waist, gripping him with my knees, longing for him to enter my yearning wetness. Stepping back, he unzips my fly and roughly pulls down my trousers and panties. He turns and pulls off each of my ankle boots and tosses them behind him, pulling off my lower garments in one fluid movement. I am naked and exposed from the waist down, my legs forced further apart by his rough hands. I hope that Bella and Scarlett are busy elsewhere as I am powerless to stop what Sebastian has started. The only conclusion I want is the orgasm I so desperately need.
“I need you…” I pant. My hands grip the edge of the table as I ease myself back onto the hard wood, lost now to my desire.
“Oh be careful what you wish for.”
My swollen clit is going to combust but he kneels, his head between my thighs and I know that his sweet rough tongue will gift me my release. My clit is left wanting. His mouth is not upon me. I’m getting so frustrated, unable to hold back a cry of disappointment and impatience. He nibbles, bites at my thighs so sharply that I’m forced to push his head away roughly. Standing now, he’s looking down at me, his eyes burning with what - Desire? Control? He forces down the zip on his jeans, unbuckles his belt and pulls it from his waistband. Oh crap, what’s he going to do with that?
Lust succumbs to fear as I watch him over me, strong and powerful and grasping the leather belt in front of him.
“Sebastian, Bella could walk in. Or Scarlett. Let’s go upstairs to your bedroom,” aware of the impropriety of our surroundings, and the risk of being caught further dampens my arousal.
“Then I’ll be quick. Stop talking.” Crap. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to me this way? Inwardly seething, I sit up, my eyes lock with his dark coals and his cocked eyebrow dares me to defy him.
“I see how it is, Elizabeth. You want to play hard to get?”
“No,” I’m worried about getting caught and you’re freaking me out!
With a deep, frustrated sigh, he puts his shoulder against the far side of the oak dresser adjacent to the door, sliding the heavy furniture across the doorway.
“There. Are you satisfied now?” He ambles sultrily back to his position beside me.
“Yes. Thank you.” My hands reach out and grab his biceps as I try to stand. He sweeps both my hands away and holds them in a firm grip with his left hand, his right hand encircling my wrists with the leather belt.
“What the hell are you doing,” Fear gives way to anger - this is no longer sensual or consensual.
“Trust me, Elizabeth. You have to learn to trust me. You’re not in control now – you relinquished that when you came here.” He raises my bound wrists using the belt, and gently pushes me back down onto the table.
Pushing his boxers down, he moves more snuggly between my open thighs. Lifting my head from the table, I see his organ standing erect and vast, and I gasp as his hardness presses at the entrance to my sex, lust consuming me once more. He’s leaning down over me, his chest hair lightly tickling my nipples. His left hand holds firm my strapped wrists. This is so wrong, so sordid, and yet so divine. He forces himself deeper and deeper into my pulsing wetness and I close myself around him. He’s hitting and rubbing my sweet spot deep inside me, then sliding out and repeatedly thrusting up into my core while his right thumb rubs at my clit, faster and faster and I am building. Tipped over the edge of the precipice of pleasure, I feel the waves of my orgasm coursing through my body, every muscle contracts and it carries on building, not dissipating until I cry out for him to stop. As my orgasm diminishes, my body prickles with unbearably heightened sensation. Still he pounds into me hard on the edge of the table, my legs firmly grasping him to me, pulling him in deeper. His breath is quickening and I look up at him above me, his eyes are
“I need you…” I pant. My hands grip the edge of the table as I ease myself back onto the hard wood, lost now to my desire.
“Oh be careful what you wish for.”
My swollen clit is going to combust but he kneels, his head between my thighs and I know that his sweet rough tongue will gift me my release. My clit is left wanting. His mouth is not upon me. I’m getting so frustrated, unable to hold back a cry of disappointment and impatience. He nibbles, bites at my thighs so sharply that I’m forced to push his head away roughly. Standing now, he’s looking down at me, his eyes burning with what - Desire? Control? He forces down the zip on his jeans, unbuckles his belt and pulls it from his waistband. Oh crap, what’s he going to do with that?
Lust succumbs to fear as I watch him over me, strong and powerful and grasping the leather belt in front of him.
“Sebastian, Bella could walk in. Or Scarlett. Let’s go upstairs to your bedroom,” aware of the impropriety of our surroundings, and the risk of being caught further dampens my arousal.
“Then I’ll be quick. Stop talking.” Crap. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to me this way? Inwardly seething, I sit up, my eyes lock with his dark coals and his cocked eyebrow dares me to defy him.
“I see how it is, Elizabeth. You want to play hard to get?”
“No,” I’m worried about getting caught and you’re freaking me out!
With a deep, frustrated sigh, he puts his shoulder against the far side of the oak dresser adjacent to the door, sliding the heavy furniture across the doorway.
“There. Are you satisfied now?” He ambles sultrily back to his position beside me.
“Yes. Thank you.” My hands reach out and grab his biceps as I try to stand. He sweeps both my hands away and holds them in a firm grip with his left hand, his right hand encircling my wrists with the leather belt.
“What the hell are you doing,” Fear gives way to anger - this is no longer sensual or consensual.
“Trust me, Elizabeth. You have to learn to trust me. You’re not in control now – you relinquished that when you came here.” He raises my bound wrists using the belt, and gently pushes me back down onto the table.
Pushing his boxers down, he moves more snuggly between my open thighs. Lifting my head from the table, I see his organ standing erect and vast, and I gasp as his hardness presses at the entrance to my sex, lust consuming me once more. He’s leaning down over me, his chest hair lightly tickling my nipples. His left hand holds firm my strapped wrists. This is so wrong, so sordid, and yet so divine. He forces himself deeper and deeper into my pulsing wetness and I close myself around him. He’s hitting and rubbing my sweet spot deep inside me, then sliding out and repeatedly thrusting up into my core while his right thumb rubs at my clit, faster and faster and I am building. Tipped over the edge of the precipice of pleasure, I feel the waves of my orgasm coursing through my body, every muscle contracts and it carries on building, not dissipating until I cry out for him to stop. As my orgasm diminishes, my body prickles with unbearably heightened sensation. Still he pounds into me hard on the edge of the table, my legs firmly grasping him to me, pulling him in deeper. His breath is quickening and I look up at him above me, his eyes are
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