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Christ. He was going to have to think of lust-killing things like tax forms to make it through this.
But what sweet torture.
Emma felt his hands moving on her as she had asked and tried to relax and enjoy it. She knew now that he would continue this as long as she wanted, but she sensed a hint of impatience in his touch.
He was the one who had insisted on doing as she wished despite her embarrassment: he could suffer for it.
The thought that she was subtly torturing him was perversely freeing. She could revel in that, in a way that she was afraid to revel in asking for what she wanted without thought of his own pleasure.
One of his massaging hands slipped between her thighs and pressed a little too close to her sex, setting off a shiver of sensation. It was deliciously tempting, but she wasn't going to give in to it. Not yet.
"My lower back," she ordered, and made a small mmm of pleasure when he obeyed. Her skin seemed to soak up each touch of his hands, the very act of contact changing something within her. She was aroused and relaxed at the same time, an intoxicating, shimmering pleasure moving through her blood, drugging her, making her feel that she could continue like this forever. She wanted him to touch every part of her, from back to shoulders to the tender i
It was only when he'd touched every inch of her except her sex; only after he'd gently stroked her eyebrows and the shape of her ears; after he'd run the flats of his hands down the front of her torso, treating her breasts as any other part of her body, making her stretch her arms above her head and arch her back in catlike contentment; only after he'd touched the smooth space behind her ear and let his fingertips press over the faint ridges of her rib cage, that she knew she was ready to ask for something more.
"Lie on top of me and kiss me. I want to feel trapped. Pi
She felt his weight on her, his arousal a hard thickness against her loins. "Now kiss me like you're starving for it, and won't take no for an answer."
"No problem," he murmured, and took her face between his hands. His eyes looked down into hers with dark intensity, almost animal in their naked hunger.
She closed her eyes and let him kiss her, enjoying the sure, hungry movements of his mouth on hers and the weight of his body. She wanted to be ravished, to be taken without permission by him, if only within the confines of this game they were playing tonight.
She wrapped her arms around his chest and one leg around the back of his. "Take me," she whispered against his ear as his mouth sucked at the edge of her jaw. "Now." She moved her hips against his erection, feeling it slide against her mound, his position changing enough that the head ran down her sex and across her slick wetness.
"Tell me how," he growled into her ear. "Spell it out, Emma."
She felt the head rubbing against her opening, teasing at her with its blunt hardness that refused to enter. "Don't ask. Just do it. That's what I want!"
"Say it. Say how."
Frustration boiled up within her and in a flurry of motion she fought out of his embrace, making him yelp in surprise and climb off her. She rolled onto all fours, looked over her shoulder at him, moved her knees apart and lowered her torso, her sex spread out in an unmistakable target. "Is this clear enough for you?"
Without another word he put one hand hard on her hip and the other to his cock for guidance, and she gasped as he thrust inside her with one long, deep stroke. She dropped her forehead down onto the mattress, feeling him move the length of her, stroking hard, his thickness within her body and seeming to take up half of it. She was no longer in sole possession of her body, and it was just what she wanted.
"Your fingertip," she gasped out in near incoherence, wanting him to reach around and stroke her nub.
"What was that?"
"Your finger. Use your finger."
There was a pause; then she felt his hands on her buttocks. Her eyes widened, but before she could stop him she felt the tip of one finger dip into her back door.
Shock held her motionless.
His thrusts resumed their former energy, his fingertip following the rhythm, pressing in and releasing along with each thrust.
Her psyche was overwhelmed by the double penetration, the double possession. A cool liquid rush washed over her, and she lost all sense of where she ended and he began.
With her right hand she reached down to her sex, touching the joining of their bodies, feeling the wetness and the movement of flesh against flesh. Her fingertips damp, she trailed them to her nub and stroked.
Triple contact now, her whole consciousness existing in the trio of sensations. They blended together, amplifying each other: thrusts of his cock inside her, the pressure of his fingertip at her back opening, the tingling pleasures of her own hand at work on her desire.
Ohh God, it felt so good…
She felt herself rising on the tide, felt the tension in her body as she strained toward the crest of the wave.
Yes, yes, it's coming, it's coming…
Her body tensed, her lower legs clamping against his thighs, a high-pitched keen vibrating in her throat. She held for a moment at the crest of the wave, balanced there, precarious, and then with one more stroke of his cock she felt herself tumble down the slope. Her i
"Oh God, Emma," Russ groaned, and thrust once more deep inside her, where she felt the pulses of his own release blend with hers.
Emma closed her eyes in the afterglow. She felt Russ rest lightly upon her with his cock still deep inside, breathing heavily.
She carefully lay flat and then he rolled them both to their sides, spooned together. She felt him nuzzle his face into her hair.
A smile curled on her lips and she fell into slumber, their bodies still one.
In the bathroom a half hour later, washing up together, Russ glanced at Emma. She caught his look and smiled, a sleepy cat-contented smile. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"What wouldn't I do to please you?" he asked softly, the words a question for himself as much as her.
"I wouldn't mind finding out," she said, and laughed.
Russ smiled, and felt his own cowardice. He had asked her what she wanted him to do to her body, but he hadn't had the nerve to ask her the more important question: What did she want from him when it came to her heart?
It was a question he likely would never have the chance to ask. It wouldn't be fair, when he was paying her; he wouldn't put her in the position of having to pretend to be in love with him in order to keep her "job."
"Don't take too long," she said, patting his buttocks as she left the bathroom.
He watched her go, then looked at himself in the mirror. What had he become?
He was a permanent John, buying sex in lieu of the love that every man craved, whether he admitted it or not, whether he realized it or not.
He had become a man falling in love with the woman he had turned into a mistress. The woman he had, through his own actions, put beyond his reach for anything more than what was physical.
"Russ?" Emma called softly. "Are you coming back to bed?"
He turned away from the mirror and shut off the light, and returned to the soft comfort of Emma's body.