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"We are shopping for clothes because it was a chance for you to get out. And secondly, what do you mean it’s not your style?"
"Don’t do me any favors by planning an outing for me." I frown up at him, "And secondly, just that. This is not the style of clothing I wear."
"Surely, you must be able to find something in this shop that's to your taste?" He frowns.
"I suppose I might find a thing or two, if I look hard enough," I murmur.
"Hmm." He firms his lips, "So you don't like the one you are wearing now, either?"
I shake my head and his smile widens, "Then you won’t mind if I do this?" He hooks his finger in the 'V' of the dress and tugs. The delicate fabric tears. I gasp as he rips the cloth all the way to the hem. The dress stays poised over my breasts, then with a whisper, it falls away. Leaving me clad only in my panties—I’d taken off my bra earlier to try on the dress—and in the stupid pink ballet flats.
His gaze eats me up as he slides it down to my breasts. My nipples pucker, and he lowers his gaze down to the shadowy cleft that can be seen through my panties.
"Oddio," he growls, "you’re fucking beautiful."
My thighs clench and moisture pools between my legs. More of this and he’ll be able to make out the damp spot that I am sure is currently gracing the inside of my knickers.
Heat flushes my skin. I want to throw my arms around myself and hide from his gaze, but I don’t. Instead, I tuck my elbows into my sides and watch as he drinks his fill of me.
He slides his palm around and flattens it against my belly. The dark skin on the back of his palm is a startling comparison to the ivory of my skin. He brings this other hand around to cup my pussy. Through the thin cloth of my panties the heat of his touch sinks right into my core. Without meaning to, I widen my legs. A low rumble of approval vibrates up his massive chest. He slips his finger under the gusset of my underwear. He brushes against my weeping slit and I can’t stop the moan that bubbles up my throat. I lean back into that hard chest of his, thrust up my breasts, tip up my chin, and watch from under hooded eyelids as he slips his finger inside my opening.
Goosebumps pop on my skin. I bite down on my lower lip and his gaze instantly goes there. His lips part as if he’s remembering how it’d been to eat me out. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. More moisture slides down from between my thighs. His breath catches. He slips in a second finger, then a third. A groan bleeds from me. I slide my arm up and around, hold onto his shoulder as he begins to finger fuck me. He doesn’t take his gaze from mine in the mirror, and I swallow, watch as those darkening eyes grow blacker, more unfathomable. As if there is a fire deep inside that he’s hiding from me. As he speeds ups and saws his fingers in and out of me, in and out, my breasts jiggle and my belly trembles. My entire body seems to be participating in this carnal exercise. I wind my fingers around his thick wrist, not so much to stop him as to hold on as he continues to weave his magic fingers in and out of me. The climax bursts upon me. I throw my head back and into his chest. My eyelids flutter down and he clicks his tongue. "Eyes on me, Beauty."
I raise my gaze to his again, and somehow, the intimacy of watching him jerking me off—of the very erotic picture we make, with me almost naked and him fully dressed, his fingers inside me, as he brings his other hand up to cup my breast, before he pinches my nipple with callous disregard—makes me throw my head back and scream as I fall apart. I black out for a few seconds, and when I open my eyes again, I am still in the same position, leaning into him, held up by his fingers in my cunt, that he pulls out.
"I screamed," I say in a dazed voice.
"Indeed." He smirks and my pussy clenches again. Argh. Stupid pussy.
"So, the rest of the people in the boutique would have heard too?" I frown.
"Since when did you start caring about what others think of you?" He tilts his head and something hot stabs at my chest. How the hell does this man know me so well? I really don’t give a shit about what others think of me. But society dictates I should. And sometimes I give in to that pressure. And this man... My captor had cut through to the heart of my quandry with a few careless words.
He proceeds to lick his glistening fingers one by one, before he holds them to my mouth.
"Open," he commands and I part my lips. He thrusts his fingers in my mouth, and the sweet taste of my cum, the darker, edgier taste of him, crowds my sense. My core dampens all over again. Hell, I want him. I need him inside of me.
"Mika," I whisper, "please."
He curls his lips, removes his fingers from my mouth, then wipes them on my stomach. "Get dressed." He steps back, holding my shoulder for a few seconds while I regain my balance. "I’ll be outside," he murmurs, not unkindly…just…without much emotion, as if he is simply attending to a chore. Is that all I am to him? A captive, a possession, an asset, someone he wants to wed out of some stupid sense of ownership.
"Michael, why—"
He shakes his head, "I’ll see you outside."
