After Hours (InterMix)(53)
Funny how with Kelly, I welcomed the dirty stuff. The degrading dynamics. I guess because he came as advertised. He couldn’t violate my expectations, when violation was basically his main selling point.
“I know you’re getting close,” Kelly said.
I had been. I’d distracted myself with that memory, hoping to draw things out, but I was creeping closer and closer with every push of his fingers.
“Tell me.”
“I’m getting close.”
“You’ll come when I let you. When I tell you. Got that?”
Oh f*ck. “Yes,” I said, uncertain I was physically capable of keeping that promise. If I failed, would I get punished? Did I want to get punished? With no other man on earth would I want to be laid across a lap and spanked, but with Kelly . . . Shit, I had no f*cking clue.
“Stand up.”
I obeyed on boneless legs. Kelly stood as well, yanking off his shirt, unbuckling and stripping his belt with a rough, practiced motion, opening his fly and shoving his jeans down his legs. I got the same non-view of his cock as I had before, obscenely stiff, straining against black cotton.
I fidgeted with my waistband, wondering if I was supposed to be stripping, too.
His eyes didn’t miss my silent inquiry. “Keep it on. I like skirts.”
He sat again and patted his lap. My legs were wobbly as I returned to my position, straddling his thighs. He tugged me tight to his chest, erection hard against my ass and feeling a hundred times dirtier with his jeans gone. Cocks had always been an incidental bonus to me, something I only cared about in proportion to how much I liked the guy it was attached to. Silly when flaccid, exciting or scary or off-putting when hard. It was a man’s words or expression or caresses that dominated my masturbatory fantasies—a specific man at that, be he a crush or a celebrity or a character from a movie. I never simply fixated on a dick. They were strictly secondary to the man himself.
Right now, though, the world spun on Kelly’s cock. The sun rose and set around it, and I wanted it like I’d never known I could want anything. Just to see it, to feel its weight against my palm, taste and smell the skin, to discover what it needed from me and do exactly that.
Heat, I thought. This is what being in heat feels like. A need so primal and crazy-making, it leaves a bitch howling.
“Sit up. Scoot forward a sec.”
I did as I was told and Kelly fumbled behind my butt, adjusted the way he sat. When his hand guided me back, the other circled my waist and slipped between my thighs, and he lined his bare cock up along my wet lips. I sucked a breath, suddenly back in my bed with him, taunted by the darkest part of him, the one I seemed doomed never to set eyes on. Only now it was a hundred times hotter, and dirtier, and more dangerous.
Hands clamped my hips, pitching me forward an inch or two, easing me back. I took their directives, bracing my hands on Kelly’s knees. Forward and back, over and over, his naked cock and my naked cunt rubbing in slick strokes.
I moaned, arms shaking. He shushed me.
“You come when I let you come,” he told me again.
My body gave a pleasurable, hungry squeeze at his words, the very last scraps of my stubborn feminism abandoned.
“You do whatever I say.” He freed a hand, put it to my ribs and gruffly arched my back against his chest. Took my earlobe between his lips, nuzzled my cheek with his nose. “You come when I say, suck my cock when I say, spread your legs the second I tell you to. Got it?”
I managed to huff an, “Okay,” between stilted breaths.
“You’ll get it, though. Don’t worry.” He grasped my shoulder and waist, making me arch deeper, my sex pressing against the length of his erection. He guided me to move, short motions of my hips keeping his flesh gliding along mine.
“Fuck.” I said it without meaning to, almost a plea.
A shhhh warmed the skin behind my ear. “You’ll get it,” he echoed. “But only if you behave, and keep that pretty mouth shut unless I’m asking you a question.”
I held my tongue, bit my lip. My * actually, truly hurt; I was so close.
Don’t come. Don’t come. I tried to watch the movie, but my eyes closed, awareness solely on the slippery strokes of his cock. I could angle my hips, maybe feel him push inside me. Feel his hands on my waist, feel his body thumping into mine as he took over the thrusting. I wanted to be held in place and f*cked, just f*cked. The thought made me dizzy. The thought edged me closer. And if I lost it, surely I’d have to wait even longer.