RICH BOY BRIT (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance)(3)
The elevator dinged, and we climbed in.
The mask was magic. Girls at home would call me a slut for this—girls all over the world, probably, would call me a slut for this—and usually that would hold me back. Nobody liked to admit it, but what other people thought could hurt sometimes. I didn’t like to let other people’s opinion hold me back, but it has, and it would again. But tonight the mask covered all of that. I wasn’t Jessica. I was Wolf. And Wolf didn’t care what people though. Wolf didn’t have to look people in the eye. Wolf could do whatever she wanted, including riding Lion.
There was another person in the elevator, and old man with a bucket full of ice who stood to one side and watched us curiously. Usually, when someone looked at me, I was instantly self-conscious. I know it is a problem, but it is the truth. Someone looks at me, and the whirring, burning, invasive questions start: What are they thinking? Are they judging me? Am I fidgeting? Can they tell how nervous they are making me? Am I making a fool of myself? It had been like this ever since I could remember. But not on this magical night. Tonight, I didn’t even care about the old man with the ice bucket. It was like some social-anxiety-soothing spell had been cast on me.
We climbed out before the old man. The lion led me down to the end of the hallway, pulled his swipe card from his pocket, and swiped us into the room. The sun was beginning to set, and over the city of Bristol a cool orange light was thrown. Down below (we were about twenty stories up) I could see students who hadn’t yet gone home for the summer walking the streets. I thought about college back home, briefly wondering how I had done in my first-year finals. But then those thoughts were pushed away.
The lion’s hand moved up the back of my thigh slowly as I looked out upon the city. My eye moved from the streets below to the bay of sparkling water and on-boat restaurants and clubs and then to the large sailing ship that moved through the bay. I placed my hands on the glass, splayed like starfishes, and closed my eyes as he moved his hands over me.
His hand moved slowly, and then it was at my pussy. I didn’t realize how wet I’d become until he touched my underwear. I moaned loudly, the sound strange on my lips. I’d never moaned so freely before. There had always been someone in the next room, or I hadn’t wanted to seem over-eager, or I wasn’t really that into it. But now, I moaned loudly, not caring. He moved his fingers under my panties and found my clit.
The moans grew louder. “Fuck, yes, fuck, fuck.”
He rubbed my clit with his middle finger. I pushed his hand away and turned around. I wanted to touch him, too. Falling into him, I reached down and grabbed the front of his pants. He was hard, and big, bigger than any cock I’d touched before. It bulged against the front of his pants, as though it wanted to burst out. I rubbed up and down the length of it, feeling it pulse beneath my palm. And he rubbed my clit, faster and faster, until I felt the start of an orgasm. I threw my head back (wolf mask still on, I must’ve looked like I was howling) and let out the moan to rival all moans.
I had gone skeet shooting as a girl. The shotgun had kicked my shoulder so hard I’d almost fallen, even with the instructor behind me, bracing me. The orgasm reminded me of the jolting sensation. It knocked into me, and caused my whole body to writhe. Sweat pricked every part of me. The room was suddenly hot, like a blanket. And then it all released, and I buried my face in the lion’s neck, pressed my face against the mask, not caring that it dug into me. I was even wetter now.
“Fuck me,” I whispered in the lion’s ear. “Fuck me, now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed my arms under the armpits and lifted me like I weighed nothing. This turned me on like crazy. I loved feeling small, weightless, powerless. I loved the idea of it, anyway. I had never met a man who could really fulfill the role. But when the lion lifted me, I recognized the eruption of lust in me for a long-awaited feeling. He carried me to the bed and threw me down on the mattress. He unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, kicking his shoes off. His cock sprung up, huge, almost intimidating. Usually it would have been intimidating. It was too big. Good ol’ Jessica couldn’t take a dick like that, but the wolf could.
I pulled my panties down (damp on my hand) and kicked them off my ankles. I was about to kick my heels off, too, when the lion laid his dagger-hand on my leg. “Keep them on,” he said, in the tone of a man who will accept nothing else.
He knows what he wants, I thought, a thrill moving through me, touching every part of me. It was refreshing to meet a man who knew what he wanted, and was willing to take it. The boys at college—and they were boys, most of them, even the puffed-up frat boys who thought they were the manliest men around—were not like that at all. They were timid, mouse-like. I stopped kicking my heels off and opened my legs, baring my pussy for him.
He ran his hand up my leg, from my calf to my thigh, and then to my pussy. I closed my eyes and focused on the ball of wet heat down there as he slid his finger inside of me. He wiggled it deep within me, massaging my sweet spot. My pussy went tight, and a mini-orgasm shot from the heat and took my body. When I opened my eyes, the lion’s jacket and shirt were off. He had tattoos on his torso, too, I saw. Across his chest he had a swirling pattern that was like a tribal tattoo, only colored blue and red, like the dagger. His six-pack, hard-muscled belly was tattooed with two daggers, brothers of the one on his hand, with drops of blood dripping down toward his cock.