AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That thought shouldn’t send a sharp jolt of lust through me, but it does.
I bite my lip, stifling a moan out of long habit. I’m alone right now, but that’s not usual, and on the rare occasion when I need a release, I usually have to keep quiet. Usually, I end up masturbating quickly in the shower, where I have the most privacy.
It’s been months since I’ve touched myself. Since before Alfio. I reach for my blouse, tugging it up over my head and discarding it, imagining that it’s Lorenzo’s strong hands doing it instead. I imagine him quickly flicking my bra open, tossing it aside, his thumbs brushing over my soft pink nipples until they stiffen, begging for his tongue.
His mouth. God, he has beautiful lips, more beautiful than a man should be allowed to have. I arch my back, imagining pressing my breast against his mouth, feeling his tongue circle my nipple, sucking it between his lips until one and then the other is stiff and hard, his teeth grazing over them.
“Fuck—” I whisper the word aloud, squirming atop my bed, my thighs clenching together. I can feel how wet I am, absolutely soaked, and I wonder if he would like that. If he would undo my pants, tugging them down my hips, and slide his fingers between my legs, groaning when he finds out how ready for him I am.
It feels shameless, lying naked atop my bed in the early afternoon, my hands roaming my body as I pretend they belong to a man that I barely know. But now that I’ve begun, I can’t stop.
My skin tingles under my touch, shivering as I bite my lip, closing my eyes. The truth is that I have no idea how Lorenzo would touch me. I thought he was no different than any other man who has ever wanted me, but he told me no, when he could have used any part of me for his pleasure in his office instead of his own hand.
Maybe he would touch me gently, instead of hurting me.
The thought only fuels my desire. I cup my small breast with one hand, still toying with my nipple as my other hand slides down my concave stomach, down to the smooth, bare skin between my legs. I’m so wet that even the outer lips of my pussy are soaked, and I can’t stop the gasp that bursts out of me when I dip my finger between my folds and brush my fingertip against my clit.
It’s so sensitive that my hips buck upwards instantly into my own touch, more swollen than I’ve ever felt it. I part my folds with my thumb and middle finger, rubbing my index finger insistently over the hard bundle of nerves, torn between wanting to come immediately and wanting to draw it out. My entire body shakes with need, and I feel myself clench on nothing, desperate to be filled.
I don’t own any sex toys. Right now, I wish I had a dildo, something to thrust inside of me and pretend that it’s Lorenzo’s cock fucking me, filling me up until I come all over his thick length. I drop my other hand between my thighs instead, pushing two slim fingers into my soaked entrance, and I hear myself let out a whine of frustration.
It’s not enough. I’ve never needed to be fucked so badly. I buck against my hand, trying to find an angle that will give me more, and I bite my lip, rolling over onto my stomach.
Oh, god. There it is. Not enough, but better, with my hips arched and ass pushed high into the air, my finger still rolling over my throbbing clit as I push two fingers into myself from behind. The image of Lorenzo touching me shifts into something else—him walking into my bedroom and catching me like this, arched helplessly as I fuck myself with my own fingers, naked atop my bed, legs spread wide as I moan for him.
“Fuck, please, please?—”
I don’t know what I’m begging for, exactly. For an orgasm, for pleasure, for him to really appear and give me what I so desperately need. I’m lost in a sea of lust, all of my reservations and feelings about the situation forgotten as arousal overtakes me. I add a third finger, thrusting back relentlessly onto my hand as I veer wildly between fantasies of Lorenzo behind me, fucking me madly with his thick cock, and him standing at my door, stroking himself as he watches me masturbate.
“Oh my god, oh—” I moan, burying my face into the pillow as I feel the climax surge, my stomach tightening as I fall forward onto my stomach, my ass still pushed upwards so I can thrust my fingers into my pussy. The wet, sloppy sounds fill the air, and I can imagine Lorenzo standing at the foot of my bed, watching as he strokes himself, groaning as he kneels behind me. Keep going, you’re almost there, I imagine him murmuring, the sound of his hand on his cock joining the wet sound of my fingers in my pussy. Let me see what that pretty pussy looks like when you come, sweet girl. Come all over your fingers for me.
The orgasm hits me hard, bursting through me with a force that leaves me writhing against my hand, crying out my pleasure into my pillow as I imagine him coming too, kneeling behind me. I imagine his cum splashing over my ass, dripping down over my hand and thighs as I finger myself through my climax, and more of my arousal gushes over my fingers. My clit throbs steadily, pebble-hard and swollen under my feverishly rotating finger. I moan Lorenzo’s name into the pillow as I buck wildly against my hands, coming harder than I can ever remember having come before in my life.
For a long moment afterward, I can’t breathe. All I can do is lie there, hands trapped, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes from the force of the orgasm. And as the pleasure recedes, I can’t imagine what came over me.
Lorenzo is a handsome man. One who obviously turns me on. But he’s also uptight, demanding—and strung so tightly that I wonder what it would take to make that control snap.
Another pulse of an aftershock ripples through me, my pussy clenching around my fingers, and I bury my face in my pillow all over again. There it is. There’s something about him beyond just the physical—something that makes me wonder what it would be like to make him break that control.
What would he be like if he came undone—and how would it feel to be the woman who managed it?
What the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head, sitting up and reaching for the robe tossed over my chair. I need to shower and clear my head. My hands are sticky, drenched with my arousal, and I feel a flush of embarrassment wash over me, heating every inch of my skin.
I’ve never fantasized about anyone like that while I touched myself. My fantasies have always been nebulous things, words, or acts that were never attached to specific people. It feels almost wrong to have imagined him like that.
But then I wonder if he pictured me, earlier in his office, and another wave of heat sweeps over my skin.
I swallow hard, shrugging on my robe as I slip out of my bedroom and into the bathroom to shower. I try not to think about tonight as I step under the hot water, about the fact that I’ll see him, or the possible consequences of the decision I’ve made.
—
It’s clear from the nerves buzzing over my skin and the tension in my body when I get to work that I haven’t been successful in putting Lorenzo out of my head. Even the other girls notice, and Jewel, one of the other dancers who is the closest thing I have to a friend here, perches against the side of my dressing table with a knowing look on her face.
“You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. Miss Uptight figure out that you’re dancing here or something?”
The other girls have long since figured out that I dance for the Los Angeles ballet, and that, above all else, I never want Annalise to know that I work here. It’s not technically against the rules, and I’m far from the first ballerina to strip on the side as a way of augmenting her income, but I don’t want to deal with the consequences of her knowing. I’d never hear the end of it. From then on, every day I seemed tired, any misstep I ever made, any minute of practice I missed—it would all be traced back to this. She’d say it was a waste of my talent and energy, taking away from my chances at success with the ballet—as if going hungry or without hot water at home wouldn’t also damage those chances.
“No. I’m just on edge tonight, is all. I didn’t sleep well.” It’s a good catchall excuse, and the truth is that I don’t sleep all that well. I haven’t since the accident. I have nightmares sometimes, too, and I’m always on edge, always waiting to hear Niki cry out in the night or need something from me. Overnight, I went from a sister to replacing our mother, and the stress of it has worn on me.
