Sweet Tarte – Sweet Enough to Eat

“Have you cum before? Rubbed yourself with your fingers? On your pillow? Used any toys?”

Each word sends a direct hit to my clit, which is throbbing to the point of pain as his fingers slip just under the elastic of my incredibly unsexy panties, to brush at my outer lips, making my knees buckle as a wild throaty choking sound bubbles from my throat.

“Yes. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes what? You didn’t answer my question. How did you make yourself cum?”

His now dark blue eyes study my face as I try to figure out the answer, because it’s hard to think.

“My pillow.”

“Ahhhh.” He closes his eyes for a moment as I tighten my grip around his shoulders, needing the support. “You put the pillow between your legs?” I nod and he keeps on. “Climbed on top?”

“Yes.” I breathe out. “Please can you touch me? Please?” I’m desperate, need clutching at my throat.

“When I want to touch you, I’ll touch you. I thought I made that clear.”

“Yes, sir.” I mouth, unsure where the words come from but knowing it feels right as he leans in and flicks his tongue across my lips, making me tremble. “Yes, I climbed on top, rubbed myself on the pillow until I came.”

“That’s a good girl. I like when you call me Sir, and when you tell me the truth.”

“Yes, sir.”

He kisses me again as his fingers slip lower, stroking me so softly I’m unraveling, the room feeling like it’s on fire. His fingers glide along my lips, barely pressing into the sensitive slit as I shudderingly draw breath, my eyes fluttering open and closed as I watch him watching me, and the moment is so heady I feel drugged.

“You are so wet, my heart. It’s leaking out of you. Is all that wonderfulness for me? Because of me?”

I nod, the depth of the situation settling on me like a yoke on my shoulders. This man is so worldly, experienced, yes, even famous, even rich. I’m so out of my depth here he could do anything, flip the switch and become some Mr. Hyde, but even as my logical mind battles for a moment of control, the other decadent parts of me cave to the sensation of his fingers slipping inside my folds. Spreading me, exploring me, his mouth on my ear.

“This virgin cunt belongs to me now. Do you understand? I will take you.” His other hand tightens around my waist as he spins us from the wall, and before I can gasp I’m sitting on the soft velvet sofa, Dimitri next to me with his hand between my thighs. The sofa is the same crimson as the draperies that are the only thing between us and the prying eyes of patrons that must already know what’s happening in the private dining suite of the most famous restaurateur in the country.

He withdraws his fingers and I feel the loss of the connection when he brings them to his lips, drawing them inside on a growl. “My palate is one of the most refined in the world. And you, my heart, are the most consuming, addicting flavor ever to entice my taste buds.”

He kisses me and I taste myself on his lips. It’s more erotic than I could have imagined. His hand grips my knee, pulling it wide, then the other, until my skirt is high on my hips, my legs parted, and I feel the cool air of the room on the blazing heat he’s created in my throbbing sex.

His thumb brushes the tip of my clit and I practically jump into his lap, throwing my head back and feeling the electricity buzz through me.

His mouth is at my ear, “You will be my muse. You will crave me like nothing you’ve ever longed for before. I will be the one thing in your life you will need, over and over. I will need that from you, need to know of all the flavors that have and will tantalize you, it is only us—each other—that can satisfy from now on. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes.” I breathe as his fingers strum my open pussy, faster, slower, harder, softer, until I’m clinging to him, my head in his shoulder, legs wide as he slips one finger just inside my opening, fucking me slowly before increasing his tempo as his thumb presses on my clit and I have no more control.

My throat is tight, my nipples like pebbles as I hear him groan as if in pain, and I can barely breathe. My thoughts twist and turn, unfocused as I bring a hand down and fumble for him.

“Fuck.” He grunts out as my hand finds his length.

His thumb only moves faster as I slip my hand up and down, trying to find the top of the massive erection beneath his trousers, and as I stroke up and down, the tension inside me builds and erupts as his words echo in my ear.