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Our eye contact remains firmly intact while he patters gentle kisses across my thighs, working his way up my tummy as he climbs to his feet, his hands keeping a firm hold of my arse. ‘I’m staking a claim on this.’ He pinches my bum, and something inside me pleads for him to stake a claim on every other part of me, too. ‘It’s all mine, princess. To spank, to caress, to admire. All mine.’ Dropping his hold after a final crush of my flesh, he takes one step back, forcing me to relinquish my grip of him. ‘Go stand by the wall.’ He nods over my shoulder and reaches up to his shirt buttons. He’s going to get naked. He’s going to reinstate the need he’s curbed by undressing in front of me, and worst of all, he’s insisting on me standing too far away from him to touch should my impatient hands want to hurry him along. ‘Now.’
I’m stepping back before I know what’s happened, my wired mind not failing him. I hate the distance between us, but the glimpse of his chest when his shirt falls open eases the blow. Solid flesh. Cut and smooth. Tanned and rippling in soft waves as he shrugs the white material from his body and lets it drift down to the floor. My back meets the wall with a forceful smack. My palms follow. I’m pinned to the paint by an invisible force. He’s debilitating. Everything about him. The unstoppable power of those sleepy, angel eyes backed up by a mouth that looks ready to break into a cocky smile at any moment. It strips me of any cognitive thought, and, worst of all, the desire to get it back.
‘Play with your nipples.’
I’m on autopilot. Like a button has been pressed, my hands leave the wall. The sensitivity of my solid nubs doesn’t hold me back. The first gentle brush makes me hiss a little, but I fight my way through and grip them hard, rolling them through my pinched fingers and thumbs.
Having his bare chest out of reach is beautiful cruelty, which leaves me wondering with building panic how I’ll deal with him fully naked. His hands slowly find their way to his belt and yank it open aggressively. The grip of my nipples increases as a result. Then he whips it out of the belt loops and tosses it aside with force. I grip harder. Then he unbuttons his fly and pulls his trousers open, revealing the thick red waistband of his boxer shorts. I whimper, clamping down harder, like I’m punishing myself for being so weak and desperate. ‘Red boxers?’ I wheeze, dropping my nipples and banging my head against the wall, hearing my pulse begin to pound in my ears, the dull whoosh of blood making me dizzy and disorientated.
‘Power red.’ He smiles seductively and pings the waistband, keeping his full composure. Power red. Fuck, I bet he felt awfully powerful today, and I bet he’s feeling pretty powerful now.
How can he do this to me? My head collides with the wall again. I don’t know why I’m putting myself through this. I could go to him, tempt him, make him cave under the pressure of his equal want for me. I have no idea how he’s controlling it. He’s calm and measured, getting a sick kick out of playing with me. He’s a fucking control freak, that’s what he is. A sick, power-tripping womaniser. Yet here I stand, pinned to the wall with no intention of moving until he says so. ‘Fucking hell,’ I curse out loud, punishing my skull with another sharp smack against the wall.
‘Struggling there, princess?’ He pushes his trousers down and kicks them off. And I nearly faint. His neck, his chest, his flat stomach. The material of his boxers hug the tops of his thick thighs in the most sinful way, but they only get a moment of my appreciation. The outline of his cock may as well be glowing. It’s pulsing, speaking to me. It’s telling me that hours of pleasure can be found there. I lick my lips as Becker prowls towards me, stopping far enough away so I can still admire the bulge he’s packing. I want to touch it. I want to feel, kiss, and caress it. Now, tomorrow, the next day, and the next. ‘Kneel,’ he breathes into my face, placing his palms on my shoulders and pushing me down. He doesn’t need to try very hard. I slide down the wall willingly until I’m face to face with Becker’s groin. ‘At your leisure,’ he says, pulling my face up to see him, placing a hand on the wall behind me. ‘Like, now.’
My fingers slip past the red waistband of his boxers faster than my eyes drop back to his crotch, and they’re dragging the material down his muscled thighs in quick succession. The wonder that is Becker’s manhood springs free, the tip nearly skimming my nose.
