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Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, tight abs, narrow hips—then thick thighs and long legs, but my gaze glances off them, snagged by his cock, stiff and flushed, thick and long, pointing up.
Metal is sticking out of the head—metal barbells. He’s pierced.
“Okay?” he asks, and something passes through his eyes, an expression I haven’t seen before. A flash of vulnerability and nervousness.
Is he seriously asking me if I think him good enough? Or maybe big enough? Is he nervous because of the piercing?
“You’re beautiful,” I say in all honesty, and his cocky grin returns.
“You’re the beautiful one,” he says. “I’m just cocky.”
Very cocky, I decide, glancing at his big cock again. Never has the word described a man better. I lick my lips, a surge of confidence shocking me. “Are you going to use that, or what?”
“That?” He looks down, his grin widening. “Are you referring to my dick?”
I shrug, and can’t help smiling. “Guess so.”
“I’m sure gonna fucking use it. I follow through on all my promises.” He pauses, fumbles on the night stand and lifts a condom. He pulls it on.
“Turn over, Doll,” he murmurs, “and let me show you what that can do.” I squeal when he grabs my hips and rolls me over, on my belly. “And one last thing: you like roses, right?”
***
He half-lies over me, brushing my hair off my back and pressing his mouth there, on my bared neck, awakening nerve endings I didn’t know existed. Somehow, it seems my neck is directly linked to my boobs and my pussy, because I clench everywhere with each kiss, moaning into my folded arms.
He presses down more, letting more of his weight on top of me, and his hot, hard cock slides on my ass, leaving a wet trail, the barbells hard points that make me squirm.
I’m doing this to him. Make him hard. Make his dick drip with desire. Make a
groan rumble in his chest when I push my ass up and rub against this cock.
“You’re killing me,” he whispers, his teeth catch on my earlobe, tugging on my pearl earring. “I thought I had more self-control.”
It thrills me, that he’s admitting it. Admitting he can’t help himself with me.
Then do it, I want to say. Put your cock in me.
But he starts kissing a path down my spine and I gasp as the pressure, and the pleasure, intensifies. I never knew my back was an erogenous zone. My back, my neck, my earlobe—and now his hand trails down the crease of my ass, stroking, pressing lightly. Brushing lower, against my pussy, then moving back up.
I writhe on the bed, suddenly so close to coming again I panic, hovering on the sharp edge of another mind-shattering orgasm.
His hand moves away before that happens, and I draw gasping breaths in the quiet, my ass lifting, trying to follow his touch.
He groans again, and shifts. I turn my head, trying to see what he’s doing, but he pushes me back down with a firm hand between my shoulder blades.
“The thorns were stripped,” he says, and what the heck? “Maybe next time we can leave some on. If you like it.”
I have absolutely no clue what he’s talking about.
Then my breath catches as something cool and soft brushes over my back, trailing low, over my ass. A sweet scent spills in the air.
Roses.
What is he…? Why?
He lifts the bunch of roses off my back.
He brings it back down, a light slap that releases more scent—and a ripple of sensation down my back, to my ass. He does it again—lifts the roses, brings them down, and the impact sends heat pooling in my belly, and between my legs.
