He groans, stepping back to increase the distance between us. My shirt flutters to the floor as my nipples harden further.
“Your shorts,” he growls. “Off.”
My thumbs slide into the waist, and I notice the quiver in my palms as I push them down.
“It should be illegal to cover such a perfect pussy around me.” I try to search his eyes, but he’s watching my clothes lower rather than trying to hold my gaze.
That’s when I notice the tremble in his own hands, and what power it gives me to see his own restraint beginning to buckle.
“What now?” I ask, breathless and filled with anticipation when he just stands there taking stock of my body.
“There are a million things I want to do to you,” he whispers. “Maybe even more.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot, anxious for his hands to touch, to roam, to take over and make me his.
“On the bed, legs spread wide.”
I scramble like a mouse has just run across my foot, and his low chuckle at my excitement calms an otherwise tense situation.
I look to him for further instruction once my back is against the headboard.
He hasn’t moved, other than to face me fully. His cock leaks, just as hungry for me as I seem to be for him.
“You said you’ll touch my pussy without permission.” His throat works as his focus lands on the center of me. “And if I tell you to touch it now?”
“Are you?” The fingers of my left hand shake with the need to caress my own skin. Self-pleasure has become an art form recently, but this is different. His eyes on me affect me in more ways than I can count. “Wren?”
He continues to watch, assessing the situation and leaving me hanging. My legs shift, the urgency growing by the second, then his eyes find mine.
“Do you need aggression to come?”
I search his face, but I don’t know how to answer.
“Do you need me to be forceful with you to get you there?”
“If that’s what you wan—”
“No, Whitney. What do you need?”
“I may come the second you touch me,” I confess, not realizing I don’t need any of the things he’s asking about right now. The sexual tension has been building for weeks, and I’m like a dormant volcano that’s somehow built enough pressure to explode at a moment’s notice.
“Do I need to get dressed for you to answer me, Whitney?” he asks, clearly not happy with my non-answer.
The threat of this ending makes me nervous in a bad way, but I can tell he isn’t going to relent.
“Not this time.” I squeeze my eyes closed. “I’m so close already.”
“I haven’t touched you.”
“I know.” God, does my body know that fact.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
“Y-yes.”
“Do you need me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do. Are you being greedy?”
My cheeks heat. “Yes.”
“Touch my pussy, Whitney. I want to know what it’s going to look like when I’m away and my needy pussy won’t obey commands.”
I don’t tease. I don’t pause. I don’t waste a second.
“Slowly,” he growls when I go right for the gold.
“I can’t,” I complain, my fingers dipping just an inch inside to gather my arousal before rubbing it over my swollen clit. “Oh, God.”
“You’re breathless already. Slower, Whitney.”
I whimper, wanting to disobey, but knowing the good stuff comes with my compliance.
“Please,” I beg, and for the life of me, I don’t know exactly what I’m asking. Do I want more? Less? Him? Permission? Maybe a combination of all of the above?
Yes, that’s definitely it. I want all of it.
“How close are you?”
“S-so close. Right there.” My entrance quivers, begging my fingers to move faster.
“Stop.”
I cry out at the loss but pull my hands away.
“You could’ve taken it. You could be clenching and coming. Yet your pussy is screaming at you for stopping. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you give in to your body’s demand?”
Tears burn my eyes, but this is the moment I’ve been living for. The buildup of desire. The ability to let someone else command me, and it’s better than I ever imagined. Better than the stories I’ve read online. Better than the videos I’ve seen that took my breath away.
I’ve literally waited my entire life for this moment, and now that it’s here, I want to experience it over and over and over.
“You told me to s-stop. I want to please you.”
And I know by pleasing him, I’m going to come out on top.
“You do, beautiful girl. You please me. How do you want to come?”
“Repeatedly,” I answer without thought. “Over and over and over. On my fingers, your fingers, your tongue, your cock.” My words hitch at the end, my pussy still quivering with a need that’s making it hard to think or talk.
“So fucking greedy. I love it. I love the flush of your skin. The way your pulse is pounding at the base of that delicate neck of yours.”