I’ve never been more sure.
I am captured in Othello’s stare as he slowly lays me down on the bed, his body hovering over me. I can feel his stiff and very large dick, hard against my thigh.
Goodness me.
He looks at me with a starved sort of devotion that makes me quiver. Then he slides his hand slowly over my breast, grazing my nipple.
A breathless cry burst out of me, and then that same hand drifts up, curling gently around my throat. The grip is loose, but just firm enough to make my pussy nearly combust.
His mouth grazes my ear, voice low and making me weaker by the second. “I need you to be absolutely sure, Marley. Because the things I want to do to you right now…” His tongue dragsslowly over his lips. “I plan on doing them right. I want to learn every inch of you and take my time, like I’ve got all night.” His thumb rubs my jawline, grip still rooted on my neck. “Because I do.”
My mouth falls open, heat rushing through me like a wildfire.
“Do I seem unsure?” I challenge him.
I shift my panties to the side, boldly taking his fingers and guiding them under the hem of my dress to the lips of my pussy.
Othello goes still, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his gaze darkens. “That definitely doesn’t feel unsure.” He pushes two thick fingers inside me and my back arches.
“Ah…” I moan loudly.
“Did I make you this wet,” he asks.
“Othello,” I stammer eagerly.
A strangled answer.
His fingers work me slow and steady, my hips grinding into his hand, chasing the pleasure, until I feel myself practically melting into a puddle.
The hem of my dress rides higher with every shift, every touch, his fingers working the ache between my thighs. My hips respond instinctively, rising to meet his touch as another moan escapes my lips. Othello watches me, eyes piercing into me, as if he’s committing every sound and every shiver I make into his memory. And when he curls his fingers just right, I swear I see stars behind my eyelids.
“Don’t stop.” The demand slips past my lips like a gasp. I feel myself on the brink, ready to cum from his fingers alone.
“I won’t,” he murmurs, voice thick with praise. “We have all night, Marley. Let me unwind you.”
Another stroke. Deeper. Slower. Like he’s writing his name inside me. My body chases every caress, and I grip the comforter, breath stuttering as he keeps going. Patient, relentless.
I’m dripping like a levee, wet heat sliding down my inner thighs, pooling between my ass cheeks. Othello gazes at my pussy, practically salivating.
“Damn,” he sighs. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about tasting you. I bet you’re so sweet.”
And before I can respond, Othello’s face lowers between my legs, his tongue slipping into the moist slit of my pussy. His mouth devours my insides and then drags up to my clit.
“Oh my God,Othello…”
I am on the edge. Spiraling. My moans grow louder, my orgasm coiling tight, just seconds from snapping. All I can think is if he can do this with his mouth, what the hell can he do with his dick?
I call out his name as I fall apart, every muscle tightening before unraveling in waves I can’t stop.
“Do you have condoms?” I ask him desperately.
“I do,” he answers, his mouth still pressed into my center. But he doesn’t stop until I beg him. “Please, Othello. I need to feel you inside of me.”
He stands, looking at me again with lustful eyes before he leaves the room and disappears into the living room where his things are. I unzip the side of my dress and snatch it off over my head. Othello is back before it falls to the floor.
I hear him rip the wrapper as I scoot back onto the bed, my head sinking into the pillows, my knees lifting and parting, my insides clenching and aching. His pants and boxers drop to his feet, and his dick springs free, thick, hard, and perfect. The sheer size of his dick is enough to take my breath away. That shit should come with a warning label, yet I am ready for him to stretch me wide and give me every ounce of blissful pain I can bear.
He was surely built to ruin me.
