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My hand is like a saddle, practically lifting her up, all her weight on her clit pressed against my palm, my middle finger stuffed deep inside her. When I move my finger a millimeter, Remi’s fingers dig into my bicep and she groans.
“You’re a fucking mess,” I murmur in her ear. “Chaos, mistakes, missed deadlines…isn’t that the truth?”
Her eyes are wide, staring into mine, rimmed with black lashes. Her eyebrows are thick and dark, drawn together in shock and fury.
“You’re out of control, and you have no idea how much because you close your eyes every time it scares you…”
My lips buzz around her ear, and my fingers press against her soft, soaking pussy, searching for the most swollen, sensitive parts.
I find the firm nub of her clit, and the tip of my index finger touches the metal ring run through its base. I have never been harder.
At least, that’s what I think until I tap the tip of my finger against that little ring, and Remi lets out a deep, shuddering groan like I’ve touched the core of her soul. My cock swells like a balloon inflated to its bursting point.
I kiss her mouth, sucking her puffy lips between mine.
Her breath comes out in ragged gasps every time I wiggle that little ring in the slightest degree. Even if I just press it against her clit, her eyes close and she keens like an animal.
This is highly addictive.
In fact, I don’t know if I can ever let it go…
I press my middle finger deep inside her and lift her practically on tiptoe, making her cry out and cling to my arm, her cheek against my bicep.
I seize a handful of her hair and pull her head back to make her look into my eyes.
“Who’s in control right now?”
“I—youare!” she cries as I draw back my hand back slightly and thrust in two fingers instead. “You are! You are! Oh my god, you are!”
I pump my middle and index fingers in and out, watching her eyes flutter. The heel of my palm grinds against her clit like a mortar and pestle. The rhythm is deliberate and relentless. Her pussy softens, her wetness sliding down my hand. She closes her eyes, head tilting back.
“No!” I snap. I turn her around, placing her palms flat on the stone mantel, forcing her to face the mirror hanging over the empty fireplace. “Open your eyes—look at yourself.”
I hold her with her back pressed against my chest, my arm in a bar across her body, my other hand shoved down the front of her jeans, rubbing furious circles on her clit. Her slippery wetness is outrageous, it’s like a rainforest.
“Look at yourself,” I hiss in her ear. “Look at your face. Watch how much you love this…”
Her head lolls against my shoulder, her eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. Her hips roll against my hand, her soft, swollen clit sliding across my fingers.
I snake my hand inside her shirt and seize her nipple. Slowly, I begin to tug while her clit grinds hard against my hand.
“Look…LOOK!”
Her blue-green eyes find their twins in the foggy silver mirror. She gazes at herself, shocked and dazed. Her face is flushed, hair plastered to her cheeks. She reaches up to touch her own swollen lips and shivers.
I’m rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, my palm the center of the melting heat and wetness that holds her pinned in place, her legs swaying, her hands white-knuckled on the mantle.
I rub her pussy and pull on her nipples, my hand moving back and forth between her breasts, plucking, tugging. Her knees give way after each shuddering wave, but I hold her upright, pinned to my chest. I force her to watch her own face so she doesn’t miss a moment of her pleasure.
“Did you think you liked this? Look at yourself…you do…”
I pump my fingers in and out, the wet, slapping sounds a mockery of her whimpers and moans, the proof of how it really feels…
But her face is the truest proof of all, and I force her look at it—her eyes glazed in lust, her mouth open, panting, her thick black brows drawn together, not in pain or fear but begging for more…
“Tell me to stop…” I growl in her ear. “Tell me you don’t like this.”
She can’t.
