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Not like you do.
“Because why should I have to ask a man something like that?” I said, frustrated.
He seemed to consider this a long time as he slid the tip of the crop downward, meandering over my quivering body towards my pussy.
“So you’re telling me… you’ve rarely climaxed in the presence of a man?”
The shame of it seared me deeply, the fear, the frustration and the resignation that had settled into me long ago, impossible to shake loose: the belief that I was a failure in bed. A bad lover. “Y-yes.”
I trembled as he slipped the crop between my thighs again, caressing me lightly, stroking the tip over the damp curve of my panties. Then he slapped me with the crop, sending a sting of pain and pleasure through my core.
“Ah!” I gasped and fought to keep still.
“Mmm,” was all he said. He tossed the crop aside on the bed. Then, “Stand up, Jolie.”
I struggled to my feet and he caught me as I wavered.
Everything ached and throbbed and felt so, so good.
He led me into the bathroom where he stood me in front of the big mirror over the sink. He stood behind me, wrapped his arm around me and gripped my throat, forcing my head up, and made me look at him in the mirror.
At those hungry, beautiful, wolfish eyes.
“You’re going to come, Jolie.”
I couldn’t look away. My gaze was locked with his in the mirror.
“I’m going to give you an orgasm, you understand? You don’t need to do anything. There’s nothing wrong with your body or your mind. Any man who gets off on you and doesn’t try to move heaven and earth to make you come is a fucking monster.”
He held me there with his hand on my throat. With the heat of his body pressed against me. With his fierce, focused gaze. And I shook with arousal. I could feel his erection through his pants, pressed against the base of my spine, telling me how much he wanted me.
But he wasn’t fucking me.
He reached down, into my panties, and pinched my clit between his fingers. He tugged gently and the sharp pleasure tore right through me. I started to moan helplessly. I started to rear up, to buck against him, and he held me, his eyelids lowering as he fondled my clit—and I climaxed.
He smothered my scream with his other hand.
I lost sight of his face, his beautiful face, as I jerked and shuddered in his grasp.
When I came crashing back down and went limp, he was massaging little circles between my legs. I was crying again, the tears sliding soundlessly down my face, and gasping for breath.
“Breathe, beautiful,” he whispered, and I felt him bite-almost-kiss my shoulder. As he did, he pinched my clit between his fingers again, sending another spike of pleasure-almost-pain through me and I tossed my head back, groaning. “Come for me again, baby. I need you to.”
Need…
The sound of his voice, the raw need is in his voice, spun me over and I went shuddering off the edge, climaxing in his arms as he held me, his warm hand massaging between my legs. I shuddered through the orgasm to the very end, where consciousness seemed to teeter on some shaky brink and then snap back to me.
I didn’t know if I’d had my eyes closed, but I could see him again. I blinked and blinked but he was still there, his hard body holding me against the counter, his heat seeping into me.
He was still watching me, in the mirror.
Then all at once he was lifting me up in his arms. He carried me to the bed and tucked me in. He lay next to me, fully clothed, and pulled me snugly into his arms as my heart thudded.
“The next time you come for me…” He whispered the words into my ear, his lips grazing my skin, sending a shiver through me. “… I’m going to lock you down.” He smoothed my hair back from my face as he spoke. “And I’m going to gag that pretty mouth. And we’ll see how hard you can come for me.”
I lay limp in his arms, destroyed.
I could feel his cock, still hard, pressed against me. Pulsing with need.
