“Turn around,” he whispers. “I want to get you out of that dress.”
Another mercurial mood swing; it’s so hard to keep up. Obediently, I turn, and my heart is thumping, desire instantly replacing unease, coursing through my blood and settling dark and yarning, low, low in my belly. He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slow drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.
“I like this dress,” he murmurs. “I like to see your flawless skin.”
His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and hooking his finger beneath the top, he pulls me closer so that I step back against him so that he’s flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.
“You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet.” His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, feather light kisses along my shoulder.
My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, full of expectation. His fingers are at my zipper. Achingly slow, once more he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm languidly beneath his touch.
“You. Are. Going. To. Have. To. Learn. To. Keep. Still,” he whispers, kissing me around my nape between each word.
He tugs at the fastening at the halter neck, and the dress drops and pools at my feet.
“No bra, Miss Steele. I like that.”
His hands reach around and cup my breasts, and my nipples pucker at his touch.
“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” he murmurs against my neck.
I obey immediately, and my breast rise and push into his hands, my nipples hardening further. My fingers weave into his hair, and very gently I tug his soft, sexy hair. I roll my head to one side to give him easier access to my neck.
“Mmmm….” He murmurs into that space behind my ear as he starts to extend my nipples with his long fingers, mirroring my hands in his hair.
I groan as the sensation registers sharp and clear in my groin.
“Shall I make you come this way?” he whispers.
I arch my back to force my breasts into his expert hands.
“You like this, don’t you, Miss Steele?”
“Mmmm…”
“Tell me.” He continues the slow, sensuous torture, pulling gently.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what.”
“Yes….Sir.”
“Good girl.” He pinches me hard, and my body writhers convulsively against his front.
I gasp at the exquisite, acute pleasure/pain. I feel him against me. I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.
“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet,” he whispers, stilling his hands, he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. “Besides, you have displeased me.”
Oh…. No, what will this mean? My brain registers through the fog of needy desire as I groan.
“So perhaps I won’t let you come after all.” He returns the attention of his fingers to my nipples, pulling, twisting, kneading. I grind my behind against him…. Moving side to side.
I feel his grin against my neck as his hands move down to my hips. His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see…holy shit. His hands move down my sex, and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.
”Oh yes. My sweet girl is ready,” he breathes as he whirls me around so I’m facing him. His breathing has quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth. “You taste so fine, Miss Steele.” He sighs.
Holy shit. His finger tastes salty… from me.
“Undress me,” he commands quietly, staring down at me, eyes hooded.
All I’m wearing are my shoes – well, Kate’s high-heeled pumps. I’m taken aback. I’ve never undressed a man.
“You can do it,” he cajoles softly.
I blink rapidly. Where to start? I reach for his T-shirt, and he grabs my hands, smilling slyly at me.
“Oh no.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” His eyes are alive with excitement.
Oh….this is news… I can touch with clothes. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection.
“This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele.”
I gasp and flex my fingers around his girth, and he grins.
“I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.”
Holy fuck… me charge. My mouth drops open.
“What are you going to do with me?” he teases.
Oh, the possibilities… my inner goddess roars, and from somewhere born of frustration, need and sheer Steele bravery, I push him onto the bed. He laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him, feeling victorious. My inner goddess is going go explode. I yank off his shoes, quickly, clumsily, and his socks. He’s staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks …. Glorious…min. I crawl up the bed and sit astride him to undo his jeans, sliding my fingers under the waistband, feeling the hair in his oh-so-happy trail. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips.
“You’ll have to learn to keep still,” I scold, and I tug at the hair under his waistband.
His breath hitches, and he grins at me.
“Yes, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, eyes burning bright. “In my pocket, condom,” he breathes.
I search in his pocket slowly, watching his face as I feel around. His mouth is open. I fish out both foil packets that I find and lay them on the bed by his hips. Two! My over-eager fingers reach for the button of his waistband and undo it, fumbling a little. I am beyond excited.
“So eager, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, his voice laced with humor. I tug down the zipper, and now I’m faced with the problem of removing his pants… hmm. I shuffle down and pull. They hardly move. I frown. How can this be so difficult?
“I can’t keep still if you’re going to bite that lip,” he warns, then arches his pelvis up off the bed so I’m able to tug down his trousers and his boxers at the same time, whoa…. Freeing him. He kicks his clothes to the floor.
Holy Moses, he’s all mine to play with, and suddenly it’s Christmas.
“now what are you going to do?” he breathes, all trace of humor gone. I reach up and touch him, watching his expression as I do. His mouth shapes like a letter O as he takes a sharp breath. His skin is so smooth and velvety… and hard… hum, what a delicious combination. I lean forward, my hair falling around me and he’s in my mouth. I suck, hard. He closes his eyes, his hips jerking beneath me.
“Jeez, Ana, steady,” he groans.
I feel so powerful; it’s such an exhilarating feeling, teashing and testing him with my mouth and tongue. He tenses underneath me as I run my mouth up and down him, pushing him to the back of my throat, my lips tight… again and again.
“Stop, Ana, stop. I don’t want to come.”
I sti up, blinking at hime, and I’m panting like him, but confused. I thought I was in charge? My inner goddess looks like someone snatched her ice cream.
“Your innocence and enthusiasm is very disarming,” he gasps. “You, on top… what’s what we need to do.”
Oh.
“Here, put this on.” He hands me a foil packet.
Holy crap. How? I rip the packet open, and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers.
“Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don’t want any air in the end of that sucker,” he pants.
And very slowly, concentrating hard, I do as I’m told.
“Christ, you’re killing me here, Anastasia,” he groans.
I admire my handiwork and him. He really is a fine specimen of a man. Looking at him is very, very arousing.
“Now, I want to be buried inside you,” he murumurs. I stare down at him, daunted, and he sits up suddenly, so we’re nose to nose.
“Like this,” he breathes, and he snakes one hand around my hips, lifting me, and with the other he positions himself beneath me and, very slowly, eases me onto him.
I groan as he stretches me open, filling me, my mouth hanging open in surprise at the sweet, sublime, agonizing, over-full feeling. Oh… please.
“That’s right baby, feel me, all of me,” he growls, and briefly closes his eyes.
And he’s inside me, sheathed to the hilt, and he holds me in place, for seconds … minutes … I have no idea, staring intently into my eyes.
“It’s deep this way,” he murmurs. He flexes and swivels his hips in the same motion, and I groan… oh my – the sensation radiates throughout my bell…. Everywhere. Fuck!
“Again,” I whisper. He grins a lazy grin and obliges.
Moaning, I throw my head up, my hair tumbling down my back, and very slowly he sinks down on to the bed.
“You move, Anastasia, up and down, how you want. Take my hands,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and low and oh-so-sexy.
I clasp his hands, holding on for life. Gently I push off him and back down. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation. My breathing is ragged, matching mine, and he lifts his pelvis as I come down, bouncing me back up. We pick up the rhythm up, down, up, down…. Over and over… and it feels so… good.
Between my panting breathes, the deep down, brimming fullness… the vehement sensation pulsing through me that’s building quickly, I watch him, our eyes locked… and I see wonder there, wonder at me.
I am fucking him. I am in charge. He’s mine, and I’m his. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge and I climax around him… shouting incoherently. He grabs my hips, and closing his eyes, tipping his head back, his jaw strained, he comes quietly. I collapse on to his chest, overwhelmed, somewhere between fantasy and reality, a place where there are no hard or soft limits.
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