unfasten his black leather belt, undoing the top button of his trousers. It only takes a quick glance to confirm that he’s doing exactly as I asked even as his whole body shudders with barely controlled energy.
I grind the zipper and his sizeable length strains against his boxer briefs. I want to tear down his walls, merge reality and fantasy. He reaches down, his palm grazing my hair, so gently it could be nothing, except I want his touch. I crave his contact. Leaning back, I urge him on until he fists my hair, threads it through his fingers, and grips tightly, as if overriding his own capacity for self-control.
And we haven’t even begun.
All it takes is a small jerk of the waistband and his cock is freed. He exhales a long harsh note and I have him inside my mouth. I suck that hot male flesh and his answering shudder, rocking his whole body, ripples into mine.
“Fuck,” he chokes.
Fuck is right. Because I want to do this for him, but God, he’s delicious. I love the way his velvet skin slides over my tongue. I love every thrust. Balancing my hands on my knees, I pull back to the tip and flick my tongue over the slit. A slight tang of salt is my reward.
“Bethanny.” He grips my hair harder now; it doesn’t hurt, but the sensation grows intense. “I need…I need…”
“I know,” I murmur, taking him deeper, holding him in the back of my throat, feeling the pulse of the thick vein that runs down his shaft. It’s been a long time for him and I want this to be good. I want it to be so good that he can’t ever get enough. That touch becomes the thing he craves, that my touch is the thing he can’t be without.
Despite the darkness, I want to shine bright for him.
I quicken my rhythm and his hips respond.
“Yes,” he mutters. “Like that. Exactly like that.”
I want to give more suction, make it tighter, make it more everything, but that means additional touch. I raise one hand and grip the base of his cock, angling it so I can get a better up and down stroke.
His answering groan reverberates through my jaw. He grips my hair harder, more frantic with every shudder. Then he’s gone, stepping back, and the unexpected movement sends me off balance.
“Z.” I reach down and place a steadying hand on the ground. “You need to—”
“On the bed.” His deep tone brokers no disagreement. This is his CEO voice, the one he uses with me on the phone. Curt. Businesslike. Utterly in control.
I respond because I want to, but also because I’m curious. He craves control and while it was nice to take it from him, I’m also curious what it will feel like for me to surrender.
He points, his shirt half unbuttoned, pants open, cock out and proud. “Naked. Now.”
I slide from the dainty pajamas, scooting up the mattress to wait. Expectant. “Are we going to—”
“Fuck yes,” he rumbles like a man who hasn’t known a woman in seven years. He isn’t old either. Twenty-five. That means he was seventeen the last time? Only a boy.
My questions grind to a halt when he tears his shirt open. I was right that he was built, but I didn’t realize he’d be that strong. The shadows kiss his rough slabs of muscle. Nothing about him is soft or gentle. What we are about to do won’t be easy or tender. I know this instinctively and that’s fine; it’s exactly the way I want it.
His pants hit the ground next and he doesn’t hesitate. He turns, opens a drawer, and a box of condoms is in his hands.
“Do you need help?” I blurt.
He lets out a bark of laughter. “Bethanny, something tells me this will be like riding a bike.”
There is a tear of foil and he’s sheathed, approaching me, and in that last moment, I tremble. He catches it and stops. “Are you afraid? We can stop now. Tell me what it is you want.”
“You,” I answer. “God, please, you.”
“I…this will not be easy for me…it has been a long time.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” and I know truer words have never been
I grind the zipper and his sizeable length strains against his boxer briefs. I want to tear down his walls, merge reality and fantasy. He reaches down, his palm grazing my hair, so gently it could be nothing, except I want his touch. I crave his contact. Leaning back, I urge him on until he fists my hair, threads it through his fingers, and grips tightly, as if overriding his own capacity for self-control.
And we haven’t even begun.
All it takes is a small jerk of the waistband and his cock is freed. He exhales a long harsh note and I have him inside my mouth. I suck that hot male flesh and his answering shudder, rocking his whole body, ripples into mine.
“Fuck,” he chokes.
Fuck is right. Because I want to do this for him, but God, he’s delicious. I love the way his velvet skin slides over my tongue. I love every thrust. Balancing my hands on my knees, I pull back to the tip and flick my tongue over the slit. A slight tang of salt is my reward.
“Bethanny.” He grips my hair harder now; it doesn’t hurt, but the sensation grows intense. “I need…I need…”
“I know,” I murmur, taking him deeper, holding him in the back of my throat, feeling the pulse of the thick vein that runs down his shaft. It’s been a long time for him and I want this to be good. I want it to be so good that he can’t ever get enough. That touch becomes the thing he craves, that my touch is the thing he can’t be without.
Despite the darkness, I want to shine bright for him.
I quicken my rhythm and his hips respond.
“Yes,” he mutters. “Like that. Exactly like that.”
I want to give more suction, make it tighter, make it more everything, but that means additional touch. I raise one hand and grip the base of his cock, angling it so I can get a better up and down stroke.
His answering groan reverberates through my jaw. He grips my hair harder, more frantic with every shudder. Then he’s gone, stepping back, and the unexpected movement sends me off balance.
“Z.” I reach down and place a steadying hand on the ground. “You need to—”
“On the bed.” His deep tone brokers no disagreement. This is his CEO voice, the one he uses with me on the phone. Curt. Businesslike. Utterly in control.
I respond because I want to, but also because I’m curious. He craves control and while it was nice to take it from him, I’m also curious what it will feel like for me to surrender.
He points, his shirt half unbuttoned, pants open, cock out and proud. “Naked. Now.”
I slide from the dainty pajamas, scooting up the mattress to wait. Expectant. “Are we going to—”
“Fuck yes,” he rumbles like a man who hasn’t known a woman in seven years. He isn’t old either. Twenty-five. That means he was seventeen the last time? Only a boy.
My questions grind to a halt when he tears his shirt open. I was right that he was built, but I didn’t realize he’d be that strong. The shadows kiss his rough slabs of muscle. Nothing about him is soft or gentle. What we are about to do won’t be easy or tender. I know this instinctively and that’s fine; it’s exactly the way I want it.
His pants hit the ground next and he doesn’t hesitate. He turns, opens a drawer, and a box of condoms is in his hands.
“Do you need help?” I blurt.
He lets out a bark of laughter. “Bethanny, something tells me this will be like riding a bike.”
There is a tear of foil and he’s sheathed, approaching me, and in that last moment, I tremble. He catches it and stops. “Are you afraid? We can stop now. Tell me what it is you want.”
“You,” I answer. “God, please, you.”
“I…this will not be easy for me…it has been a long time.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” and I know truer words have never been
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