When you finally push back your chair and stand, approaching me, my fingers wiggle slightly to try to gain back some feeling. My relief when you unshackle me from the doorway is completely short-lived. You hand me your empty coffee cup, then brush past me with nothing more than a slap on the ass and a smirk. My face is hot with anger and disbelief as I wait for the numbness in my hands and feet to wear off, then hobble to refill your fucking coffee. Might as well- I am thirsty now, and need to grab some iced tea for myself.
Carefully carrying both, I find you sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the mirrored dresser. I hand you your coffee, wince when you take a big drink, wondering how the hell you can stand anything that hot. Standing in front of you just off to the side, leaning up against the dresser, the pins and needles still zipping through my arms and hands, I entertain the thought of dumping my tea over your head in retribution for leaving me tied up ...but my throat is too dry to give up the ice cold liquid that way. But the idea still amuses me enough to make me smile as I drink. My grin spreads when your hands grab my hips and slide me in front of you. I know that look in your eyes....I set down my glass and lean in, brace my hands on your shoulders even as your thumbs hook in my skirt and panties and shove them off my hips. They haven't fully slid down my legs before your hands are shoving my shirt and bra off, two of the buttons pinging when they bounce off the dresser behind me, the bed you are sitting on, and onto the floor.
Your hands are rough, fast, skimming over my skin, molding to the curves, scooping in the hollows, seemingly everywhere at once. Already making soft sounds of pleasure and arching into your touch, I reach for them hem of your shirt, wanting the contact with your skin, but you are lifting me, setting me up on the dresser, sending things scattering across the hard surface and to the floor with one sweep of your arm.
One flick of your finger in command has me scooting back slightly, another has my heels raised, tucked against my ass tightly. I don't bother wrapping my arms around them, your hands are already spreading my thighs wide, opening me up to your gaze. Naked, slightly chilled, my nipples already hard, I am damp. You lean back on the bed slightly, watching me.
Wanting to tease, wanting to draw it out, wanting to see your reactions, my hands lift to my hair and draw out the pins, sending the curls tumbling down freely around my shoulders, dancing along my collarbone and upper back. I lift my hair from my scalp, then let it fall freely in disarray. My fingers skim down over my neck, one hand hooking lightly on my shoulder, the other lifting to my mouth, index finger stroking over my lips, then my chin, then gliding down between my breasts. My hands cross to the opposite shoulder and stroke down each arm languorously, dropping to my ankles and skimming my fingertips over my calves, around the curve of my knee and drawing up the insides of my thighs.
Watching you intently, I flatten my palms against my hips and angle my hands upwards over my ribs, cupping my breasts and lifting them slightly, offering them to your gaze. I catch each nipple between index finger and thumb, rolling them gently, tugging sharply. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as pleasure spears through me, a soft moan echoing in my head and in the room.
Your eyes are so dark and deep, lighting from within with a heat that kindles a hotter fire inside me. Your gaze is so intense, watching your eyes follow the path of my hand back over my belly and between my thighs thrills me.
Knowing what you want, I slide my hands over my sex, opening myself to you. When I bring my wet fingers to my nipples, then back down to moisten them and to my mouth to taste, your growl skates down my spine with a delighted shiver. Working my fingers over my skin, my head drops back with the pleasure and the excitement of touching myself in front of you. Your voice fills my head- low words, then commands, coaxing me closer, shoving me right up to that first peak of pleasure. My body is bowed, arched, quivering. Right up to the edge-- and your hands yank mine away from body, leaving me panting and tense.
Your hands slide up my thighs, making me moan, my lips parted and damp. When you lean forward, brush your lips over my skin, I can't contain the groan at the rough scrape of your jaw easing along my inner thigh. My heart pounds, my legs shake, and the merest whisper of your breath over my skin--right there-- makes me gasp and raises goosebumps along my skin. I watch you inhale deeply, watch your eyes laugh into mine at my reaction. A shudder edges through me, but not one of release, when you tug at my wrists sharply, pulling me forward off the dresser.
Using the momentum, I shove against your shoulders to catch you off guard and straddle your hips as your upper body sinks back to the bed. Just mad enough about the coffee and the doorframe, completely aroused and frustrated by the last 10 minutes, I want...something. My hands brace on either side of your head, my body ranges over yours, and I grin down into your face. You lift your hands, when they wind in the hair that has fallen on either side of my face and you tug lightly, I can smell the rich tang of tobacco on them, under the scent of your soap and you. When I duck my head, just barely skimming my lips over yours in a whisper of touch, I can almost taste the thick flavor of the coffee on your breath. Anticipating your move, I pull my head back as you lift yours, dodging your mouth. I barely manage to suppress a chuckle when your eyes narrow and kindle. Your hands tighten in my hair, tugging, and though it makes my eyes water with tears, I pull back, wriggle backwards. My hands shove at your shirt, bunching it up around your neck, my hands roaming over the sweep of your chest. My teeth are already tugging on the waistband of your pants, my fingers busy with your nipples, rolling them, feeling them harden and a groan of pleasure rumble through your chest.
Your stomach muscles jump under my mouth, then my fingers as I pull your clothing down, out of my way. My mouth is busy, nipping at your hipbone, tongue cruising along the crease of your thigh, lips brushing over the head of your cock. I feel your hands tug slightly in my hair, but I duck my head, your cock slapping against my cheek as I take your balls into my mouth, sucking them lightly, laving them with my tongue.
I lift my head to take you into my mouth fully, looking you over as I do. You should look ridiculous, stretched out on your bed with your clothing around your neck and you knees and your cock jutting up at me, but the only word that comes to mind is that you look....tasty.
Something clicks in my head, a memory, a thought. Slowly, I reach for your coffee, the ceramic mug hot and nearly burning just to the touch. The heat of it nearly scalds my tongue when I take a mouthful, but I dip my head and take you in my mouth, rewarded by your gasp and the tightening of your hands when the heat sears along the length of your cock. Sucking, my throat muscles rippling as I swallow around you, then pulling back to take another drink and repeat the maneuver. Gagging as you force my head down fiercely, but eagerly taking you in. This time I reach for my tea, the glass cold and moist with condensation, and I carefully take a quick drink, then lower my head and take your cock into my mouth almost before I have swallowed the tea. Hearing your growl, taking it for pleasure, I repeat the methods, alternating, taking you so deeply, letting your hands on my head, in my hair, cupping the back of my neck guide me and force me. Taking one last drink of my tea, I get an ice cube and hold it in my mouth for a moment. Swallowing the liquid, I slowly rub the head of your cock against my lips before havigng you force your way into my mouth, then I suck, fiercely, using my tongue to push the sphere of ice over and around and under and across your cock. Feeling you pulse, throb, forcing the ice to click against my teeth, pushing you even farther back in my throat.
Applying my mouth in earnest, I am intent on tasting you, getting all of that flavor from you, wanting to milk you. Wanting to hear your groans, needing to feel you shudder and arch up into me. My neck strained, my jaw aching, I draw you closer to the edge with every lick, every suck, every nibble. I can feel that you are close, can taste it. Knowing you are holding back, I am determined to shove you over that edge, but you grip my head, then my shoulders, literally ripping my mouth away from you.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth, wiping away the damp, feeling my lips swollen and still tingling.
Your hands are on me, dragging me up, over you, you rolling to your side. One leg is thrown over mine, pinning my lower body, my shoulder wedged against your chest. Your hand captures both of my wrists, locking them steady just above my head, the other hand skims over me. Down the inside of each arm your fingers trail, making me squirm and gasp. Lightly tracing, almost tickling, your fingers move around my ribs, under the swell of each breast, over the curve and hollow of my hips. Impatient and greedy, I tug on my wrists, pull slightly, giggles interspersed with soft whimpers, but you only hold tighter, determination in your face. I feel your breath on my neck, warm and moist; I can feel the pounding of your heart, the heat of your skin, the hard length of you against my thigh, still wet from my mouth.
Your hand dips between my legs and finds wetness, and my thighs clench together, though I don't know whether I am trapping your hand or trying to deny you access. You merely shove at my inner leg, rough enough to bruise the pale freckled skin. "Open. Open for me."
No sooner have I shifted than your hand plunges in, fingers driving deep. Twisting, dipping, curving, pressing against slick skin and tight heat and sending me arching off the bed and crying out. The pressure builds, so tight. I am right there, on that edge, carried over from before. Your name echoes in my head as a plea and as a curse.
