“Oh!”
“Nice?” he asked as he drew the vibrator out of her slit and pushed it back in. Her pussy clung around the silicone like a little sucking mouth. God, he couldn’t wait to get into her . . .
. . . but he would wait. He’d see Francesca submit first . . . beg him. Why he needed that like he did his next breath of air remained a puzzle to him, but he couldn’t dampen the potent desire.
He manipulated her with the vibrator, stroking her pussy, letting the rabbit ears do their work on her clit, listening all the while to the sound of her gasps and whimpers and cries . . . gauging. When her breathing became ragged, he turned off the clitoral vibrators and just pleasured her pussy lips and vagina with the sex toy.
“Oh, please,” she moaned after a moment. He knew she’d been about to climax before, and that while the vibrator in her pussy was pleasurable, she wanted the rabbit ears on her clit.
“Your clit is too sensitive. You’ll make things end too quickly.”
“Please, Ian,” she repeated, sounding mindless as she firmed her hold on the footboard and began to pump her hips, riding the vibrator.
He smacked her bottom hard enough to sting. She paused in the frantic grinding of her hips.
“Who is in charge here?” he asked quietly.
“You,” she whispered after a pregnant pause.
“Then hold your ass still,” he ordered, before he began to slide the vibrator in and out of her again, letting the rotating beads and ribbed shaft do their work. Her moan a moment later sounded harsh and desperate. He relented and turned the motor to a higher vibration.
“Ohhhh,” she mewled. “Oh, Ian . . . let me move.”
“Stay still,” he ordered, plunging the vibrator deep into her until he felt her heat and moisture against the ridge of his forefinger where he held the handle. His vision narrowed to the intensely erotic image of the silicone shaft sliding in and out of her tight slit. Her moans and aroused, frustrated whimpers filled his ears. He tormented her, keeping her right on the edge, relishing in his power.
“Please . . . let me come,” she begged, her plea bursting out of her throat. He paused in his thrusting motion when he heard the strain in her breaking voice. He yearned to deny her. He longed to give her everything she ever asked for . . . and more.
The conflict warring inside him was too much. He removed the vibrator and tossed it onto the bed.
“Stand,” he said, arousal making him sound harsher than he intended. The color in her cheeks had deepened when he spun her toward him. A sheen of perspiration shone on her brow and upper lip. She was beyond beautiful. He burrowed the ridge of his forefinger into the drenched crevice between her labia. She gasped, but he kept his hand motionless.
“If you want to come, show me,” he demanded.
She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with intense arousal, but he saw her confusion.
“You may come against my hand, but you have to show me you want it. I’m not moving.”
She bit at a trembling lower lip, and he almost gave in. Almost.
“Go on,” he prompted.
She shut her eyes, as if to protect herself from his gaze, and began to thrust her hips against his finger. A moan fell past her lips. He watched, enthralled, keeping his hand, finger, and arm firm, but not stroking her, making her work for it.
“That’s right. Show me that you have no shame. Show me that you can submit to desire,” he rasped. She bobbed her hips more stringently, hopping up and down against his hand . . . so desperate for her pleasure. When a small, frustrated cry popped from her throat, he almost relented.
Almost.
“Open your eyes, Francesca. Look at me,” he demanded, his voice breaking through her wild quest for relief.
She opened her eyelids sluggishly as she continued to ride his stationary hand. He saw her desperation, her utter helplessness, her fear that her need was greater than even her pride.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “You’re more beautiful to me right now than you’ve ever been. Now come against my hand.”
He flexed his biceps, applying pressure, giving her the relief she so desperately needed and deserved. He shut his eyes briefly at the delicious sensation of her warm juices anointing his fingers as she climaxed.
A moment later, he spun her and managed to get out a couple of words from his lust-dazed brain, telling her to bend over and brace herself against the footboard again. When he finally drove his cock into her clinging liquid heat, his eyes sprang wide. It was like entering a woman his first time—no, immeasurably better—a whole new arena of life, a fresh, intimidatingly powerful experience.
He lost himself in her, everything seeming to go black for a period of time as pleasure and need swamped him, pummeling at his consciousness. He bucked against her like a wild man, his lungs burning, cock aching, muscles clenching . . . soul tearing.
“Francesca,” he grated out, sounding angry, even though he wasn’t anymore. He opened his hands around her delicate rib cage and pulled her up so that she stood before him, her upper body slightly bent forward. He continued to fuck her, feeling her heart beating rapidly in his hands, the shudders quaking her flesh as she climaxed, the muscular walls of her pussy clamping and convulsing around his pillaging cock.
Without thinking, he pushed her upper body down again, his hands falling to her hips, fucking her with short, hard thrusts, his teeth bared in a rictus of blinding pleasure. He jerked her against him, his muscles clenching so tight he lifted her feet off the floor.
Orgasm ripped through him with the power of a lightning strike. He groaned in agonized bliss as he began to come at Francesca’s farthest reaches. A sharp, primal need overwhelmed him, even in the midst of his crisis—a need to mark her, to utterly posses her . . . make her his.