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I didn’t tell him any of that, of course. “We’ll see,” I replied, and stretched my arms out above my head. “Do your worst.”
Baron chuckled, the low vibration making my core pulse and my hips flex upward involuntarily.It was a chuckle, for fucks sake, my inner feminist chided me.Girl, get your shit together.
My inner hussy stretched herself out beneath Baron and purred as his hands and mouth resumed their play.
He knelt between my legs, looking for all the world like some avenging marauder with his muscled chest and ridged abdomen. His eyes traveled down my body, sparking heat wherever they paused to study.
“Take it off,” he said suddenly, moving away and sitting up against the wall the mattress butted up to. “Stand up and undress for me.”
“Ah… okay.” I climbed off the mattress, equal parts awkward and aroused. I’d never done a strip tease before and had no clue how to begin. The bare overhead ceiling light cast shadows across the room, stark and unflattering, and I wished I had taken the time to scout out a little ten dollar lamp at the Wal-Mart in town. Swallowing my nerves, I reached for the hem of my shirt with crossed arms and started to pull it up.
“Slower.”
I slowed my movements, raising my shirt one excruciating inch at a time until it was at my face. Pulling it free, I dangled it from one finger and let it fall. Baron’s eyes followed it hungrily before returning to me.
“Now the pants.”
I tucked my fingers in my waistband, pausing when he gave a little twirl with a finger. “Turn around so I can see your ass.”
Smiling a little, I dutifully turned and began to lower my pajama pants, bending at the waist to control their progress to the floor rather than let them simply fall. “Fuuck, Pinky.” I heard a zipper and peeked from behind my curtain of hair to see Baron staring at me raptly and fisting his cock. “Just like that.”
“Panties,” he demanded, and I began to straighten. “No, stay.”
I held my position and slowly pulled my underwear over my hips, wiggling my thighs a bit to let them sink to the floor. His breath released in a hiss and I straightened, tossed Baron a look over my shoulder, and reached for my bra straps. It fell to my feet with a soft sound against the wooden floor.
“Bend over again,” he said, and this time his voice was hoarse. I did, and a moment later one hand settled on my ass. The other brushed against my wet heat, one thick finger slipping easily along my faults. “Jesus, this pussy,” Baron muttered, and then his mouth closed over me.
I squeaked and swayed forward at the contact, not expecting it, and an arm came immediately around my waist to hold me in place. The fingers of his other hand parted me, granting better access to his tongue. He swept the flat of it up my seam and then curled it around my clit, sucking hard until I was a moaning, shuddering mess.
Only after he’d made me come twice, once on his tongue and again on his fingers did he whirl me around to the bed and plant me there on all fours. “I’m going to fuck you now, Pinky,” he said, and I could only nod.Yes, please.
I heard the tear of a condom package, and a moment later the broad head of his penis was pressed up against my entrance, big and unrelentingly hard against the swollen tissue. He gripped my hips and surged forward, planting himself balls deep within me.
I think I screamed a little, if the sound of satisfaction he made was any indication. He held himself perfectly still inside me, letting me grow accustomed to the feel of him, thick and pulsing, against my walls.
When I rocked a little, he swept one hand along my spine. “Feel good?”
I nodded, and he grabbed my hair in a fist, brushing the ends back and forth against my scapula. “Say it. Tell me how good my cock feels, and I’ll give you more.”
“Oh, my God.” A laugh bubbled up. “You’re a freak.”
“You know you love it.” He pulsed within me, tiny back and forth movements that did nothing except make me want hard, fast, more.
“I do. I really, really do,” I babbled. “And I love your cock. It feels so good. I need more, please, Baron. Please—” I was begging and didn’t care.
And he gave it to me. Baron wasn’t a gentle lover, but in the fury of his thrusts I found tenderness. He was demanding, and forceful, and wildly attentive to how the smallest touch made me moan or shiver. Reaching beneath me, his hand found my clit inerrantly and applied pressure in counterpoint to his strokes.
It felt like mere moments before a third orgasm coiled tightly within me. He was deep within me and all around me, and I ground myself against his fingers, chasing that sensation that swelled to that single elusive point, that single moment when everything attained its perfect resolution.
I came with open mouth and closed eyes, the orgasm breaking over me in wave after pulsating wave of pleasure-pain. Baron pulled out when he felt me rippling and clenching around him, flipping me swiftly to my back and reentering me in one powerful stroke. Holding my face between his hands, he pinned me with his gaze and held me through his own release, the feel of him tensing and swelling and shuddering within me. He chanted nonsensical, broken words as we rose and peaked and fell together, words that sounded like praise and promise and love.
And when it was over, when we stuttered into stillness and lay wrecked in each other’s arms, he held me without speaking, knowing somehow the silence would communicate more absolutely than all the pillow talk in the world.
I was his.
He was mine.
We were each other’s.
