Saturday, September 20, 2014

My Sexy Saturday #4 - Our Sexy Romance

'Romance happens everywhere, to everyone'. It can for example spark to life on a cold balcony during a grandiose party and push together the millionaire birthday boy and his sisters PA... Or is it all just a fantasy?

“What you said?” His gaze came back to me, and that cynical glint was gone, leaving a softness that made me want to open my arms to hold him close. “About a… connection? I think I feel it too.”

A second earlier, I’d have given the world to hear him say those words. But now that he had, I was… Scared? I don’t know if it was fear coursing through me. I was jittery, certainly, but not scared. More like that feeling of nervous anticipation when you’re on a roller coaster, right in the very first seat, and you reach the top of the tallest peak with an endless drop in front of you. You know you’re going to enjoy it, but at the same time a tiny bit of you is always ready to step out.

“Or maybe,” I said, picking up his hand ever so gently, “it’s just because I’m your type, like you said.”

His fingers twisted against mine, sliding between them then against my palm. His eyes never left me. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s more than that. Lilah knows what kind of women I like on the outside. She also knows what I like on the inside.”

My insides, at the moment, were fluttering with the wings of giant butterflies—or maybe bats. Wings that big, actually, they might even have been eagles, or something even larger. Quite possibly pterodactyls.

“And what is that?” I asked, trying to fill the silence so he wouldn’t hear those wings beating so hard.

His hand twisted again. His fingers entwined with mine, then closed. Just like that, the butterflies, or eagles, or whatever they were stilled.

“Someone who’s not afraid to take that first step into perfect darkness even when she knows it’s far from the best thing to do.”

I looked at our joined hands. His was bigger than mine, colder, paler, and yet, they seemed perfectly matched. “Someone like you?”

He smiled. “You could say that.”

This time, he was the one who initiated the kiss, and I was the one who deepened it. Kissing him was like that deep breath before a dive, when you know you’ll be going down longer, farther than you ever have. Our tongues played together as if we’d done this dozens, hundreds of times before. When he retreated to nip gently at my bottom lip, I gasped an encouragement at him.

Our hands let go of each other, and while mine clung to his shoulders—his strong, thick, rippling shoulders—his hands cupped my breasts. Or rather, he tried to, but the corset thwarted his efforts somewhat.

At his small growl of frustration, I couldn’t help chuckling and our mouths came apart. Right away, he pressed his lips to my jaw and drew a line to my neck. Each new kiss sent tingles down my spine and I tilted my head to give him better access.

One of my hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his head. His hair slipped through my fingers like liquid silk. His scent wafted over him, a mix of cigarette and, ever so faintly, subtle cologne. And on top of it all, that musk, almost animal-like, that speaks of desire and need better than the most erotic sonnets.

“I hate corsets,” he muttered, barely lifting his lips from my skin. “Always did. Invention of the devil.”

My chuckle, this time, ended in a moan.

“I thought… I thought you said the dress was beautiful?”

His teeth pressed in at the crook of my neck before letting go, and I closed my eyes at the sparks of pressure that weren’t quite pain.

“The dress is beautiful,” he conceded. “And you look amazing in it. But access is somewhat limited.”

To demonstrate, he cupped my breasts again, pushing them up into the corset so that he could press kisses to the top. I had to agree with him that this didn’t feel anywhere near enough, but neither of us suggested the obvious: unlacing the corset. I guess we both knew we’d never have managed to set it right again. Oh, and I’d have frozen half to death, but that was the least of my worries.

“I don’t think—” I had to stop and moisten my lips before I could continue. Limited access or not, his mouth felt heavenly against my skin. “—the designer ever imagined I’d be fooling around in this.”

His laugh, low and deep, made something clench with need inside me, and I clung to his hair a little more tightly. I had to be hurting him, but he never protested. “Fooling around? Is that what we’re doing?”

He raised his head to look at me. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

“I don’t know,” I said, as primly as I could manage when I was breathing so fast and smiling so widely. “Are we doing more than that?”

He grinned back at me even as he tugged the bottom of my dress up until he could slide a hand underneath. He laid his hand over my panties, his palm cupping my mound and his fingertips pointing down between my thighs, where I was so hot and so wet, then whispered, “You tell me. Is this still fooling around?”

His fingers wiggled ever so slightly, and whatever I had been about to say vanished in a flash of heat.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.

I shook my head.

“May I remove your panties, then?”

Another wiggle of his fingers and I was oh, so grateful for the support of the window behind me. “Please, yes,” I breathed.

I made a sound of protest when his hand lifted off me, but he shushed me gently. Still grinning, he knelt in front of me and took hold of the bottom of my dress. I had to bite my lips to stop a nervous giggle when he didn’t simply reach underneath for my panties but actually ducked under my skirt.

Once he hooked his thumbs on the sides of my underwear, however, when he tugged down and I felt the cool, wet pressure of his mouth right at the apex of my legs, it wasn’t a giggle I was suppressing anymore, but a ragged moan.

All he did was lay a gentle kiss there, then he stopped to wait for my assent. I gave it by opening myself to him. I arched back against the window behind me, and raised my left leg. He helped by guiding it onto his shoulder, and the play of his fingertips on my calf, the back of my knee, my thigh sent tingles of electricity right up to my core—right where his mouth soon returned.

I didn’t think about the cold, or getting caught, or how long it’d been, or how I’d just met him. I wasn’t lying when I said I felt a connection with him. I couldn’t explain it even now, but it was as though I’d seen his soul. As though I’d caressed it. And it had caressed me back, as gently, as deeply as his tongue now did, discovering every part of me, exploring the most intimate folds of my body the same way I imagined he’d explored my mind.

There wasn’t much left of my mind, at that moment. As he licked and nipped and sucked and coaxed me, bit by bit, toward an abyss of pleasure as deep as his eyes, I lost every train of thought I’d ever possessed.

I don’t know how long he remained under my skirt, feasting on my wetness and creating more as he did. All I know is that I was milliseconds away from falling into that abyss when he pulled away and emerged into the night again, and I was too out of breath, too blank-minded to offer more than a wordless, protesting whine.

Still kneeling at my feet, he met my eyes and said simply, “I wanted to see you.”

As he said the words, his hand caressed up my leg again, and just as he finished he thrust two fingers up inside my body, crooking them just so, and I knew, as my mind soared and my body burst into tiny, shimmering spars of pleasure, exactly what he had meant.

He wanted to see me come.

I don’t know if I cried out, or moaned, or made any sound at all. I don’t know either if I remained upward until the wave had passed or if I fell into his lap right away. I just know that my heart was still pounding, loud and wild, when he drew me down into his arms and kissed me again, making me taste myself on his lips.

He’d touched me, touched the most intimate parts of me, and suddenly I had to touch him, too. I could feel how hard he was, but I still felt a little lightheaded from coming, and I wanted my entire faculties when I first touched his cock. Besides, he’d given up in front of my corset, but all that stood between his skin and me was his shirt.

His bowtie was already undone and I quickly got rid of it. The silk of his shirt yielded under my hands—buttons are completely overrated. I didn’t think twice about tearing it, but when I tugged it off him, pulled on the sleeves and caught a flash of red, I froze.

His cufflinks.

His expensive-looking, gemstone cufflinks.

One of them had just flown right off the balcony.

“Oh my… I’m so sorry! Your cuffli—”

His mouth crashed on mine and shut me up for the time of a quick, almost brutal kiss.

“I don’t give a damn about cufflinks. Or I won’t if you just put your hands on me.”

He was asking so nicely… How could I have said no?


Continued in Ward of the Vampire, part 1/5 oft he Ward of the Vampire serial.


1 comment:

  1. Very nice snippet. Way too long for the guidelines but still nice. Thanks for sharing and being part of My Sexy Saturday!


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