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“I like these,” he starts, running a finger from the top of my panties to the wet spot that becomes even more apparent as he presses into it. “I want you to come home with me.”
“Why?” I ask, picking my head up to stare at him as he stares down at me.
“I want to see your beautiful body on film, through my eyes. Will you let me,Stellina?” he asks before gently hooking his fingers under the waistband of my panties and pulling them down, inch by inch.
I can’t think, can’t say anything, full of both nerves and anticipation. But one thing rings out and it makes me pause.
“You only kissed me for the first time a few days ago,” I blurt out, the thought filling my mind like I’m some kind of slut for being here.
But I’m not a slut. I’m a grown ass woman with needs that he seems more than ready to fulfill. I try to hold onto that thought as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“And now I want to kiss your pussy for the first time,” he declares. I open my eyes and stare down at him just ask he begins to sink to his knees, widening my thighs further so he can fully see me. He gives me one last grin before hooking my legs over his shoulders.
I drop my head back onto the desk just as he licks, once,twice, three times. I arch my back in response, unable to keep the strangled sound from exiting my throat as he licks with fervor before pushing his tongue inside of me. He pushes my thighs back against my stomach and I’ve never been so open for a man before.
I’m so wet from my arousal and his oral ministrations that when he pushes a finger inside, it slips right in.
When I lift my torso, bracing myself on my elbows, I catch sight of the way he stares down at me for a moment as he works his finger inside of me before slipping another in as well. His face glistens under the lamplight and he licks his lips. Just as he moves forward to taste me again, his eyes lock with mine. And he keeps his eyes on me, staring at me while he licks and strokes at my sensitive flesh, sucking on my clit until it’s too much to bear and I throw my head back, gasping out my orgasm as I ride his face and fingers.
He offered it all to me and I took it, greedily.
When he stands, I expect regret to sweep over the moment. I expect to be embarrassed by the sounds I made, by the way he stared so openly at me.
What I don’t expect is for him to stand, grip me by the back of my neck so I’m sitting up against him, and for him to kiss me.
For me to taste myself on him, for him to hold me like we shared a moment of sheer intimacy. For me to smell myself on his damp beard.
I can’t help but wonder if offering me everything was meant in the strictly sexual way it was presented to me. Or if this man is intent on giving me so much more.
I’m nervous as we enter his apartment, knowing that even though we’re here, I’m not prepared to have sex with him.
I’ve lost all nerve at this point, having had to walk separately to his apartment to avoid being seen. But as he trailed behind me, it felt like an added foreplay, knowing we’re about to be alone in a space where no one can find us.
“You’re nervous,” he states as he sets his own bag down, standing at his kitchen island.
As if he knows it’s likely best not to approach me. I’m skittish, the aftereffects of my intense orgasm making my lower belly ache deliciously.
“I’m trying not to be,” I whisper, glancing around his apartment again. It’s less intimidating with the slight glow of the early evening sky. “It doesn’t make sense that I am.”
“Try not to think about what makes sense,” he provides, offering me a quick smile. “None of this is meant to, I think.”
We’re silently assessing one another without the boundaries and confines of potential audiences and I can only think to myself,this might be fucking dangerous.
Instead of sitting in those thoughts, I ask him where his camera is. He raises a brow before straightening.
“Are you sure?”
“If you ask me again, I won’t be,” I inform him, impatient to hide my nerves behind anything at this point.
He nods, leaving me alone where I stand as he opens one of the doors down the hall and disappears inside. In the stillness, I pull my top off, setting in on the nearby chair where I’dplaced my things down. Before I can overthink it, my skirt follows. I’m sitting on his couch as he steps out, closing the door behind him.
He stops short when he catches sight of me.
“I know you’re used to being in charge,” I start, a grin forming, “but I have some rules.” Because some semblance of control turns me on almost as much as he does.
“Anything,” he rasps out before swallowing. It’s then that I notice the black vintage-looking camera in his hands.
“I keep my bra and panties on and you can’t touch me.” My back is rigid as I state my demands, expecting some sort of pushback.
