I do as he says, and a rough exhale falls out of him as I undo the front closure on my bra, my fingers taking the extra moment to push the lace away from my breasts, exposing myself to him.
“Shit,” he breathes, his eyes devouring the exposed skin. “God, Kate.” His voice breaks, and I look past the bob of his cock to watch the muscles in his throat flex. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I didn’t even … God, I’ve thought about this so much, and I was still wrong. With how perfect you are.” His eyes pinch shut and he lets out a long exhale, a shudder that ripples through his entire body. When he opens his eyes, his control is back, and he nods at my free hand. “Give me your hand. Up here, with the other.”
I move my hand up, his wrapping around both of my wrists and pinning them to the rug, a change in position that arches my back off of the floor. His eyes dart once to my breasts, then he is kneeling over me, his other hand flat on the rug, keeping the pressure off my wrists, and I watch as the head of him moves before me. “Keep still and open that mouth, Kate.”
I do, and he shifts, my eyes closing as he lines himself up, then the tip of him is between my lips, softly pushing, my tongue coming out to meet him, the gentle press of his hips pushing him deeper into my mouth. He moves slowly, a gentle dip in and out, his thickness not allowing too much depth, my efforts to take him bringing soft words of encouragement from his voice.
His movements get a little rougher, and there is a catch in his voice when he speaks again. “I used to fist my dick and think about you on your knees, your boyfriend back at the table, you apologizing to me with this perfect mouth. I thought about punishing you with my cock, making you gag on my dick, pushing it deeper, and coming down your throat. I wanted to send you back to him with the taste of me on your tongue, with your pussy wet. I imagined so many fucking dirty things, so many ways that I would punish you. You drove me mad, Kate.”
He pulls his hips away, jerking out of my mouth, and I gasp for breath, my thighs twisting together, the need between them too great. My orgasm from his mouth seems hours ago, and I need something, anything, to rub against, to penetrate. “Please,” I beg. “Fuck me.”
He chuckles, and pushes off the rug, releasing my hands and sitting up above me, my saliva dripping off him, and his eyes flare with arousal as he takes a moment to drag the head of him over my lips. “You are going to be the death of me.”
I lift my upper body, and my breasts brush against his ass, his knees still on either side of my shoulders. “Fuck me,” I demand.
His smile grows wider. “Are you sure you want that? For me to well and truly fuck you?”
I recognize a Trey Marks challenge when I hear one. In three years, there have been many. Most, I have approached with a cautious hand. This one, I grab by the fucking balls. Or rather, by the shaft. I grip my hand around him and squeeze, and the shock of it all is still there. I am touching Trey’s cock.
He gives one short thrust against my palm, then jerks to his feet, holding out a hand and helping me up. “Put your knees on the couch, hands on the back of it.” The words are hard and business-like, the kind that don’t allow for discussion, and I scramble, my skin hot from the fire, the leather cool as it yields to the pressure of my knees, my hands gripping the back cushion. I hear the slide and collide of metal, and turn to see Trey, bare-assed in front of the windows, raising and locking them into place, a cool breeze immediately entering the room and fighting with the warmth from the fire. “Not there,” he snaps, pointing to the end of the sectional, the one closest to the fire. “Here.”