He wedges his foot between my ankles and urges me to widen my stance. He pulls off my tank top and sweater in one swift motion.
There I am, in nothing more than a black lacy bra and my four-inch stacked red stilettos. The cool air in the room brushes my flesh before his hands caress across my waist and up my spine to the back of my bra. Catching my breath, I stand in front of him, shivers racing across my skin; he leaves goose bumps in the wake of his touch. He takes me in, completely. Erasing the space between our bodies, his fingers nimbly unclasp the hooks of my bra, releasing the pressure of my straps across my shoulders. My tits rest in their natural shape, my nipples rock hard every nerve in my body either ends between my legs or the points of my tits.
“My gracious Rose, put your hands down,” he breathes.
My nameless lover’s eyes bonding to my chest, he removes the loose bra from across my body. He pulls in a ragged breath with a tight smirk as he holds it out in his fingertips before he lets it fall on the pile of my clothes he left on the floor.
He caresses his hands across my shoulders, down past my elbows before he catches my fingers in his hands. Lifting my arms, he takes a step back from me. Naked as the day I was born, developed more than the moment my innocence was stolen, he leans his head to one side and looks me over. For the first time in my life, a man is looking at me like the woman I’m supposed to be and not the object I had become. His focus causes my heart to flounder in my chest. The air in the room tumbles against my vacant flesh; uneasy found a home in every cell of my body as I shift in my stance. The ticking of time clocks me in my head as I watch his vision drink from my exposed skin. He inhales another rough breath before he starts in on saying the words that drench my pussy in pure sexual desire.
“You are the perfect prick of a poisonous thorn, my beautiful blossoming Rose. Cautiously waiting for me to inhale, pluck and consume you from the bush.” His whisper turns into a raw growl.
Every part of my body melts against his words, weak in the knees, a pulse gallops between my legs. In this moment, I need him to take me. I don’t care if he gives me a fucking dime; he captures me with his eyes, and possesses me with his words. Is this nameless man going to be the one to finally give me the moment of true reprieve that I’ve been searching for my entire life? Heal me by the words rolling across the tip of his tongue, sewn effortlessly into every fiber of my being, I ache to have him steal my breath and slay my demons. Melting into any arrangement he’ll demand, I’m powerless in my intention to remain professional, suddenly, this is personal, very personal. I bend my arms in the attempt to fold into his body, needing to feel his lips consume mine, he takes a step back. My heart, clinging to the edge of my throat, crashes into the pit of my stomach.
“You don’t want me?” I ask, standing undressed by his words, feeling stupid because of how easily I let him play me into his game.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to, your actions said it loud and clear,” I say.
Torn apart. I push him away, turning to get my clothes; suddenly his body consumes mine from behind. His lips press against my ear, his voice is commanding. His chest is heavy against my back, and his arm is firm across my ribs as his hand captures my breast. His other hand becomes lodged between my legs as his long fingers are deep in my pussy.
“Don’t ever turn your back to me Rose. You agreed to be here for me, do whatever I asked,” he argues. His body is still draped over mine. His fingers unyieldingly plunging deeper and deeper into me, his thumb stroking rhythmically at my tingling clit.
“Yes, I agreed—” I breathe my words as I throb, responding to his fingers pushing and pulling. I rock my hips against his seamless rhythm. His breathing ignites a burn through my body that I’ve never felt with someone before. Owned. By. His. Touch. Nobody’s ever made me want to come so bad. Problem is, I don’t wanna come before I get to feel his cock fill me.
“You have no idea what I want. Maybe I need you to ache for me. Maybe I want to watch you twist in your own flawless skin until you can’t take it anymore and you beg me to fuck you.” He pulls his fingers from inside me and in that mindless moment when the air licks at the fever surging at my doorway I turn into a slave to his demands. “I want you to beg me to fuck you.”
“Please . . . Mister . . . please, fuck me.” He’s got me. Twisted, taken and ruined.
He turns me around, facing him, his fingers digging into my biceps; he pulls me within inches of his lips.