I lift my chin and let him see my answering rebellion. His fingers curl at the top of my silk blouse and in a sharp pull, material rips and the buttons all the way down pop and clamor in all directions. I gasp, in unfamiliar territory, and burning alive with the ache I have for this man.
He turns me to the window, and my hands flatten on the glass. Wasting no time, Chris unhooks my bra, and it and my blouse, are off my shoulders in moments. He is behind me again, his thick erection fitted snugly to my backside.
“Hands over your head,” he orders, pressing my palms to the glass above me, his body shadowing mine. “Stay like that.”
My pulse jumps wildly and adrenaline surges. I’ve been ordered around during sex, but in a clinical, bend over and give me what I want kind of way I tried to convince myself was hot. It wasn’t. I hated every second, every instance, and I’d endured it. This is different though, erotic in a way I’ve never experienced, enticingly full of promise. My body is sensitized, pulsing with arousal. I am hot where Chris is touching me and cold where he isn’t.
When he seems satisfied I’ll comply with his orders, Chris slowly caresses a path down my arms, and then up and down my sides, brushing the curves of my br**sts. He’s in no hurry, but I am. I am literally quivering by the time his hands cover my br**sts, welcoming the way he squeezes them roughly, before tugging on my ni**les. I gasp with the pinching sensation he repeats over and over, creating waves of pleasure verging on pain, and the music is fading away, and so is the past. There is pleasure in pain. The words come back to me, and this time they resonate.
His hands are suddenly gone, and I pant in desperation, trying to pull them back.
Chris captures my hands and forces them back to the glass above me, his breath warm by my ear, his hard body framing mine. “Move them again and I’ll stop what I’m doing, no matter how good it might feel.”
I quiver inside at the erotic command, surprised again by how enticed I am by this game we are playing. “Just remember,” I warn, still panting, still burning for his touch. “Payback is Hell.”
His teeth scrape my shoulder. “Looking forward to it, baby,” he rasped. “More than you can possibly know.”
He unzips my skirt, sliding it down my hips. “Step,” he orders, and my sex clenches with the command.
Obediently, I step out of the clothing, and I am now stretched out across the window for him to do with me what he will, wearing only my panties, black thigh-highs and heels. The possibilities of exactly where this will lead are driving me wild. I have never been so turned on in my life, never so eager to be touched. It’s illogical. I have a deep dislike for being ordered around, despite a past some might say indicates otherwise, except it seems, when it’s by Chris. Deep down though, I know those journals call to me for reasons I prefer to ignore. Until this moment. Until Chris opened a door I’d left sealed.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, laden with evident desire. His hands curve around my hips, his palms exploring my backside, tracking the silk line of my panties down my cheeks before trailing lower until he reaches between my thighs, grabs the cloth and rips them away. My lips part in surprise and I am panting. I arch forward and my ni**les press to the cold glass, a bittersweet friction, part relief and part tease.
His palm flattens firmly onto my back, holding me in place, and oh God, the fingers of his other hand slide between my thighs, curving so that he cups my sex and strokes my cl*t at the same time.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, widening my legs, teasing the sensitive, swollen flesh. “Hot and wet and ready for me. Just the way I want you.” His hand on my back caresses over my ribs and he moves to palm my breast, flicking my nipple.
I am still lost in sensory overload when his mouth presses to my neck, his breath a warm tickle, and his hands, oh his hands and fingers, are doing such delicious things to my cl*t and ni**les that I am on the edge of something intensely wonderful and he’s not even undressed yet.
His teeth scrape my lobe and I feel it in my sex, where I want him. Where I am almost desperate to have him. “I’m going to lick you all over before this night is over, Sara,” he says in a seductive purr. “Suck your ni**les until you are crazy with need, then spread you wide and lick you until you come and then, I’m going to do it all over again. I’m going to make sure you are so thoroughly f**ked that being f**ked has a new meaning.”
I moan with his words, with the boldness of this man, with the ease at which he can spin my world around and drive me wild. I am close to the sweet spot, moving against his hand, arching into his touch, when he shifts to my side and goes down on one knee.
He slides two fingers inside me, filling me, stretching me, as if he knew that is what I needed. A swell of need has me widening my legs, moving with the sweet rhythm of his strokes. I am panting and not quietly and I don’t care. Tension curls inside me and my orgasm comes in a hard spasm around his fingers that erupts into such pleasure my body jerks.
Chris wraps an arm around me, anchors me, and I am certain he is the only reason my knees do not give out. Time stands still as sensations ripple through my body, and Chris leads me to the other side of pleasure, his touch slowly turning more gentle. When finally my body relaxes, his tongue delicately strokes my hipbone, his cheek brushing against my skin with gentle, erotic friction that has my sex clenching all over again. I am breathless with his ability to be demanding and hard one moment, and tender the next.