"Come on. That's torture?—"
"Ah…" Both of his eyebrows rise. "Be a good girl and let me have my fun, and I promise you, you won't regret it."
I roll my eyes but I smile in acknowledgement and obediently keep my arms pressed to the wall over my head as his mouth moves down my stomach, kissing along my ribs. His hands slide down my body and push past the waistband of my underwear without pulling them off. I'm soaking wet and when he makes contact with my clit my hips jerk forward into his palm.
"God, you're wet," he says against my stomach.
"That's not my fault," I mumble, already finding it hard to keep my hands above my head.
He laughs against my skin. The vibration travels through me and his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear and drag them down my thighs. I shift my hips to help and they fall to my ankles where I step out of them. His hand comes back up theinside of my leg, fingertips dragging along the skin of my inner thigh, taking his time getting where I need him to be.
"Kaz, please."
"Please what?" His mouth is on my ribs, his breath hot against my skin. His fingers stop at the crease of my thigh and hold there.
"Touch me."
"I am touching you."
"You know what I mean."
His fingers slide lower and brush against me and my hips roll forward on instinct. He doesn't give me more than that, just one light pass, barely any pressure, and then his hand pulls back to my thigh. I groan and lower my hands to my hair where I grab fistfuls to avoid touching him.
"You're doing this on purpose," I say. "It's torture."
"Absolutely." He brushes against me again, and my whole body twitches. "I've been watching you in that dress for five hours. I'm not rushing this."
He keeps it up until my thighs are trembling and my hips are chasing his hand every time he pulls away. When he finally presses two fingers against my clit with real pressure I nearly come off the wall. He starts rubbing me in small circles, reading every sound I make. Then he adjusts the angle when my breathing hitches, pressing harder when my hips grind forward into his palm.
"Right there," I groan. "Oh, God."
He slides a finger inside me without breaking the rhythm on my clit, curling it forward against my front wall. The pressure doubles, my back arching off the wall, and a moan comes out of me that doesn't sound like me. I'm gonna bust open so fast; he has no idea.
"Kaz," I whine, knowing how close I am. I want to grab his hair, and when his lips and stubble graze my thigh I start shaking.
"That's it," he says against my breast. "Stay right there."
He adds a second finger and picks up the pace. I'm grinding against his hand now, rolling my hips against him. I can't stop chasing the peak that's building at the base of my spine and spreading down my legs. His thumb presses harder. His fingers curl deeper. My mouth falls open and the orgasm breaks through me in a rush, walls clenching around his fingers, back bowing off the wall.
"Holy shit," I whimper and my legs give out. Kazimir presses his arm across my hips, holding me upright while the convulsions pulse through my whole body. I can't take it anymore. I let my hands fall to his shoulders and grab fistfuls of his suit jacket and shirt, riding out the waves of pleasure while moaning and making ungodly sounds.
When the pleasure slows, I let go of him and he stands, licking his fingers. "Now," he says, smirking, "you were a bad girl. You put your hands down."
I'm too delirious to respond, so I let him turn me until my tits press against the wall. My arms shoot out, palms splaying against the wall, and then he nips my shoulder.
"I want you from behind," he says, breathing hot against my ear. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Yeah, okay," I whisper, not sure what he means. But when he spreads my thighs and I feel his fingers prodding at my back entrance, it makes me flush instantly.
Kazimir spits on his fingers and then I feel him touching my tight ring of muscles, rubbing, easing me open. One finger pushes inside and my breath catches. I press my forehead against the wall and focus on the pressure, the stretch, the way it sits right on the edge between too much and not enough.
"Okay?" he asks, thrusting shallow pumps with his finger as I adjust to him being there. It makes me rub my own clit as I feel the burn of him stretching me.
"More," I tell him.
He adds a second finger, working them in and out, letting my body adjust before he goes deeper. After a few seconds he spits on his fingers again for more lubrication. The fullness is foreign but the pleasure builds. My hips push back into his hand and his breathing grows raspy and heavy.
"Shit," I hiss, arching back, pushing my hips into his hand.
