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His muscles bulge and his silver hair flickers in the lamplight. The curtains are closed and the door is locked, sealing us in our own private universe. My heart pounds in my chest, drumming against my ribcage as we approach each other.
We meet in the middle of the room, Rider’s breath coming out ragged and gruff as he stares down at me.
“Fuck, princess,” he groans
“What?” I whimper.
“You, just… you. You’re so fucking sexy.”
He leans down and kisses me, crushing our mouths together. I moan through the kiss, my mind letting go of the doubt as my body takes over. My hands smooth up over his rock solid arms, gripping onto his shoulders as I whimper and press closer to him.
My nipples pebble, rubbing raw against my bra. My skin tingles all over.
He turns – our lips pressed tight the whole time, the tips of our tongues eagerly clashing – and grinds against me, pushing me toward the bed.
His manhood is a massive impression against my belly, as though his engorged helm is trying to get as close to my womb as possible.
I giggle as I fall backward onto the bed.
He collapses atop me, holding himself up with his muscled arms. I reach up and grab onto them, feeling his corded strength against my palms, promising pleasure, promising safety.
Our noses tickle each other as he stares into me.
“What?” I whisper.
“You, princess,” he snarls. “Just you. You’re perfect.”
He kisses me again, with more urgency this time, angling his hips, driving his manhood between my legs. I feel the solidness of him pressing through the fabric of our clothes, grinding against my sex, up and down my lips so my clit throbs and burns with the need for him.
Voices try to taunt me, try to cannibalize the goodness of this moment.
You can’t do this. You’re going to embarrass yourself. Stop, stop, stop.
I push them away and focus on the moment, the moment alone, shifting my hips in time with him as our imprisoned sexes grind compulsively together.
“Fuck,” he snarls, bolting to his feet.
He looms over me, staring with twisted lips, as though nothing else in the world exists.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I need to see your perfect body.”
He leans down and grabs the hem of my pants, pulling roughly. I have to grip onto the sheets and lean back just so he doesn’t pull me clean off the bed too. He yanks off my underwear and my pants roughly, in one feral motion, and then falls to his knees and sinks his hands into my thighs.
“Get that fucking shirt off,” he snarls, before burying his face between my thighs.
I fumble with my top, but it’s difficult to focus when his tongue is making searing patterns on my sex.
He circles my hole and then up my lips, pressing against my clit.
My hands tremble as I pull my top up, up, and finally over my head.
“And that fucking bra,” he growls, looking up at me. “Now, princess. Now.”
I cry out when he slips two fingers inside of me.
Somehow I manage to reach around to my bra strap, feeling like I’m trying to pull a freaking yoga pose as his tongue strokes move over me. Tingles of anticipation move up through my body, swirling into my belly, coiling around my womb in hot whispers that tell me this is happening, this is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for, ever since I laid eyes on him.
I refuse to believe it’s only been a day.
It feels like a lifetime.
“Fuck,” he snarls, as I toss my bra onto the floor.
He leans forward and pushes my breasts together, burying his hands in my flesh, and then sucks one nipple and then the other. I smooth my hands over his shirt, tugging insistently at it.
He smirks up at me, his lips glimmering wetly from my pussy’s soaked juices.
“Are you trying to tell me something, baby?”
“I want to see you,” I whimper, trying to make my voice confident even as anxiety tries to trap it.
He growls as he stands up, tearing at his clothes like a beast.
“Touch your clit,” he snaps, a command in his voice, the same way I imagine him talking to suspects when he’s got them in police custody. “Keep that hole nice and wet for me.”
I slide my hand down my body, softly stroking my clit as he tears his shirt over his head, revealing a landscape of ripped muscle. His chest bulges, his pectorals round and rock hard. His belly is ridged with his ab muscles, big indentations that make him look beastly.
A V shape that points down toward his manhood, as though beckoning me to him.
He tears off his pants with the same swiftness, as my fingers toy with my pussy faster, with more urgency.
I rub at my clit, shocked at how readily available the pleasure is, right on the surface, just waiting to be tapped into. I’ve never felt anything like this before when I’ve touched myself.
