Perfect Strangers

14

Eyes burning,James waits for me without speaking another word. He doesn’t move, either, he simply remains patiently unmoving as I take a ragged breath and drop my gaze to his cock gripped in his fist.

I shift my weight forward on my hands and tentatively lick the bead of moisture glistening on the tip.

All the muscles in his stomach contract. Curled around my jaw, his fingers twitch.

I take that as a positive sign and slide the engorged head between my lips.

He sucks in a quiet breath.

I close my eyes and take more of him, loving how hot and tight he feels against my tongue, loving his faint taste of salt and musk. Drawing back to furl my tongue around the head, I linger there for a moment, sucking, enjoying myself, feeling the vein on the underside of his shaft pulse against my tongue.

His hand slides down my jaw to my throat, and he gently squeezes.

Why do I like that? Why should that small gesture of dominance make me clench and shudder? Why should it make me moan?

In his dominant voice, he says, “Get your fingers in your panties and take that cock all the way down your throat.”

Balancing on one hand, I shove the other hand between my legs, fumbling with my damp panties, pushing them aside. As soon as my fingers glide over my throbbing clit, I relax my throat and slide my lips as far down his shaft as they’ll go.

He groans, then curses, his hand hot around my throat. Tightening.

I withdraw slowly, opening my eyes to look up at him when I suck on the crown. His eyes are hazy and he’s breathing hard, licking his lips as he watches me.

He reaches down and fondles my breasts through my shirt, first one then the other, rolling my hard nipples between his fingers, pinching them, squeezing their fullness with a rough, needy grip. I start a rhythm, my hips rocking against my hand as I take him deep down my throat and out again, my heart hammering like mad.

“I’m gonna spank you,” he pants. “Don’t come.”

Don’t come? What does he mean don’t come? Isn’t that the whole—

CRACK!

I jump, sucking in a hard breath through my nose. When he spanks me again, I whine at the sting and work my fingers faster between my legs. I’m so wet I can hear the sound it makes in the room, even above the gentle drumming of the rain. I suck harder on his cock, greedily swallowing as much of it as I can.

“Christ, Olivia. You’re so fucking beautiful. Jesus Christ.”

Every other word is punctuated by a pant. He leans over and slaps my ass again, six times in hard, quick succession. My orgasm approaches like a cresting wave. Naturally, he knows.

“That orgasm belongs to me. It belongs to my cock, not your fingers. Don’t you dare come before I’m inside you.”

Or what? You’ll spank me?

I’m delirious. I must be. The only reason I don’t laugh is because I’ve got a twelve-inch steel pipe rammed down my throat, but I feel as high as an untethered kite, pinwheeling recklessly through the sky, tumbling into a bright, dangerous nothingness.

Then suddenly his cock is gone and I’m flat on my back, blinking in surprise as James looms over me.

“I’m not trying to punish you by not letting you come,” he says raggedly. “It’s just that if we delay as long as we can, it increases the pleasure. It’s called edging.”

Edging smedging! Let’s ride this baby all the way home! Lying under him, I’m sweating and shaking, unable to speak.

“Okay?”

I groan in protest, closing my eyes.

He kisses me on the neck, whispering, “Tell me what you want. If you really need to come right now, tell me. You know I’ll take care of you.”

I open my eyes and gaze up at him. He’s staring down at me with intense focus, his dark hair falling onto his forehead, his face shadowed and beautiful and filled with concern.

Something inside my chest unlocks. A heavy door squeaks open on rusted hinges, letting light flood in.

“Okay,” I say, my voice almost inaudible. “Let’s do the edging thing. I trust you.”

He falls completely still. He doesn’t even seem to be drawing a breath. But underneath all the stillness and perfect control something massive is churning and burning, blazing out from the dark, searching depths of his eyes.

“You trust me?”

“Yes.”

He says my name in a reverent whisper, lifting a hand to tenderly brush a lock of hair off my cheek and tuck it behind my ear.

I say, “Don’t get all weird on me now, lover boy. I haven’t had sex since Duran Duran was topping the charts. Let’s do this.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly. “Were you even alive in the 1980s?”

“Yes.”

“So you were having sex as an infant?”

“No. Gross. Will you please put your mouth on me now?”

“Sure.” He drops his head and kisses me softly on my throat.

“Not there.”

Lifting his head, he sends me a lazy and knowing smile. “No? Where, then?”

“Between my legs.”