Page 58 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

“You’ll let me know when you get close?”

I scoffed. “What, so you can make me?—”

My words pitched up into a squeal when he gripped right under my cock head and twisted his slick fist. Once.Fuck, twice. Then stopped.

“—complicit in your torture?” I said through my gritted teeth.

“Exactly.”

I grumbled, but I honored the agreement. He spent another several minutes stroking my belly, notching the edge of his hands in the sharp corners of my groin. Finally, another firm, twisting, one-handed stroke. So slick, so perfect. The other hand gliding up to my nipple, rolling it. Pinching it, a sharp bite of pain to prevent me from melting into the pleasure. He tightened his grip, speeding up his strokes. My breathing shallowed, and my belly tightened.

“So close,” I admitted.

One final stroke before abandoning my cock. I wanted to cry.

“Oh, poor baby,” he said, running the flats of his fingers in circles over my low belly. So close. So fucking close, but nowhere near where I needed him. He shifted down a little, rubbed at my inner thighs, and ran his thumbs in the deep grooves along my hip bones.

My cock bobbed, wept.

A quick squeeze of my nuts, tight and drawn up.

“Oh, these are so full and heavy. I bet you can’t wait to empty them.”

“Please,” I begged.

“No begging,” he said, even as he mercifully returned to my shaft, his slick thumb moving back and forth over my slit.

He nipped at my earlobe. “Fuck, Beau. How the hell am I supposed to fit all this inside me?” he asked, tightening his grip, twisting right under the head.

For someone who didn’t have a lot of experience with guys, he was fantastic.

He kept stroking, bringing his free hand to my neck in a light necklace, not constricting my airway at all. The way I’d given over every ounce of my power to this man was intoxicating.

My eyes began to roll back in my head as his stroking worked me up, right up to the edge. I could feel it. I could practically taste it at the back of my throat. I moaned, and his hand left my cock.

I punched my hips up, trying to chase his hand, but he refused to touch me.

“You’re supposed to warn me,” he said. “Tsk, tsk.”

He gripped my shoulders, massaging the delts, opening my chest. My nipples tightened, begging for attention.

“I can feel how hard you are against my ass,” I said, trying a different tack. “Don’t you want me to make you come?”

“Oh, you will,” he murmured, his words sensual and mean. “You’re gonna take that little dildo, you’re gonna put it inside me, and you are going to make me scream.”

“I can do that right now if you just let me come.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He kissed my earlobe. “I’m so sorry. We have just a little bit more to go.”

Liar.

I didn’t know how much more time passed, but I was a begging, drooling mess by the end of it. Over and over, he stroked me right up to the edge. If I admitted that I was about to come, he would still stop, but he would reward me with nipple play. If I didn’t, if he had to figure it out himself, he left my nipples alone.

Finally, with my throat raw from begging, and my nipples just this side of chaffed, he once again began to stroke me.

“Close,” I warned.

“Good.”