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He steps back, sifting one of those large, capable hands through his silken, somewhat messy hair. “Scarlett,” he says, tone slightly warning. “We’re waiting—”
I could tell him I’m ready. Tell him right this second, and push away the last barrier between us. Because despite his years of celibacy, Cohen is clearly ready. He got it back the moment I brought him to orgasm, and I think we both know I’m the one holding us back from more.
But I interrupt him to tell him we aren’t doing that.
I don't tell him we can, because I know if I do, restraint and control will go from hard to damn near impossible. And I want our first time to be… Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’m a porn star. But… I want our first time to be slow and beautiful. I want it to be perfect.
Sex is never perfect, and I know that more than most. Your body can make weird noises doing a natural act, air goes in places it shouldn’t, wet skin slapping wet skin isn’t always hot, and a lot of awkward things can happen.
I don’t mean perfect in that sense. I just mean perfect in the sense that we have time to take time, we have the time to do, be and explore everything together. I don’t want our first time to have a forty-minute time limit.
That’s just not enough.
“Yes, we are. But right now, I want you. And I need you to give yourself to me, Cohen.” I word my demands in a way I know he can’t refuse. Because my man lives to please me.
His hands are on his belt, eyes on mine. “What do you need?”
I lick my lips.
“Get completely naked and sit at the table, in a chair.” His fingers fly down his buttons and I get undressed too, both of us catching excited glances of one another as we strip. My heart is racing. I wonder if that goes away? Or if the belly flutters and heart leaps are always there when you’re about to be physical with your person?
I hope I get to find out.
He’s naked, his long cock draped up on his belly, resting as he waits. He’s half hard just from looking at me, and that feels better than a million views on any video ever will.
“Do you still have the rope from the furniture store?” I ask, peering around the kitchen.
He doesn’t even question me when he says, “Yes, it’s under the sink. I saved it.”
The urge to call him a good boy is on my lips, but instead I stroke my fingers through his hair and step between his spread knees. I bring my breast to his mouth and let my eyes fall closed as he showers my hard nipple in soft kisses, and before we both get too carried away, I pull back.
Grabbing the rope, I return to him, now fully hard. So hard that he stands tall from between his legs, and keeps his hands on his thighs, like he knows he’s not supposed to touch himself without my permission.
“Remember, if you ever want to stop,” I say, and though I’m the one bearing trauma when it comes to intercourse, I still repeat his options to him, because you don't need to have a history of pain and hurt to have healthy, communicative sex. If I’m in charge at this moment, he needs to know that it’s a role, and that in truth, our power is equal. And his words have more power than any of my actions. “Red, or a double tap, okay?”
He smiles. “I’m a little nervous now.”
“Put your hands behind your back,” I advise as I walk around the chair and crouch. I tie his wrists together tightly, even weaving the rope around the back of the chair, to keep him in one spot. I’ve done enough shibari scenes in the past to know how to tie the common knots, and feel confident that the one I’ve tied will both keep and be easy to disengage.
“You always say you need me to come first,” I say, straddling his lap while standing over him. He’s so thick and tall, standing so erect for me, that the head of his cock is merely inches from my bare, swollen cunt.
This won’t take long.
I bring my fingers to my clit and begin stroking, short, small strokes. “Watch me. Don’t look into my eyes. Just watch my fingers,” I command, with the softest tone. His loyalty isn’t loud and overbearing, therefore my power must be calm and docile, too.
“Jesus,” he mutters, his Adam’s apple sliding down the curve of his throat as arousal beads atop his cock. “I can smell you, Scarlett.”
“Mmm,” I purr in response, my insides suddenly starving for fullness, aching to be crammed with hard throbbing cock.His cock.
Knowing that’s not what we’re doing, and forcing myself to remember the reasons, I continue petting my clit, this time dipping a single finger inside. I run the slick digit along his bottom lip, and ask him to taste me. Slowly, as if savoring the sweet chocolate or the richest wine, his tongue sweeps along his bottom lip, a dark rumble moving through his chest.
“You say I saved you,” I moan, rubbing my clit faster than I’d planned. But it feels so good. Cohen motionless between his thighs, his perfect cock pointing to where it belongs—all of that makes not coming so fucking hard. “But you saved me, too,” I tell him, pausing my strokes to pull myself open and lower down, so his head is a mere inch from my spread cunt. But then I stand again, teasing him, teasing us, and start to rub.
“Can I show you how that makes me feel?” I lean down and lick his lips. He tries to catch my tongue with his mouth but can’t, and I smirk down at him as I resume my playing. “Can I show you what I do to myself when I think of you?” I work my clit harder, the noise of my wet cunt bouncing around the apartment walls. I’m literally so fucking wet, so wet that my arousal slides down my thighs.
Suddenly, I have the urge to fill myself in front of him, to show him what we’re both waiting for, to tease him and torture him before we both explode. Throwing a leg back, I move off his lap and wander into his bathroom, eyeing him over my shoulder.
His erection bobs, his chest heaves, and his eyes are tamped on me. Just how I want him.
