“But…” my voice is as weak as my knees. “He can see us.”
His hands still and he moves forward, so close that I have to tilt my face up to meet his. “That’s the point. I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t be shy.”
I shut my mouth, and swallow the questions. Why do you need protection? Why does he have to watch us? I think of the money to distract me, picture crisp dollar bills so I won’t have to think about the man, his eyes following our movement. He steps back, almost to the wall, and it helps slightly. He’s already seen me give head; this isn’t much different.
But sex is different. I may have gotten to the sad point where occasional hand and blowjobs occur, but sex has always been that one line I won’t cross, proof to myself that I am not ruined, that I am still pure in some fucked-up form.
He leans forward and kisses me. The image of dollar bills disappears. Everything flees in the moment his lips touch mine.
A soft, sweet kiss. Not what I expect. He brushes my lips softly, and they part for him, wanting more. A groan slips from my mouth before I have a chance to capture it. His hands move up through my hair, gripping and pulling its strands. His tongue dips inside and I respond eagerly, my body taking over, shoving aside my thoughts as a wave of desire hits. His touch turns harder, his mouth more demanding and he moves me further into the suite, my heels skittering over wood floors, till the edge of the table bites into the back of my thighs.
His hands settle on my ass, squeezing it roughly, one hand on each cheek and lifts me easily, setting me on the table. The glass surface is cold, my bare pussy shocked by the sensation, my arousal throbbing to life. Oh, hello there. Haven’t seen you in a while. The feeling is so foreign, so long-forgotten, that I almost smile.
“Lay back,” he bites out against my lips, taking one last, torturous sweep of my mouth before stepping back, his hands yanking at his tie.
I grip the glass top, sliding backward until my elbows rest on the glass. I stay there, propped halfway up, and watch him unbutton one sleeve, then the second. His breath is hard, his eyes on mine and when he walks towards me, I can see the line of his arousal in his pants. He stops, still a few feet away.
He's an odd man. Cold to the point of being an asshole, and expecting me to perform as he demands. But I’m used to that. Pleases and thank you’s aren’t required, only appreciated. And despite his cold exterior, I am drawn to him, insanely attracted to him. Maybe it’s the money, maybe it’s as simple as that. But more likely it’s that face, those blue eyes set under thick brows, a mess of dark hair that begs for hands to run through it, a strong jaw and kissable lips. Lips he happens to know exactly how to use.
My thoughts abandon me as he yanks his tie free and unbuttons his shirt, inch after inch of hard chest falling victim to my eyes. In his suit, he commanded respect. Without a shirt, he has my full attention, a perfect build unveiled as his shirt falls to the floor. I pull my eyes from his chest and return to his face, seeing the set of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes. I hear the yank of a zipper, and my eyes can’t help but drop.
He is magnificent, every line and muscle defined, framing a package that makes my mouth and sex water. This is the organ that I have already experienced, one that kept me awake last night and started a fruitless self-pleasure session. I swallow as he steps closer, his eyes drifting over my naked body, his hand reaching out and pressing on my sternum, lying me flat before him on top of the table.
His hands touch my legs, lifting and tugging them outward, opening me wide before him. He bends, his hands on my ankle, his fingers unstrapping my heel, a loud thud sounding when the platform stiletto hits the floor. Then he moves to the other shoe, my foot lifting under his hand when it is free. He grabs an ankle in each hand and places my feet flat on the table, knees pointing to the ceiling.
“Touch yourself,” he rasps, stepping back and watching me, his hand settling on and gripping his cock. It juts out, swollen and hard. The knowledge that I’ve caused that reaction is powerful, the vision of him stroking his cock the most carnal thing I’ve ever seen.
I close my eyes. I need the darkness, need to come down from sensory overload. I attempt to ignore my open legs, the view on display for the two men in the room. I touch myself tentatively, my finger sliding up and down my wet slit, slow gentle strokes that fan the already raging fire.
“Is that what you like?” I flinch at his voice, closer than I expected, and open my eyes, seeing him above me, looking down in between my legs, his hand moving up and down his delicious shaft.
I nod. “Initially, yes.”
“Keep going.”
I close my eyes again, my fingers never pausing in their travels, moisture collecting between my lips, my fingers grazing hot liquid as they move slowly and leisurely over the edge of my sanity. I allow one finger to dip in, to test my readiness, and drag some of that moisture higher, to the sensitive bud that is my pleasure center, circling the skin gently. I release a low moan, the building pleasure too great to contain, and arch my back, lifting slightly off the table as my fingers dance lightly through a torturous tease.
My pussy is beginning to respond, to flex and pant, saliva dripping from its eager lips. I can feel my clit taking attention, hardening beneath my gentle swipes, each circle moving a little closer. I am a sadistic bitch when it comes to masturbation, and my body loves me for it. I give until it wants and then I withdraw, coaxing my arousal out only to deny it. I won’t come until it begs, until it screams for mercy, the explosion sweeter and more intense the longer I fuck with its mind.
I am reminded of my situation by a bite. Gentle scrapes of teeth against my nipple, first the left, and then the right. His mouth softens, sucking them into the heat of his mouth, his tongue dancing over the rough path of his teeth, my hand reaching up and grabbing his head, gripping that delicious mess of hair and bringing his head harder on my breasts, the sensation too incredible not to savor.
He yanks my hand off of his head, shoving it back between my legs, his message clear. I moan in frustration, stopping the sound when his mouth returns, visiting my other breast, the combination of soft mouth and hard teeth driving me wild.
“I’m close,” I gasp, my sex contracting and screaming for release, my clit one swipe away from explosion. His mouth moves between my breasts, his fingers replacing his tongue, dragging them over my nipples, gentle and light enough to make them ache for more. His mouth, that incredible, hot machine of ecstasy, moves, traveling into the curves of my neck, and all I can think about is how it would feel between my legs.