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David was dressed for work. Dark slacks, light blue button-up shirt, top button undone, and a red tie loosely slung around his neck. But David had become the Statue of David, frozen to the floor.
It was time to take charge. “Here . . . take a seat on the bed.”
I put my hands on his hips and smelled musk scented deodorant and minty toothpaste as I guided him backward. I’d become the master, and David was my puppet. My little escapades required me to take charge from time to time, and I was surprised at how easy it had become.
He sat on the bed, tucked his hands between his knees as if trapping them, and lowered his eyes away from me.
I raised my foot onto the bed, drawing his attention, and wriggled off my strappy stiletto. I lifted my skirt and hooked my thumbs under the elastic lace at the top of my stocking, ready to glide the fishnet off, and that’s when David squirmed on the bed and swallowed so loud, I heard it.
The poor man looked petrified.
It sure was a passion killer.
And a total disaster.
Tugging David’s tie, I eased him a fraction closer. “Would you mind taking my stocking off, please?” I raised my skirt higher, showing off the decorative lace at the top that held it in place.
“Me.” He palmed his chest.
I wanted to point out that nobody else was in the room. “Yes, please.”
His eyes fell to my thigh, and I hooked a thumb into the lace, showing him what to do. “Your turn.”
His fingers trembled as he peeled down my stockings. The poor man was terrified. It was suddenly very important to me that by the time I finished with David, he knew he was worthy.
“Do you want to take my dress off?”
His eyes darted about the room. Maybe he thought he was on camera or something.
“Don’t worry, we’re not having sex.” I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Just a little fun. Or I can leave if you want me to?”
He shook his head yet still didn’t touch me, so I undressed myself and tossed my French maid costume on top of my discarded stockings.
His azure blue eyes were on me. . . scanning up my body as if in disbelief.
“You don’t have to do anything. Just watch. Okay?”
He nodded and smoothed down his mustache again. Improvement. Good.
I flicked my bra off, and his eyes just about jumped out of their sockets.
Definite improvement.
His tongue swept over his lips, providing moisture to the dryness.
“Would you like to touch?” I circled one nipple with my fingertip.
He raised his left hand, and almost trance-like, he collected my breast into his palm. He wobbled it as if judging the weight. His breathing became rapid, and his pink tongue flicked across his lips.
“You can taste if you like.” The urge to please this man who seemed so broken, overwhelmed me.
His breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate this time. His height meant that, even sitting, he had to bend down to sample me. He ran his hot, slick tongue over my nipple, licked it and glided his tongue around my sensitive bud, then flicked back and forward over the tip.
He’s done this before.
When he wrapped his lips over my nipple and sucked it into his mouth, his bushy mustache provided a soft cushion. It was a lovely contrast to the rough stubble of my previous lovers.
With his eyes closed, David licked, nipped, and sucked my breast, and when a little groan tumbled from his throat, the familiar sensation of lust blossomed inside me.
