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“God, I want you,” he growled.
“D—Do it,” I panted, light-headed and giddy with the thrill of it. After everything we’d done down in the dungeon, how could this feel like such a big deal? But it did, because...somehow, this was me.
His fingers traced my folds through the thin material, flattening my panties against my lips and God I could feel how wet I was. Then they hooked under the elastic at the side and... I drew in a shuddering gasp as he ran his fingers over me, rolling, and stroking my softness. I could feel myself opening. My eyes closed as our lips bumped again and his fingertips parted me—
“Yes,” I gasped.
And then the full, knobbly perfection of his fingers, sliding up into me, making me jerk and wriggle against him, my ass grinding against the top of his thigh. He kissed me and then pulled back a little, and when my eyes opened, he was staring deep into them, watching my reaction as he... pushed and then pulled back and God, pushed, the pleasure turning silvery and electric as he hooked his fingers and circled just there. I hooked my arm around his neck and dragged him down for another kiss, panting into his mouth as his thumb started on my clit. With my other hand, I fumbled for his belt, wrestling it open and then working at his fly. He shuffled his hips, helping me. This was so different from downstairs, when I’d had to be passive, when he’d always stayed dressed. When I wasn’t allowed to….
Touch. We both groaned as my hand wrapped around his cock. I’d only ever felt it touch me, not the other way around, and it was glorious: the hot thickness of it, the way it filled my hand. I stroked my hand experimentally along its length and felt his whole body come to attention. Another slow stroke….
Suddenly, he was rolling on top of me and trying to tug my dress down, desperate to have me naked. But the thing was held at the back by buttons. He rolled me over so that I was straddling him and groped with both hands for them, working his way down my back, pop pop pop. I was bending forward over him and I felt the neckline sag as it loosened, more and more of my cleavage becoming visible. And then he was frantically pushing it down over my shoulders and over the corset, and I twisted and kicked it down my legs, and finally I was free of it.
I panted, straddling him again, the feel of his cock making me go weak as it rubbed along the front of my soaked panties. I could see him staring at my breasts, the top of the corset only barely keeping them contained. He reached for them, but it was my turn. I undid his bow tie and started working my way down his shirt buttons, more and more of that gorgeous chest becoming visible. For the first time, I could really see him: solid slabs of smooth muscle, broad and thick and loaded with power, so much that I couldn’t resist sliding my palm across his pec, drunk on the feel of him. The blue-black of his ten-pointed star tattoos stood out bold and unapologetic against his tan skin. It was impossible to forget who he was, and I knew he’d never try to hide it.
I undid the last of the buttons and pushed back his shirt to reach his abs. God, I’d wanted to touch him here so many times. I rubbed over them in hungry circles, letting the heels of my hands ride the hard ridges and then lowering my head and kissing down the hard center line, nuzzling all the way up and between his pecs and meeting his lips as he bent down to meet me.
As we kissed, I could feel his hands on the back of the corset. During the party, the pain in my feet had made me forget how tightly I was laced and it was only now, as I felt him pulling at the bow, that I remembered. The laces went loose, his strong fingers wrenched the two sides apart and oh, the sudden rush of air as my lungs properly filled for the first time in hours. My breasts spilled free and he pressed his palms up against them, growling and cursing in Russian. “You feel so good,” he told me.
The corset was tangled around my lower back so I shimmied it down and off. I knelt there for a second, straddling his legs, in just my panties. His eyes had taken on that molten look, but even that was different to how it was downstairs: I could still see the blue and that emotion, that humanity, made it even hotter. His eyes were locked on me: on my face, on my breasts, on the damp scrap of fabric that was all that covered me. It was like he was seeing me for the very first time. And I felt different. I wasn’t being Christina, but I wasn’t just the old Hailey, either. He’d restored the confidence I’d lost.
