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But instead of pleasure, something else was bubbling in my chest. It was too much–too overwhelming. I was too sensitive and he was too eager and?—
“Stop, I can’t,” I panted.
He froze and detached his lips from my clit looking up, his eyes searching and his brows furrowed, concern painted across his face.
“Too much,” I explained. “Overstimulated.”
He dragged his body up higher on the bed and laid on his side next to me. “We don’t have to. Let me know how I can help.”
I turned around to face him and hooked my leg on his hip. “Fuck me, just start slowly, please,” I told him, as I dragged my wetness over his hard cock.
He reached down and aligned his head with my entrance pushing slowly inside, stretching me. He really took my word to heart because he dragged his whole length in and out of me excruciatingly slowly.
“Are you good?” He whispered in my ear.
I nodded into the crook of his neck.
“Can I go a little faster?”
Another nod from me.
His pace got progressively faster but he still kept it slow, unrushed. “You have no idea how much I want you all the time,” he mumbled into my skin between kisses to my neck. “Everything feels right in the world when your skin is pressed to mine.”
“Ah,” the sound was ripped from my throat as he bottomed out and hit just the right spot.
He reached down between us and tapped my clit with his finger. “Is it still too much?’ He asked nibbling on the skin where my shoulder met my neck.
“No, I’m good,” I heaved as he continued the sweet, slow torture.
He kept the pace, he kept on biting into my skin and rubbing my clit ever so gently until my whole body locked up out of nowhere, my climax sneaking up on me as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through my body. The teeth at my shoulder were replaced by soft lips, his cock slowed down inside of me, but still letting me ride out my pleasure, his finger was a ghost over my clit as he guided me down from my high.
“Keep going,” I begged, my voice hoarse.
“It’s alright, I don’t need to finish,” he tried to protest, but myeyes opened and I searched his. What I found was concern and a hint of disappointment.
I pushed him onto his back, his body was weak. He had no fight in him as I sunk down on his length and rolled my hips.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to. Do you want me to?” I asked.
He nodded and sunk into the mattress properly, his hands grabbing a hold of my hips, guiding my motions. He let go of my hip with his hand and dragged his palm up my stomach until he got to my breast, grasping it in his hand as he continued impaling me on his cock.
“Is this good?” he asked.
“Yes,” I locked eyes with him, rolling my hips in rhythm with his. “Are you close?”
His answer was a grunt as he met me halfway. I got lost in the rhythm, small sparks of pleasure pulling me out every so often.
“You feel so good, Em. Fuck, I can believe you’re mine—” His own whimper interrupted him. “You make a mess out of me every time, baby. Fuck.”
He was now writhing under me, his chest rapidly rising and falling, his hips shook as his thrusts became shallower, as if his body was giving out. I doubled my efforts keeping the pace as close to what he had set, rolling my hips into him as his cock was sliding at just the right angle. I reached down and pinched my clit as I rode him.
“Are you close? Because I’m so fucking close,” I almost screeched. I felt the pressure building in my core and I knew I wouldn’t be long.
“Yes just like that, fuck, Emma.” His voice was small and whiny.
Oh, what was I doing to this man, fuck. I was getting drunk onthe power that I had reduced him to this whining, whimpering, writhing mess. And I wanted him to make a mess of me.
