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“You just fucking love taunting me, don’t you?” he bites out. “As soon as you part these pretty thighs for me, I know I’m going to find you fucking dripping.”
My body urges me to do it. To open to his hand. But I don’t. I can’t.
Because then he’ll see that he’s right.
“When we get home,” he warns softly, “I am going to punish you for this.”
I hate how much that excites me, anticipation and arousal slamming through my bloodstream. He nudges his middle finger down a little further until it’s pressing directly against my clit. Between his touch and the squeezing of my thighs, I know I’m already on the verge of coming.
Elio’s tongue is at my ear, my jaw, my neck, exploring. Demanding. His mouth moves but his hand doesn’t. Now that he’s got the pad of his middle finger nestled up tight against my clit, he just leaves it there, so infuriatingly still that despite my efforts I find myself rocking subtly against him, seeking more friction.
“Open to me,” he commands.
As if my body is more loyal to him than to me, my thighs ease a fraction of an inch apart. It’s barely what could even be called wiggle room, but Elio seizes on it like a predator lying in wait.
That small easing of my muscles, that tiny slice of space gives him enough purchase to shove his hand downwards and force my thighs apart. I’m glad my hand is already slapped over my mouth, because I’m sure that the guttural moan that hits my palm would have every head in this place turning towards me if I let it out fully. It would probably cut right through the music. And everyone would hear, would see, what he’s done to me.
That thought only makes hateful, blinding pleasure surge. Elio makes a thick, growling sound when his fingers slide down to my soaked entrance.
“Just like I fucking thought. Fucking soaked for me.”
The heel of his hand grinds hard against the apex of my thighs while his middle finger slides deep inside me. And now I’m spreading wider for him all on my own. I can’t blame him for this – this is all me now. It’s my pussy throbbing for him. It’s my back arching against him. It’s my voice coming in stuttered, sobbing moans against my own hand.
It's my legs spreading as far open as they can go as my hips rock shamelessly against his hand.
But no, it’s not shameless, not really. Because if someone were to see me now, I’m pretty sure I would die.
And I’ll die if he stops touching me.
“You’re close,” Elio whispers, a damning remark that I know is fucking true. “Cristo Santo, I can feel you getting all quivery and tight inside.”
I am. I can feel it too. My core is swelling and tightening, extraordinary physical need rising higher and higher, right alongside the music. A frenetic crescendo that makes every one of my nerves sing, scream, and-
The music suddenly stops, replaced instantly with applause.
And then the lights come on.
No!
My eyes snap open, then immediately scrunch shut against the bright light. The sounds of chatter and rustling from below fill the space. God, if anyone looked up here right now…
I try to scramble out of Elio’s lap, but his arm is still around my waist and his hand is still stroking deep inside me.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he coos darkly. “We aren’t going anywhere until you come for me.”
He cannot be serious. But as I twist my head and turn my wide eyes onto his, I flinch at the molten resolve I find there. He’s not going to let me go unless I come.
At this point, I don’t think I could stop myself from coming even if I wanted to.
I slam my legs shut around his hand and turn sideways in his lap, looping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his chest. My core is already starting to pulse, drawing his finger deeper into my body. The hard part of his hand digs into my clit, and fuck, I shouldn’t, I don’t want to, not here, not under these lights, not like this, I can’t, I-
“Come.”
I do.
I grind helplessly against him, catching the collar of his shirt between my teeth and biting down to keep from making the kinds of sounds I’m desperate to let out. Elio groans softly, and I feel his cock leap against me through his pants.
That gives me an idea. A way to shift the balance of power. A way to make him feel as vulnerable and fucked-up as I do. I reach blindly down, find his thick shaft, and squeeze.
