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“Yes,” she croaked, her voice dry. “Yes.”
And he worked her harder, as her hips met his. He wanted to come at every moment. She was beyond delicious. Everything about her overwhelmed his senses. The smell of her. The taste of her. The feel of her. Xavier had been with many women in his life, and he appreciated them all, but Emma.... Emma just felt special. Not only was she gorgeous, but he’d never been with a woman so at odds with herself. In the bar, she’d been buttoned-up, conservative, even, he thought, on the verge of leaving, but once he’d gotten her into his hotel room, she’d turned into someone else: a woman overcome by desire and want, not caring about anything but satisfaction. Her passion ran deep, and the dichotomy thrilled him. He needed to have her in every way possible.
He withdrew, and turned her over so she was on her hands and knees in front of him, her amazing ass on display, her shell-pink lips exposed. He took her then from behind, enjoying her in the most primal of ways. He licked his finger then and reached around and touched her. She threw her head back and moaned, moving against him as he pushed deeper inside her. God, she was so tight. Amazingly tight. He feared he wouldn’t be able to hold it, and then, she gave a hoarse shout as she came, tightening even more around him in spasms of pleasure. He grasped her hips then, thrusting slowly and deeply as she rode the waves of her climax. He loved making this woman come.
He withdrew and rolled her over, marveling at her flushed face. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. He dipped down and put a swollen pink nipple in his mouth. She groaned. He flicked his tongue, and she moaned again. He ran his teeth along her nipple and she shuddered beneath him. He went to the other nipple, running his teeth over the edge ever so softly.
“Oh, God,” she murmured, her nipples standing at complete attention, as he nuzzled one breast. She watched him. “W-what is it that you’d want? To ask a stranger...”
Xavier smiled. There were so many things. So many things he’d asked women to do for him. But he knew exactly what he wanted her to do.
Xavier pulled her to the edge of the bed then, standing in front of her.
He entered her once more, this time with her flat on her back, knees up. She gasped as she took the full length of him.
“I want you to touch yourself,” he said. “I want to watch you.”
Emma hesitated ever so slightly, but then, as he watched, her hand snaked downward. Gently, she touched her self, delicately at first. Her eyes slid shut.
“No,” he commanded. “Watch me, Emma. Watch me.”
Her eyes flicked open and met his gaze. He saw her eyes widen as she brought herself closer to a third time, and he could feel her grow wetter. What he wanted was to watch her face as she came, that beautiful face. It was the most vulnerable a person could be, and he wanted to see it. Most women couldn’t do it: most women looked away. Would Emma be able to hold eye contact?
He moved faster, deeper, never breaking eye contact. She held his, her blue eyes turning bluer as the redness crept up her cheek.
“That’s it,” he coaxed her. “Come for me.”
Her blue eyes grew more urgent then with need, and as he thrust deeper, suddenly, her whole body tensed. Her toes curled beside him, and then, eyes never leaving his, she dissolved, the climax taking her past the edge, tumbling her into oblivion. Her eyes turned a brilliant blue as they held his, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life: the raw vulnerability of this beautiful woman as she came. Then, instantly, he poured himself inside her in a rush of nearly unbearable pleasure. She’d pulled it out of him, demanded it, and he’d given it to her.
* * *
They didn’t get much sleep. Xavier didn’t sleep at all, truth be told. He held this beautiful woman in his arms, cradling her naked against him beneath the thin cotton sheet of the hotel bed. He breathed in her scent: hints of earthiness and the fresh, bright smell of lavender shampoo in her hair. They’d ended the night in the shower, where he’d gently washed every amazing curve, the suds slipping down her taut body in all the right places. He’d worked up the lather, but she’d been the one to turn the tables on him. She’d gotten on her knees and taken him in her mouth, making him come one last mind-blowing time. Before that, they’d gone twice more that evening, trying out almost every position he could think of, as he worked hard to sate his growing desire for her. Normally, by now in a Nost tryst, he’d tire, begin to have his fill, start planning his getaway, but Emma was different. Every time she climaxed, every time she brought him over the edge, she seemed to grow more beautiful. Every time they joined together, the experience felt brand new, his exploration of her seemed never to grow dull. They fit together in a way that took him by surprise. They moved together like a couple who’d known each other for years: she seemed to anticipate his every want. Even now, as she lay sleeping against him, he felt his groin stirring. A full night and usually he was spent, drained, done for, but his body still wanted her in the most animalistic way. Was this what it meant to be a slave to passion?
