The Affair (The Evolution of Sin 1)

I peeked up at Sinclair with my tongue unconsciously mimicking the slow lick the Mexican girl had stroked against her top lip. He was staring at me, his head still slightly bent to view his phone, as if he had become entranced by something after briefly glancing up at me.

The electric heat in his eyes shocked something within me and without really thinking about it, I lowered myself slightly in my seat, spreading my thighs wider as I did so. It was cool in the car but I could suddenly feel the Mexican heat press heavily against my body, warming my breasts until they ached, slowing my heart rate until it thumped lazily, only strong enough to pump languid arousal through my veins.

I stared at Sinclair from under lowered lids, my tongue caught between my teeth as my hand found my breasts and squeezed, stoking the fire there. He was completely still. I pressed on, following my own pleasure. My palms slicked down my smooth thighs and slowly pulled my legs further apart until I was bared to him. Slipping off my flip-flops, I planted my feet on either side of him, my toes curling over the cool leather to steady myself. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and I smiled slightly, my fingers lightly dancing over the ticklish skin of my inner thighs.

It was so unlike me to explore myself like this, even in the privacy of my own bed under the cloak of night, but Sinclair made me feel wanton, just as damp and obviously sexual as the woman at the bus stop.

I groaned when my hands finally found the edge of my swimsuit and slipped inside. I wanted to tell him how wet I was but my voice was stuck somewhere around my toes and I didn’t want to push myself too far. Desperate for his involvement somehow, I pried my eyes open and looked up at him.

He was staring between my legs with burning eyes but almost immediately, his gaze found mine and rapidly read what I had written there. His eyelids lowered and his voice was rough with desire, so potent it arrowed desire straight to the wet place my fingers played over.

“Feel how wet you are, how ready you are to have my cock inside of you. Circle yourself with your thumb, place two fingers at your entrance and pretend they’re my cock, pressing against you.”

I struggled to keep my eyes open but I wanted to look at him as I did this, as I touched myself for him.

“You look so sexy playing with yourself. I could watch you all day,” he said.

I groaned, increasing the pressure of my fingers across the slick folds of my sex.

I could see the long, mouth-watering length of him press against his shorts and I imagined myself crawling between his knees to take it out, the feeling of him in my hands, against the roof of my mouth as I took him to the back of my throat. I shuddered.

“That’s it.” His voice was so deep it reverberated throughout my body, strumming me until I vibrated. “Push those fingers into your sweet pussy for me. Feel how tight you.”

I could hear myself, the wet suck of my fingers plunging inside my aching core but it only drove my pleasure higher.

“Do you think you can come like this, Elle? With only your fingers and the sound of my voice.”

I whimpered and finally closed my eyes against the growing pressure in my groin but the snap of his words sliced across my flesh with the force of a whip. “Open your eyes.” His firm lips moved sensuously, deliberately over his next words. “I own you. When you come, you will look at me. Add another finger.”

The additional finger stretched me wide, reawakening the ache of last night. Now, I really could imagine his thickness inside of me, sliding forcefully into my depths over and over again.

“Don’t come yet,” he said and when my eyes flashed open in a panic, he hushed me. “You can’t come without my permission.”

I was desperate for it. My orgasm was so close I could taste it, metallic, at the back of my tongue. My blurry eyes watched as he grabbed himself through his shorts and I wasn’t sure if it was he that groaned, or I. Maybe it was both of us.

“Do you want me to take my cock out, Elle?”

I nodded, my head lolled back against the seat. My breath came in short, hard pants and my chest was tender, heavy with sensation. But Sinclair was not unmoved by my display, his slashing cheeks were taut with control as he spoke through gritted teeth, fighting to keep his cool. I knew he was doing it for me, allowing me to explore, to discover how to pleasure myself, but it was costing him.

My breath hitched when he exposed his erection, curved and severe with desire for me. I licked my lips and watched as he wrapped a strong fist around himself and pulled up. A pearl of liquid shimmered at his crown and already I knew how it would taste, remembering the unique flavor of him on my tongue.

“I want you in my mouth,” I whispered, my dry mouth flooding with salvia as I thought about it.

“I know you do.” His lids were heavy, only thin slits of blue gazed at me, his thick lashes brushed his cheek. “Which would you prefer, Elle? To come on your hands or to have this,” he brandished his cock, his fist pumping it from root to tip and his thumb rolling over the slick head, “in your mouth.”

His eyes widened slightly as I shivered and a small smile warmed his mouth, his question answered. “On your knees.”

Inelegantly in my haste, I dropped to my knees in the spacious town car and reached forward, eager for my prize. When he caught my hands in one of his, the other still on his throbbing length, I frowned up at him.

He looked so handsome staring down at me, his bottom lip plush beneath the firm top, his jaw tensed but his eyes sucking and hot with excitement. He was a paradox, my Frenchman, hot and cold, stern but poetic, mine but not mine.

“I don’t want you to use your hands. Clasp them behind your back and take me with your mouth. I won’t be easy on you. You have no idea what you do to me.” His fingers threaded in my hair and slowly pulled my mouth towards him.

I tentatively licked the sensitive underside and when he hissed, I opened my mouth, sheathing my teeth, and took the flared head of him inside. My tongue traced over his flesh, greedy for the taste of him, the saltiness of his fluid and the musky smell of his arousal. I breathed through my nose as he bore down on me and swallowed rapidly when he pushed through the back of my throat. I almost gagged on my triumph when my nose pressed into his groin and a primal groan ripped from his lips.

He kept me firmly planted there for only a few seconds, lessening the pressure for my ascent long before I was uncomfortable and after a brief circle of my tongue over the head, I opened my throat and took him all the way again. And again.

Heady on the pleasure, I could feel my own wetness slide down my thighs and the orgasm that had receded with the absence of my fingers hovered over me. I knew I had only to press the pad of my thumb delicately to my pulsing clit to come but I didn’t.