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I do as he says, spreading and marveling at the slight twinge of pain in my hips, how it intensifies my pleasure. My eyes drift shut and I can see it: Dante standing before me, his hands holding my thighs open, lining the head of his cock up with my entrance.
“Three now, Delilah.” I love that too, how his words go fierce, how he uses my full name when he’s like this, when the boss takes over. “Fuck yourself with three fingers and ride them. My cock is bigger, but that will have to do. No clit, baby.”
Again, I obey, three fingers sliding into my wetness easily. My hips start to buck, moving to meet my fingers that are thrusting into me.
“Fuck, it’s so good.” I moan. “I miss you. God, I need your fucking cock.”
“No. This is good, baby. This is so fucking hot. I miss your cunt but I like this, hearing you get yourself there, listening to that wet cunt take your fingers. Jesus. Are you dripping?”
The water in the shower shuts off and I hear him now, the sound of his wet hand jacking his cock.
“Oh, god,” I moan.
“Are you dripping, Delilah?” he asks a second time, voice firmer.
“Yes, god, I’m so wet.” It’s on my hand, the wetness making me so slick, and I know that his cock would slide in so perfectly if he would just . . .
“Take off your panties and toss them over,” he says, and I pause.
“What?”
“I said, take off your fucking panties that are wet with you and throw them over to me. I can’t have you, but I’ll have that.”
I moan again with his words as they register and roll through me, bringing heat with them. I do as he asks, closing my legs, sliding my wet panties down, and tossing them over the top of the shower.
“Soaked,” he groans. “Go. Finger fuck yourself, baby. Get close.” I slide my legs open once again, filling myself with three fingers and starting to ride them.
It doesn’t take long until I’m teetering on the edge.
“Shit, Dante. Oh my god.”
“You’re so close, baby. Hold on. Not yet.”
“Dante—"
“Got your wet fuckin’ panties wrapped around my cock, jacking myself off to the sound of your wet cunt, of you moaning my fuckin’ name. You’ll hold the fuck on, Delilah.”
It’s an order.
One that takes my body closer to the edge.
But I don’t argue, because he’s right.
I will, if that’s what he wants—what he needs.
“That’s it, baby. Now go,” he says what feels like hours later but couldn’t have been longer than a minute. “Rub that sweet clit and scream my name as you come for me, but remember that you’re only having this right now because I’m telling you you can.” I moan as my fingers finally touch my clit, hips bucking at the intense pleasure. “I own your orgasms, baby. They’re for me and me alone, and you only come when I say so.”
I’m nodding, teetering on the edge, but he can’t see me.
“Dante—"
“Now. Go, baby.”
And then I scream his name, my body convulsing around my fingers as I do. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hear Dante moan low, hear the groan of his release, and that sparks my own orgasm just a bit more.
It takes long minutes for my breathing to regulate, for me to grab some toilet paper and clean up, but as I stand to wash my hands, something hits the floor by my feet.
“A reminder of what you do to me,” Dante says, the water turning back on in the shower.
