too.
"I knew you'd come hard," he whispered, restrained and gentle. And just as the last ripple of climax uncoiled and faded to nothing inside me and he slipped his fingers out. "The next time will be even better."
Nine
From the angle at which I lay, I had the perfect view of the V of his shirt and the teaser of chest it revealed. Leo stroked my hair, stopping every so often to draw me closer for a kiss. No tongues. There was something strangely erotic about simple kisses on the lips from a man who'd just made me come with that mouth. From intensity to delicacy. So forceful and yet so gentle.
"I loved it when you grabbed my hair; I knew I was doing something right."
"You haven't—"
"Ssh, just listen. Don't try to be the ball-breaker with me. You won't win. I'm just saying, there's nothing sexier for a man than a woman who comes so hard her whole body shakes and he was the one who made it happen."
He was confident enough to use filthy language in a way that emphasized his confidence, rather than making him seem like he was trying to be dirty, playing at grownups. His first words were probably four-letter ones.
His fingers combed my hair before his hand rested on the back of my head, holding me close, and this time his tongue parted my lips, teasing the corner of my mouth before forcing itself in. Just as he drew back I caught his tongue between my lips and sucked it, letting him pull away at his own speed, but still sucking gently.
"Jesus. If I'd known you kissed like that I would have done it a hell of a lot sooner." Again his tongue ran over my lips, tickled the corner of my mouth and a ripple of pleasure ran through me. I loved the way he kissed as much as he loved the way I did.
My fingers ran over the stubble of his jaw and my heart skipped a beat; men with five o'clock shadows, stubble, close-clipped goatees or any form of light facial hair turned my knees to jelly, especially when they oozed testosterone from every pore as Leo did.
I traced a line along his cheekbone as we kissed, followed the dip in his facial contours, the hollowing of his cheek, as his kisses became more insistent, his tongue searched deeper.
I went for a button on his shirt, the first which was still done up as he'd left one or two open. I was surprised I managed to get any undone at all, my fingers shook so badly, but got there in the end. He lay on his side and allowed it. Stared. Unsettled me with such intensity.
"You don't like me staring, do you? Why don't you like it?"
"Because you're looking at me like the big bad wolf."
He grinned, showing two rows of gleaming white teeth.
"Like you want to eat me."
"Oh baby, you have no idea."
I tugged one sleeve of his shirt off; he let me, with no struggle or resistance. "You have a tattoo?" A tattoo, welldefined biceps and a bad attitude. Leo had it all.
"I have tattoos."
"Where?"
"You'll have to find 'em."
I traced my finger across the barbed wire band encircling his upper right arm. "Did it hurt?"
"People always ask that."
"The difference is I hope it did."
He laughed. "You really are something else. Usually folks ask if it hurt 'cause they're interested in getting inked themselves."
"Maybe one day. I just like tattooed men is all. Shows they can take the pain."
"I can take pain all right. But that one wasn't too bad. It's only a small thing and I was used to it by then. This one fucking hurt though." He moved onto his back, shuffled out of the rest of his shirt and dropped it on the floor, leaving himself bare-chested. "It was the first one I had done."
"Jesus, you don't do things by halves, do you?" An upper sleeve tattoo covered his left arm from shoulder nearly to elbow; intricately woven crosses, daggers, hearts and drops of blood against a shield background.
"Took fuckin' hours."
"And must have hurt."
"Yeah, it did, but you get high on the pain. So I went back and got more."
"Show me."
"You expect me to turn my back on you?"
"I won't do anything." As we still lay down, I on my side, I was only able to comfortably raise one arm, show one innocent palm. "Promise. I'm just trying to examine you for signs of body art."
"If I said I had a tattoo on my cock, how closely would you examine that?"
"Inch by inch. And very slowly."
"How about with your mouth?"
I slapped his torso, playfully.
"I'd better turn over now before the sight of you halfnaked makes it far too hard for me to lie on my front."
"I assume you mean difficult?" I asked as he rolled onto his stomach. His shoulder blades moved as he laid his head on his hands, rippling the string of barbed wire etched between his shoulder blades. I stroked my hand over it, the heat from his skin burning mine.
"No. Definitely hard." He wriggled his hips to make a point. "And don't try anything while you're back there. I'd really have to hurt you and you're too pretty for that."
I inhaled. Silently.
"There's one thing you could do though, if you wanted to make me happy."
I kissed him on the neck and whispered, "What's that?"