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“Ah!” I moan, the feeling incredible.
“Sensitive,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s documenting my body and my responses to his ministrations for future knowledge.
I try to move, to get closer, to get this moving, but his hand pushes me from getting closer to him.
“Up. On your knees, baby,” he says, and I’m confused for a second before his hands move down to my ass, lifting it a bit until I get the point. I rise to my knees and wait for the next instruction.
His fingers move, running over the waistband of my underwear, and my breathing goes shallow, already ready for whatever he chooses to do next.
“Widen your legs,” he says, and I do, adding a foot or so of space until the outsides of my knees are touching the insides of his own spread thighs. When he moved, he must have removed his underwear, because when I look down, I see his hard cock standing straight, as ready as I feel.
Ben must know where my eyes have gone because he chuckles then starts to lower my underwear. “Not yet, Lola. Soon. So fucking soon.” The elastic band stops a few inches from my knees, caging me. As much as I want to lift a leg and help them down, I have a feeling Ben wants me like this, bound by my own underwear and even more at his mercy.
His fingers trail gently, feather soft, up and down the inside of my thighs, and I know I was right. This is part of his game.
And I won’t be breaking the rules.
“Such a good girl,” Ben murmurs under his breath, smiling at my staying still. “Should I reward you for being a good listener?”
“Yes,” I breathe, my breath shaky with need.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please, Ben.” I try to leave any begging out of my voice but probably fail.
Either way, Ben smiles. And then his fingers trail up again, grazing my slit, gliding easily with my wetness but not dipping in, not providing any relief.
I stay still.
I stay quiet.
I lock my eyes on his.
And when I do, Ben holds my gaze and slowly, torturously slowly, sinks a finger in me. A long breath leaves both of our lungs with the moment, and then his finger is out again, moving up, circling my clit. I moan, a small sound.
I fight the urge to rock my hips, to get more.
“Being really fucking good, Lola,” Ben says, then his eyes move down to where his hand is moving toward my center again. This time two fingers enter me, crooking gently to graze my G spot.
“Oh God,” I whimper.
“You like that? Your man fingering your pretty cunt, sweet girl?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. I nod as he follows the same path as before. Out, up, circling my swollen clit, then back in. This time he adds a third finger, and I’m starting to feel deliciously full.
Then his hand moves.
Not the one inside of me. That stays still, frozen, a tease to end all teases.
It’s his free hand moving to stroke his cock, thumb pressing on that piercing I’ve spent an ungodly amount of time researching since that first time.
I’ve read that it feels unreal inside of you.
I want to know for sure.
But right now, I’m wondering if I could come this way, his fingers buried inside of me but unmoving, watching him jack himself off, his own breath going low and labored.
“I’ve been doing this for weeks. Jacking myself off, thinking of this fucking perfect body. Now you’re here in front of me, and it’s better than I imagined,” he says, a needy growl in his voice.
“Ben . . . ,” I moan, clamping down on his fingers without intention, but my hips stay still, still on my knees, still stuffed with his fingers.
