“Stay.”
Did he say that or just think it? Whatever, she understood and hovered over him, moist lips pouting between her thighs. He lifted his dick upright and positioned it under her, holding it.
His jaws clenched tight at the first brush of her sex. She slid along the head, trying to find the right position, sliding back and forth. She bore down a little, sliding forward and then yes! He was in.
Barely. She wasn’t moving at all, dammit, hovering over him. Just the head was in and he was going crazy. She moved a little, circling her hips and he slid in a little further. It wasn’t enough. At this rate, it would take her half an hour to slide down enough to take all of him and he didn’t have half an hour. He’d explode first.
Already he was bathed in sweat, heart hammering, breath bellowing in and out, like he’d been out on a five mile run. And they weren’t even having sex yet. Not really.
Her eyes were closed and she had a dreamy expression on her face as she moved slowly. She lifted herself away and he felt like screaming with frustration, but she didn’t disengage entirely. Just stayed still a moment, kneeling over him, gently moving, letting the head of his cock swirl over her lips. Then she found the right angle again and slowly moved down.
And stopped.
She was driving him nuts. Goddammit, why wouldn’t she just let him in?
Teeth clenched, John held her hips and thrust upwards, hard, grinding into her.
Suzanne gasped. Her eyes opened and met his. The dreamy expression was gone, replaced by distress, maybe even pain. No, no, no! He had to make it better for her this time.
He windmilled his arms up and back. Fists clenched around the bars of the iron bedstead, he clung, shaking. He wouldn't touch her, he couldn't touch her. If he did he’d be too rough. What he wanted was to grip her hips and do her hard. Too hard.
He lay still under her, waiting for her to do something. Giving her the lead.
Suzanne stared down at him, breathing fast, fully impaled on him. Her pale pubic hairs meshed with his black ones. She was motionless; eyes open so wide he could see the whites around the gray-blue irises.
She rested her hands on him, feeling the deep, quick rise and fall of his chest, watching him. She seemed to him like some wary wild animal, a deer in the forest, pierced by an arrow. Watching the hunter, gauging intentions.
“Bend down to me,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to the iron rods it was a miracle he didn’t pull them away. He couldn’t touch her with his hands, not yet. Lust was boiling inside him, slick and hot, totally uncontrollable. He had big hands, strong hands. Hands that couldn’t stroke and caress. Not now. Not yet. He’d bruise her if he touched her with his hands.
She was bending down to him, close enough so he could smell the sweet warmth of her skin, rising above the smell of arousal and sex. Her hair brushed his cheek, filling his nostrils with her perfume. His jaws clenched.
“Lower.” The word was guttural and came from deep within his chest. She swayed lower and his mouth opened and clamped on her nipple. She tasted sweet and salty at the same time. Smooth around the nipple, hard little bud in his mouth. He drew on her, long deep drafts of her, suckling with the strength of his mouth. His mouth worked rhythmically, hard, faster now. In time with her breathing, loud in the room. Her thighs, clamped along the sides of his chest, trembled.
She was panting, little moans coming from deep in her throat. The moans starting coming in rhythmic spurts, in time with his suckling.
Their eyes locked. He watched her eyes carefully, because there he could read what was happening to her. She was fully aroused. The pupils expanded until there was only a silver rim around them, glowing bright in the dim, failing light. He was connected to her only by his mouth around her nipple and his cock deeply embedded in her, but it was like he was touching her all over. He could feel what was happening to her body as keenly as he knew what was happening to his.
He wasn’t moving and neither was she, but they were both on that knife-edge, hanging there, ready to tumble over.
She was trembling deeply, shaking all over. He sucked hard, rubbing his tongue over her pebble-hard nipple before biting lightly and suddenly she gasped.
Her cry echoed around the room, in time with the sharp contractions of her sex around him, in time with his groans, in time—oh God!—with the spurts as he came and came and came. She was milking him dry, pulling the come out of him from what felt like his backbone.
They watched each other, trembling, motionless, until finally, after endless moments, she softened and stilled. With a soft moan, Suzanne slid bonelessly down on top of him. Her narrow rib cage rose and fell. Her head nestled into his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his skin, the flutter of her eyelashes, and the soft silk of her hair brushing against his chest.
“Wow,” she whispered.
He waited until his breathing slowed, until he could control his muscles again. Slowly, he unclenched his hands from the iron bars, finger by finger, and brought them down to curve lightly around her back.
He could touch her now, finally.
Now that he’d taken the edge off.
Suzanne lay on John’s massive chest, rising and falling with his breathing. His chest was so broad her thighs, riding along his sides, were open to their maximum extension. Somehow it wasn’t uncomfortable, though she knew she’d be sore later. What did it matter? She glowed from head to toe with the aftermath of an explosive orgasm. She was surprised she hadn’t been struck blind. Her body was rippling with an impossible mix of crackling energy and complete lassitude.
He was still hard inside her. How could that be? He’d climaxed, too. There was no mistaking it, that incredible feeling. He’d got harder and harder and finally just exploded. She wriggled a little, feeling the wetness filling her. She was wildly excited but that wasn’t the source of the wetness. She was filled with his semen.
And yet he still felt like a rod of warm steel. Amazing. Though what was she going to do with a rock-hard penis inside her when she could barely gather the energy to breathe?
John’s hands stopped running up and down her back and moved downwards to cup her backside. His hands were big, warm and rough. He pressed down as his hips flexed upwards and she gasped. He filled her to the edge of discomfort. Almost, but not quite pain. More a complete fullness.
His short hair rasped on the pillow as he turned his head and kissed her neck, then her ear. When he spoke, she could feel the vibrations more than hear the words.
“That’s the way we’re going to have to do it from now on, darlin’.” Again, that intriguing hint of the South in his voice, low and languorous. It only came out during lovemaking. The rest of the time, his deep voice was clipped, accentless. “We’ve got to come first, you and me, make you all soft and wet. Now you’re used to me. See? Now I can slide in and out, easy as you please.”
While he was talking, he was moving inside her in long strong pumps of his penis. She was exhausted. She should be beyond arousal, but somehow she wasn’t. Each stroke was an electric shock.
“I love being inside you, darlin’,” John whispered in his dark, black magic voice. “It’s like you were made just for me. I can’t keep my hands off you.” She could feel his lips moving against her skin, the puffs of air as he spoke. The smell of sex rose, sharp and pungent, in the air. Normally fastidious, she should have been appalled, but now all she could do was open wider for him, clutch his shoulders for balance as the speed and depth of his strokes increased.