She is Mine

“I thought you may be thirsty,” he says, handing me a glass of water and setting a condom aside on the bed.

“Thanks.” I drink the entire glass and he takes it back from me, placing it on the window ledge beside us.

“Down,” he says, and pushes me back onto the pillows. He’s on his knees, looking down over me, and my eyes go straight to his cock, semi-hard between his legs. He starts stroking himself, long twisting strokes from the base to the tip. I see the muscles in his pecs jump as he focuses on the head with quick, short strokes. He’s completely hard then, his cock jutting out at me, and my hands twitch on the sheets underneath me, wanting to touch. As if reading my mind, he leans over, supporting himself with a hand next to my shoulder. He takes his cock and presses the tip to my pussy, resting it against me but not entering me, not yet. He coats himself in the moisture gathered there and drags himself up my seam. He rubs around my clit, still so sensitive from my orgasm, stroking it slowly up one side and down the other. His face is masked in pure lust, and I wonder if he can feel my clit throbbing against him. He repeats this path again, and the head is now glistening with my juices. It’s torturous having him so close, wondering what he’ll feel like inside me.

He must read my mind, because as he traces his cock down my pussy again, resting the head at my entrance, he slips inside me, just the tip, and pumps ever so slightly, just enough to know he’s there. He licks his fingers and reaches down to tweak my nipples, creating a circuit of pure pleasure. My chest is rising off the bed, and his self-control surprises me. He stays like that, with his cock just an inch inside me while he strums my clit. I can feel my pussy contracting, wanting more of him inside me, and a gush of new moisture is pooling between my legs. I could come like this. My shoulders lift from the mattress and I pull his head down to me, kissing him deeply, letting him know that I’m ready. I’m more than ready for him to deliver on his promise.

“Fuck me,” I whisper in his ear.

Chris pulls back, reaching to the end of the bed and retrieving the condom. For all his teasing, for all his self-control, his hands shake as he tears the foil and quickly covers himself. He settles between my legs and I can feel his cock at my entrance. A single thrust and he’ll be buried inside me. He kisses my neck and my face, grabs at my breasts and sucks my nipples, grazing them with his teeth.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks, breathlessly. “Because once I start, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

I answer him by lifting my hips, and with that movement, I give him permission. He plunges into me and it’s searing and hot and I have never felt so full. He moans in my ear. “Fuck, Weaver, you’re so tight,” he says, and then he withdraws, almost entirely, before thrusting in again. I’m so sensitive that every inch of his cock leaves a trail of exquisite sensation. His rhythm is perfect. Dragging in and out, hitting every nerve, fucking me slowly. I’m in a daze; I’m staring up at his perfect face, his searing eyes looking down on me. Beyond him I can see the lights around the Seine, and it feels like a dream.

“God, you’re getting even wetter,” he says hoarsely, and the look on his face is all concentration and control. I want to crack that composure; I want to make him lose control.

“Fuck me harder,” I say. “I want you to take what you want.” As I continue talking to him, telling him how good he feels and all the ways I want him, his strokes speed up, his breathing becomes more erratic. His forehead rests on my shoulder now, and his grunts of exertion turn me on even more. With every word, every suggestion of just how I want him to fuck me, he lets go, losing control.

“Fuck it,” he says abruptly. He leans back off me leaving me feeling empty. But not for long. His arms reach down and pull me up, turning me around so I’m facing the wall. The loft leaves just enough room for me to kneel on the bed, and I brace with my hands against the wall. Chris enters me swiftly from behind, one hand on my hip and the other grabs my hair. While he was slow and deliberate before, now he’s furious, pumping in quick, hard strokes. My hips match his strokes one for one.