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Continued: Heat shot through me like fireworks. I shook my ..
🕑 Added 2020-08-08 01:50:03 +0000 UTC Continued: Heat shot through me like fireworks. I shook my head. Maybe someday. “Good.” He slid my panties down over my calves, over my feet. He examined them, put them in his pants pocket, then turned his attention back to me. His palms pressed against my nylon covered thighs, easing them apart. Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God. His fingers feathered over my hips, my stomach. My muscles danced under his touch. I wanted to plunge my fingers back into all that blond hair, and it took pulling against the tie around my wrists to remember I couldn’t. I whimpered, my hips pressing up to his hands. He slid his hand between my legs again, velvet slick against the wetness there. My eyes fluttered shut, and I groaned. I felt like I was coming apart, and he hadn’t even gotten inside me yet. “Mr.A,” I whispered. “Please.” “Hush, baby. Look at me.” I opened my eyes, saw him watching me with a hooded expression. He knelt between my legs, pants tight across powerful thighs. “Don’t move,” he said, sliding his hands around my calves. The heat of his skin shocking, even through socks. He pushed my knees up, my feet flat on the bed. “Let me take care of what’s mine.” I wanted to run, then, more than any other time, watching his face framed by that collared shirt, this intelligent, powerful man putting me at the center of his universe for these few minutes — yeah, I wanted to fucking run. But his eyes trapped me, held me in place, as he leaned forward, dipping his head. No one had done this before. Not even Mr.C. “You’re shaking,” he said softly. His hands hadn’t stopped moving: up my legs, over my hips, his palms tracing the curve of my waist, my ribs. “Are you okay? Do I need to slow down?” I shook my head. “Tell me if I do,” he said. “Tell me if something changes. Any time. Okay?” I nodded. “Say the words.” “I’m okay,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you if I’m not.” He smiled. “Good girl. Thank you.” His hands dragged back down my stomach, up my thighs, and he pressed my knees farther apart. Cool air on wet skin like its own touch. He slid his knees back, lowering his chest to the mattress, curling his arms around my hips, all in one fluid motion, all grace and power. The first brush of his lips against mine was electric: I jerked as if I had been shocked, and his arms tightened around me. I was staring down at him, in surprise, in awe, in — I don’t know, I didn’t know anything right then — and he looked up at me, those blue eyes almost black. His fingers pressed into my hips, into that sensitive spot between thigh and labia, and the noise I made was only barely human. “I love how sensitive you are.” The heat of his breath might as well have been his tongue. “And how sweet you taste.” He kissed me like I was kissing him back, dragging lips and careful tongue, heat singing through me, pleasure crawling through my belly, spreading through my hips like fingers. His nose brushed my clit through my pantyhose, and my back arched so sharply he dug his fingers into my thighs to keep me steady. And instead of backing off, instead of letting me breathe, he turned the full attention of his mouth to it, holding tight onto me, following the movement of my hips. His tongue traced the contour of my pussy, his beard brushing soft against my thighs. Every muscle in my body was flexed and hard against him, against my bonds, the pressure ratcheted up tight and hot in my midsection. I wanted to curl up into a ball, wanted to wrap my arms and legs around him. I wanted his grip to bruise me. I wanted to come so bad I could barely think. He uncurled one arm from around my hip, and I felt his fingers brush my ass, under his chin. His tongue dragged up the length of my lips, fingers following the trail, a sudden small rip in the gusset of my pantyhose, pushing into me at the same time he sucked my clit into his mouth. My cry was sharp and loud and made me acutely aware of the near-silence in the room, of the sounds he was making, the sounds I was making, but he hummed again and smiled against my pussy. And flipped his hand over, palm up, and curled his fingers. “Shit,” I breathed, “Mr.A, God—” The rhythm was incessant, insistent, and I was pulling so hard at the tie on my wrists I knew I’d bruise. I needed to bruise. He lifted his head, letting his thumb take over where his mouth had been. “Are you going to come for me, baby?”
