Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(10)
I’m surprised to realize that the thought of being bound doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, it makes me more excited. My body burning with desire. My sex clenching with need. He may not have asked, but that’s because he knows. He knows my limits. More than that, he knows I trust him.
He meets my eyes, and for a moment his are soft with understanding. He waits, and I tilt my head in the tiniest of nods. He says nothing to acknowledge my assent, but I know that he has seen it when the corner of his mouth lifts. “Is this what you want?” he asks as he slowly strokes my sex, sliding his index finger in and out of me, and brushing over my clit with each and every stroke.
“Yes.” My voice is barely a breath, and I arch back, supported by his other hand held firm against my spine. “Oh, god, yes.”
“Then take it.” He gently pulls his finger away, and I open my eyes, surprised at the sudden cessation of his incredible touch.
“I—what?”
“You want to come.” His grin is hot. Wicked. “Do it.”
I start to protest, but realize at once that it would do no good. He knows perfectly well that I can’t possibly touch myself with my hands tied behind my back. He probably expects me to protest—to beg.
No way.
I have a much better plan.
I lean back so that am using his hand at my back for support and balance, gaining leverage as if I had the use of my hands. It’s dicey, of course—if he moves his hand, I’ll tumble backward. But I trust him not to let that happen. Because the truth is, he wants the same thing I do.
I want to get off.
And he really, really wants to watch.
Right then, I’m ready to satisfy us both.
Slowly, I move my hips, grinding against the bulge of his cock, the friction of the rough denim against my sensitive clit all but driving me insane.
“Oh, baby.” His voice is low, like rolling thunder, and I feel him grow harder. I’m wet and slippery and I’m sliding over him, harder. Hotter.
He reaches out with his free hand and holds me steady by the throat. I’m trapped like that—his hand behind me keeping me safe. His hand on my throat keeping me right there. Steady. Under his control.
He holds me in place even as I buck and slide and grind against him, and when he bends forward and tugs on my nipple with his teeth, I cry out, “Yes, oh god, Dallas, yes,” so loudly that I’m surprised the partygoers don’t hear me all the way back at the pool.
He releases my breast and leans back with a self-satisfied expression, then he slides the hand on my spine down, lower and lower until it’s not holding me in place anymore. I’m held steady only by his hand around my throat—tight and tense and dangerous enough to make me wet.
The finger that was splayed across my back is now inside me, teasing and exploring even as I rock shamelessly against the bulge in his jeans. He brings his sex-slick finger around to my mouth and orders me to suck. I do, moaning as I taste my own desire. As I draw him in and tease him with my tongue. As I imagine it’s his cock and I’m sucking him off.
He shudders violently, then groans with pleasure, the sound so intense it sends shivers through me. I meet his eyes, and I see a heated passion that matches my own, and when he tugs his finger free, I almost cry out in protest.
Then I see that he’s using that hand to fumble at the button of his jeans. He manages it, then frees his cock. “Ride me. No, not like that,” he says before I can protest that I don’t want him trying to enter me and going soft. “Stroke me.”
But even that I’m not sure of. “Can you—”
“Please, baby. I need to feel your cunt on my cock.”
I don’t hesitate. I want to feel him, too. Like velvet steel between my legs, and I rub myself shamelessly over the length of him, afraid at first that this is too close and he’ll lose his erection. And then, when it’s clear that he won’t—when I realize that the moans of pleasure are full and rich and real—I buck harder and faster. I’m so caught up in the moment that I only notice that he’s slipped his hand back around to my ass when I feel the finger that I’d just been sucking teasing the rim of my anus.
He thrusts his finger inside me, and even though the digit is thoroughly lubed, the sensual assault is both rough and without warning, and I bite my lower lip against a sharp, short burst of pain. But the truth is, I love this. I love that he is using me the way that I told him he could. More than that, I love the way this feels. Us together. Wild. Almost feral. It’s dirty and fast and hot and edgy. And I absolutely f*cking love it.
He is so incredibly hard, and I angle my body back, so that I can rock my hips so that my cunt strokes his cock, and also so that I can grind hard against the finger inside me. It’s an exceptional sensation, and I close my eyes, wishing I could touch myself to take me this last little bit, but satisfied with exploring every touch and sensation. His hand at my throat, keeping me vulnerable. His finger in my ass—which is an entirely different kind of vulnerability. His hard, thick cock between my legs. And my own clit, swollen and stimulated and taking me right to the edge.
Not to mention the erotic sensation of the night air against my bare body.
It’s all exceptional.
It’s all pushing me closer to the edge, and any moment I will go careening over.
I’m not expecting it when he releases my throat to cup the back of my head. He twines his fingers in my hair, then pulls me roughly toward him. He captures me in a kiss so wild and hot that I swear I’m going to burst into flames, and I grind against him harder, wanting more. Everything. Him.