He ran a finger on my mound and down my slit, slowly, devastatingly. My whole body shuddered at the sensation. When he followed the same motion back up and then again down, up and down, up and down, I was out of breath, my orgasm about to rapture just from that.
“So fucking wet.” He popped open the button of my slacks and worked the zipper. Then he cupped me whole over the panties. “Your pussy is so fucking wet, Doc.”
I moaned hard. It was loud enough for him to believe I was really a dirty bitch, but I couldn’t help it. Leo was touching me. His hand was on my pussy that was all wet for him. My hand faltered around his shaft as I shook harder.
“No, Ravenna. Don’t stop. I want you to rub me faster. You’re going faster on me now, little slut.”
As if he controlled my hand, I stroked him at a pace of his liking. I could tell from the low moan in his throat and how his head kicked back.
He slid one finger under my panties and pushed them aside. Then he stared at the wetness trickling between my thighs, his lips parting with the sexiest groan I’d ever heard. A stronger shudder took over me. That, the way my heart kept pumping hard and the oxygen I no longer remember how to intake set my head spinning. I was so dizzy I could faint. “This is wrong,” I whispered. “Please…”
I wanted to tell him to stop, but I was too caught up in the fantasy turned reality to dare say it. I knew engaging with Leo in any act sexual, intimate or otherwise was one of the most foolish, most dangerous and unethical things to do. The truth was, though, I didn’t give a fuck. I’d always wanted him, and pathetic as it may sound, having him right here, in this obscene manner, was my only way of having him at all.
“Please what? You want me to stop? You want me to stop touching you, Ravenna?”
No. A thousand times no.
“Maybe I should stop touching you so you’ll do it yourself,” he rasped, his breathing labored.
“Do what?”
“Touch yourself while you jack me off. Show me how dirty you can get. Show me how loud you can be when you come for me as I will come for you.”
“Oh my God. You want me to masturbate in front of you?”
He nodded at my wetness and licked his lip. “Someone’s gotta take care of that. It must be painful. What do you say? Is it gonna be you?” He rubbed one finger ever so slowly over my bare flesh, and my jaw hung low, my eyes rolling back. “Or me?”
“Me!Me. I’ll do it.” One more move of his and I’d orgasm right away, embarrassing myself in front of him forever. If I touched myself, I’d have some control to delay it a bit, at least, until he came first.
A small smile touched his mouth as he withdrew his hand. I mourned the loss of his calloused touch instantly.
“Push your panties to the side and rub your little pussy. I wanna see it all.”
I widened the space between my knees and tilted to give him a better view. Then I followed his depraved instructions.
His stomach muscles tightened as he watched me humiliate myself in the most beautiful way and my fist worked his hardness, his tattoos stretching and returning to position. A flush of sweat gleamed on his clean yet marked flesh.
He was getting close. The closer he got, the faster my breath fled my lungs and my orgasm gathered in my clit. I pumped him, focusing the friction at his plum-sized crown.
“Cazzo,” he said, his voice tight. “Spread your lips and get some of your juices on my cock.”
Holy fuck.Sweating, too, I parted myself and scooped some of my wetness with two fingers. Then I glazed his cock with my arousal.
“Don’t stop…” He drew the words out, his shoulders and neck straining, his pectorals flexing.
I rubbed him as fast as I could without hurting him, my fingers playing with my clit simultaneously. My head lolled back as the wicked pleasure rippled through me. Then he jerked and pulsed in my hand, warm liquid spilling on my skin. Swiftly, I glanced between his seed and the face he was making as he came all over my hand.
Fuck me, he was spectacular, and the glorious scent of his cum filled the room until I breathed it instead of air. “God!” I cried out, coming hard, joining him in a debauched song of sick, decadent pleasure.
When he was still, and I regained control over my breathing and became lucid enough to return to reality, I released him and used the washcloth to clean both of us.
“Is that what women want?” he suddenly asked.
I fixed my panties and slacks back in place. “What do you mean?”
“To be used without permission? To be taken instead of given?” A dark shadow haunted his gaze. “Is that what I should have done?”
He must have been talking about his ex-fiancée. An illogical stab of jealousy pierced me. I had no right whatsoever to demand or expect anything from him, not even respect. He didn’t even know who I was, and I’d just disgraced myself in front of him without even asking for anything in return. To him, I was nothing but disposable. Something to be used and tossed away after he was done.
