His Sugar Baby(35)
She saw Michael’s mouth curl in another smile. His questing fingers dipped between her nether lips, and suddenly it didn’t matter what had made Michael question her. Her pulse leaped again but not with unease. She opened her legs wider for him. Finding her clit, he stroked her there then dipped his hand lower to slide into her wet warmth to find a peculiarly sensitive spot. Her body clenched on his slowly working fingers. She hissed in her breath, watching him play with her. The eroticism of it only heightened her ardor. She wasn’t the only one affected, she saw. His cock visibly thickened again. This was what she cared about, she thought through the swiftly rising haze of lust. Only this.
Michael sat up. Winter watched him through half-closed eyes as he swiftly replaced the used condom with a new one. Her breath quickened. She touched her tongue to her lips, wetting them.
Squatting on his heels, Michael hooked his hands behind her knees and pulled her beautiful rear up into his lap. Her pale body curved down the length of his thighs. Her shoulders rested on the mattress, her round breasts tilted up and pointed at the ceiling. He wedged himself between her silken thighs and with one hand fed himself slowly into her. Winter made that whispery, breathy noise that he had come to expect and want from her. God, he loved to hear her whimper.
When he was fully seated, his shaft was throbbing so hard it ached. He slid his arms under her shoulders and lifted her. His pulsing cock pushed deeper yet, the heated, damp sheath tightening round it, and he growled out pleasure. Her legs wrapped around his back, her ankles pressing into him above his buttocks. He smoothed one arm down her back to her waist and arched her spine. Winter braced her arms under her, flattening her hands on either side of his thighs on the mattress.
He dipped his head to take one of her ripe breasts into his mouth. Gently, he sucked and pulled on it, using his teeth and lips. She bucked against his belly, the crest of her other breast brushing his cheek. An indistinguishable sound hummed in her throat. He allowed the turgid nipple to pop out of his mouth. He blew on the wet tip, and she shuddered.
By now, he knew just what turned her on, just as he knew that she still pretended to be there, under him, with him, as a coerced participant. He didn’t pander much anymore to that illusion of hers, rarely catching hold of her wrists as he had in the beginning. He hadn’t tied her again, either. He wanted—no, craved—her to touch him out of her own volition. She did, once she was driven to orgasm, but only then. Now, today, Michael meant to break her lingering inhibition.
He shifted his hips, and the slight twist of motion made her catch her breath. He smiled down at her, at the lovely rosy flush under her pale skin. “Ah, Winter. I’m going to make you work for it this time.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean?” She drew her chin up into her chest so that she could warily look up into his eyes.
He dipped his head to her other breast. Taking as much of the soft flesh into his mouth as possible, he sucked and pulled harder. She bowed, quivering against him. She moaned. Her head fell backward, her bright hair brushing the sheet. Her fingers clenched in the sheets, bunching the silk.
She was impaled by him, surrounded by him. Michael let go of her breast. He gave that slight twist of his hips again. Again she whimpered. “Tell me what you want, Winter. Tell me with your hands.” He pulled out of her, eased her body down to the mattress, and slid his hands back under her buttocks. He levered her up at a sharper angle, braced his forearms on his thighs, his hands still full of her ass. Her spread knees pressed against his corded biceps. He looked down at her plumped glistening slit, and desire slammed him so hard that his breath hitched in his chest. He pushed himself back into her, penetrating hardly deeper than the swollen head of his shaft before coming back out. He stroked her like that, shallow and short, like he had that very first night. Over and over, deliberately caressing her G-spot. He gritted his teeth. It was sheer torture not to plunge the full length of his thick cock back into her, but he wanted her insane for him first.
“Oh, God.” She threw her head back, her eyes closed tightly against the white lights that were beginning to go off behind her eyelids. She clenched her hands in the bedclothes. He was stroking liquid fire, higher and higher. She was straining upward, carried by the flames. Then the exquisite sensation abruptly stopped. It was like rushing up on a roller coaster and not quite reaching the pinnacle before sliding backward. She mewed in frustration. “Don’t stop, Michael! Please, don’t stop!”
The short, sharp stroke started again, pushing her back up. “Yes! Yes!” She was burning up, reaching, straining for the plunge. She quivered, on the edge. The pressure-building friction stopped again. She could feel the blunt end of his blood-hot shaft ringed inside of her. Her inner muscles quivered around its unmoving head.
Winter snapped her eyes open and glared up at him. His pale eyes burned back at her from tautened features while his lips were drawn back over his teeth. “No!” she panted. She bucked her hips and felt his shaft slide deeper. A spasm clutched her sheath. “Do it now!”
His fingers bit into her hips, holding her away from his cock. His breath was a harsh rasp. “Tell me with your hands, Winter!”
“I don’t know what you want!”
He didn’t answer her. He only stroked her again, tortuously stopping and starting and stopping. She was dry-sobbing with frustration before he spoke again. He was panting like he had been running for miles as he bit out the words. “Tell me, Winter! With your hands! Touch me, damn you!”