Managed (VIP 2)
“There are times I torture myself by thinking of those fantastic tits. Of how I’d lick them like ice cream, tasting every luscious curve. Slow, long licks.” His lids lower as he stares at my breasts, and my nipples stiffen painfully. “How would they taste? Would you like it best if I sucked those nipples hard? Or mouthed them so softly you barely feel it and have to beg for more?”
God. I’m squirming now, everything going deliciously tight.
He makes a low hum in the back of his throat, seeming to enjoy the show. “Some nights, it’s so bad I don’t want to bother with foreplay. I want to lift your leg, make room for myself between your thighs, and rut like a selfish, greedy bastard. I want to fuck the wetness into your sweet box, feel you grow slick around me.”
His rough voice is so disgruntled, I let out a breathless laugh—because my head is spinning, my skin so hot, I feel faint. “You think I’d object?”
His eyes snap with heat. “You want me to use your body for my pleasure?”
Fuck yes. “As hard as you can.”
A shudder wracks his frame, and he digs his fingers into the chair arms as if holding himself back.
I can’t have that. I slouch further on the couch, spreading my legs just at bit. The air feels cool against my heated skin.
His gaze goes immediately to the shadowy space beneath my skirt, and my thighs clench in response.
“But you wouldn’t have to fuck me wet,” I whisper, heart pounding. “Anytime I’m in bed with you, I’m wet.”
A low, strangled grunt leaves him.
“So fucking wet, Gabriel. Every night. All night.”
As his head lolls against the back of his chair, his gaze going somnolent, I give him a weak smile. “Why do you think I’m washing so many panties?”
It’s almost sleepy, the look he gives me, but I see the calculated gleam in his eyes. “Are they wet now?”
“They’ve been wet since you walked through that door.”
His nostrils flare as if he can draw in my scent from all the way over there. “Show me.”
My clit swells, pressing tight against the gusset of my panties. I’m so turned on, my stomach quakes. I spread my legs for him, the soft fabric of the skirt slithering up my skin. With shaking hands, I pull the skirt higher, present myself fully to his gaze.
Color floods his sharp cheeks, his lips parting. I picture myself, white panties darkened by a flood of need, outlining the rude shape of my swollen sex, and I whimper, canting my hips.
“More,” he rasps. “Give me a peek of that honey I’ve been craving.”
Oh, shit. I can’t breathe. My hand shakes as I hook a finger in my panties and almost shyly pull them aside. I feel so naughty, a dirty girl giving an illicit glimpse, that my skin flares white hot.
He groans, low and pained, his body tensing in the chair. His gaze stays locked on my exposed flesh as his hand slides over his hard abs and closes over the immense erection straining against his pants. He gives himself an impatient squeeze.
“Gorgeous,” he says, gripping himself tighter.
“Take it out,” I tell him, trembling. “I want to see you too.”
He doesn’t hesitate, just unzips and pushes his trousers and underwear down low on his thighs. His cock bobs free, rising to kiss the hollow of his navel.
Gabriel’s cock. For a second I can’t believe I’m actually looking at it. My gaze slides over the tender curve of his weighty balls, up to the meaty jut of his dick, so engorged it visibly pulses. As if it pains him, he strokes its long length. Just once.
I swallow hard. “I want to do that.”
He strokes again, a lazy glide. A tease. “If you get anywhere near this cock, it’s going to be fucking you.”
I want that so badly. I can almost feel him between my legs, pushing in hot and thick and strong. Somehow I find my voice.
“You should know, I can’t be a fling. Not with you. If you want me, you have to be all in.”
A frown knots his brows, and when he speaks, his voice is a rasp. “I’ve lived my whole life denying myself what I truly want. And yet I cannot turn from you. Haven’t you realized it yet? I am yours. I will always be yours, whether I touch you or not.”
Something inside of me snaps. I’m through waiting. In a daze, I rise from my seat. My skirt flutters around my legs, my skin so sensitive now, the fabric tickles.
Gabriel watches me come to him. With each slow step I take, his breathing gets deeper, as if he’s struggling to draw in enough air.
I straddle his lap, and that first point of contact—my bare thighs sliding over his—has me whimpering. God, he feels good. His skin is hot, a sheen of sweat covering his chest, his body thrumming with tension. The length of his cock lies heavy and thick between us, pressing into my fluttering belly.