Stryker doesn’t rush me. He watches intently, and the weight of his attention is a caress I feel everywhere.
For a moment, he stands to remove his pants.
Not surprisingly, he isn’t wearing any underwear. And his enormous dick is already hard, making my mouth water.
I can’t look away, and I slowly take him in.
The man is a beast. All hard flat planes, hard muscles, and tight sinew.
He clears his throat.
I’m supposed to be doing what he does. But it’s not my fault that he’s so damn delicious and temping.
Shaking my head to clear it, I remove my pants. Then he indicates I should remove my undergarments.
Within seconds, I’m in front of him, totally bare.
Silently he instructs me to pull back my shoulders, and that thrusts my breasts out a little. But I understand. He wants me proud, to see myself the way he sees me.
When he lowers himself to the rug again, I immediately do the same. Even though we’ve only been at this a short time, I’m understanding what he wants.
“Now you’ll open for me.” His voice is a velvet thread that I hold onto tightly.
He spreads his thighs—slow, deliberate—hips tilting forward, his hard cock angling toward me. The movement is obscene, unapologetic, and his eyes flick to mine, checking, still with me?
I nod, throat dry, parting my knees wide, baring my pussy to him.
For a moment, I glance away, but when I face him again, his gaze is steady, anchoring me. Good girl.
He lowers his hand and spreads two fingers, intimating that I should part my labia.
God, this is more difficult than I imagined.
Still, I close my eyes and do as he wants.
“You’re doing great, but I need you to see me.”
I have to safe word or comply. And part of me wants this experience, something to remember when he’s gone from my life.
With a sigh, I look at him, and he smiles.
His encouragement is all I need.
He motions for me to rub a finger back and forth, meaning I can’t hide my body’s reaction. I’m slick, and my clit is aching.
“Oh yeah.” His voice is a purr that dances down my spine.
Stryder moves his hands to his chest and uses his thumbs to circle his nipples in lazy, deliberate strokes. “Feel this with me.”
My fingers are cold on my skin, but my nipples harden instantly, as much from the chill as the action.
Then, holding my gaze captive, he pinches himself—hard, sharp, controlled—and a soft exhale leaves him.
My pulse pounding, I mirror him, my thumbs circling, followed by a hard pinch.
The sting shoots straight to my clit, and I gasp, the sound raw in the quiet.
“That’s it.” His smile is wickedly triumphant. “Let me hear you.”
