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My knuckles flex white as I grip the edges of my pockets to keep from relieving the tightness of my pants, and worse, the need to touch myself and take care of my pent-up frustration.
She sees that too, staring down, another little nip of her bottom lip.
Gathering her dress in her hands as she arches her back, Hellena spreads her legs ever so slightly.
Her dress is rucked up, pulled around her waist, and I can see the V of her lace thong between those thick, alabaster thighs, vanishing down between her ass cheeks. Even in the dim lighting, I can see that she’s soaked through.
Her eyes meet mine again, and I can see the question there. “Do you want more?”
All I can do is nod. Right before I look down at her body and twitch my head to the right. Her eyes widen just a fraction, understanding what I really want.
Just as the next song starts. Sensual. Slow.
Hellena eases up to sitting, so slowly, watching me with malicious lust.
She’s waiting to see if I move. To see if I will lose control. Join her.
After a few beats, she seems to have her answer and shrugs.
Then she abruptly tears the thousand-dollar dress from bust to hem in a powerful pull of her arms, driving them out to the sides. My outrage is immediately conflicted with the shock of her exposed skin, the expanse of her belly curving from the crease of her panties up to…
I forgot she left her bra in the car.
Pebbled skin in the cool of the room has me panting, every silken surface of her revealed as the dress drops away to the sides, forming a red blanket beneath her.
The effect is fucking dramatic.
Sexy as hell.
My teeth clack shut, my breath coming in shuddering gasps. I feel my balance slipping, pulling me forward, so I step back, finding the wall to press into, steadying myself.
She lets me settle, running her hands down her hips, her thighs, inhaling deeply. Each of those mesmerizing orbs settles to the side, her nipples peaked and begging to be sucked. Bitten.
Her fingers clasp around, spilling the excess of her tits around them, caressing and pinching pink perfection in the center.
As her head tips back completely to the platform, her legs draw up, knees bent, spreading open.
All so she can drive one forceful palm down her belly, down the drenched deep red of the only strip of fabric on her body. Her fingers splay, the two in the middle pulling back up the center, tugging the material taut, showing the shape of her.
Topped off with a soft, vocal sigh.
I’m off the wall before I can stop myself, crossing the distance, tipping over her, slamming my hands down on either side of her. It takes every bit of effort I have to keep from touching her, holding myself inches away.
Not a flinch.
Her eyes light up as she reaches down, grabbing the waistband of my pants, tugging me closer.
I pull back, trying my best to resist.
The pressure building up inside me is unmanageable. Unbearable.
I’m about to give in when she lets go, shoving me back with the ball of one foot, just hard enough to make me stand and stumble a step. She’s shaking her head.
I almost laugh at the audacity.
Hellena rolls to her feet, grace incarnate, and crosses the room, still in time with the song. From the corner, she snatches a chair, slides it right in front of me, flips it around, straddles it.
Pushing off, she backs away, her arms spiraling up above her head before she drops down to her knees, back up to a fold, then a slow, tit clutching raise, easing back onto the platform.
