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Keeping eye contact, I slid my fingers around the base of his cock and lifted it from his stomach, then I leaned in to take the head between my lips. I watched his eyes dilate as the salty flavor hit my tongue.
“Holy...” he tried to say and then gave up. A droplet of sweat slithered down his temple.
Not taking my gaze from his face, I sucked him in deeper until he hit the back of my throat. His lips parted and he couldn’t seem to do anything past breathing as I drew him in an inch deeper. I still couldn’t take all of him, but that didn’t stop me from pulling and drawing him back in.
“God,” he gasped, his eyes fixed on mine only to occasionally drift to my lips still wrapped around him, and then return to m
y eyes again.
I fondled his sack for a few seconds and his scrotum tightened under my tender loving care. He was getting close. But I didn’t want him finishing in my mouth.
When I pulled off him, he groaned but didn’t argue. He only watched, his eyes heating as I picked up the condom box, which was way more than half empty by this point.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as I rolled the prophylactic over his massive length. I knew he had to mean it, too, because he had no idea I could understand every word he said.
Instead of facing him, I turned my back to him as I straddled his lap. He hummed his approval and tried to lift his lap before I was ready. So I set a hand on his hip, restraining him to the bed, and twisted with a warning smile as I shook my fingers at him.
“Okay,” he told me, breathing hard as another trail of sweat rolled off him. “I’ll behave, I swear. But fuck, I love this game.”
I laughed, loving it myself. Then I grabbed hold of him and positioned myself above him so he rubbed up against the opening of my anus.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His voice was high with surprise and an overload of lust. “This is too good to be true.”
But at the last second, I glanced back at him, winked and moved him to my pussy. “Damn, you little tease....” But the word tease came as a groan because that’s when I sat on him, impaling myself completely. “Shit. Okay. This way’s not so bad either. Fuck.”
I threw my head back and laughed as I rode him. He cursed some more, and I started spouting shit off in Spanish because I just couldn’t help myself. When I began to contract, squeezing an intense orgasm out of me, he shouted his own release and surged up his hips.
As soon as we finished, I crawled off him and took care of his condom for him.
“Thank you,” he murmured, eyeing me as if I’d handed him a million bucks or something. Then I curled up next to him and rested my head on his shoulder so I could look into his eyes.
Neither of us mentioned taking off the handcuffs yet. I think we both equally liked being this way. His lashes fluttered, telling me he was getting drowsy. I smiled and stroked his jaw, and his lips tipped up under the caress.
“You don’t know this yet,” he told me, his voice full of sleep. “But I’m going to keep you. We’re going to make this work, language barrier or not. Because nothing has ever been that amazing.”
His green eyes were full of so much sincerity, I had to close my own and press my face against the side of his neck. “Te amo,” I told him, ashamed and guilty that I couldn’t confess it in English, that I couldn’t confess anything to him.
I didn’t deserve this wonderful, amazing man. Everything I’d ever had with him was founded on a lie of my own making and he should have more, so much more than that.
“Ya no puedo hacer esto,” I admitted, because I couldn’t do this to him anymore. He’d just closed his eyes as I crawled off him, needing to go, needing to escape before I burst into tears.
Behind me, he mumbled, “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?” as I quickly tugged up my panties and grabbed my bra.
I couldn’t face him, couldn’t say anything. So I rushed faster to escape.
He tried to talk me into staying, even came up with the worst pronunciation for the words sit and stay known to man.
“No! Don’t go. Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry. Shit,” he muttered, as if he thought he was messing everything up and didn’t know how to make it right. “What’s sorry in Spanish?”
I told him, not that he knew that was what I was doing. He just kept begging, kept trying to coax me to stay, which only made me feel worse for every lie I’d ever told him and made me more determined to flee.
Wiping back tears, I finally stopped at the door and glanced back. He blinked as if stunned to see me crying. Then he whispered my name...the wrong name, and I blurted, “I’m so very sorry, but I have to do this,” in Spanish before I heaved myself into the stairwell and sprinted up the steps.
Once outside in the cool day, I jogged to my car, blocks away, where I’d left it the day before. Tears blurred my vision as I started the engine, but I kept going anyway. I made it all the way home before I realized—shit—I couldn’t just leave him handcuffed to his bed.
So I dug my phone from my purse and called him. I knew he wouldn’t be able to answer, but I figured “Sticks” could try getting hold of him, and then drop by his apartment to check on him, make sure his dad hadn’t killed him or something.
And fuck, now that I was thinking about his dad, I cursed myself. What the hell had I been thinking to trap him to one spot when his psycho father was still on the loose? What if his old man found him like that, and hurt him? I had left his apartment completely unlocked.
