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My eyes are watering like crazy, tears streaming down my face, and my throat is on fire, but I swallow every inch of his orgasm, heaving at times. He's overflowing.
When he's done, panting through his nose, I fall back on my ass and try to catch a breath but he doesn't give me a chance to sort myself out. Making me yelp again, he yanks me up by my arms and pushes me down on the dining table, face up. I grab onto the edges, looking up at him, a bit anxious.
I don't know where he is in his mind but he looks like he's losing it.
He hooks his fingers into the waist of my trousers and pulls them down my legs, tugging in places because they're damp and sticking to my skin. I'm not wearing any pants. I feel exposed in the daylight.
“Charlie,” I lick my lips, squeezing my legs together, “what-what are you doing?”
“I'm gonna make you cum so fucking hard. That's what I'm doing.” He tugs off my trousers, then runs his large hands up my legs, up the insides of my thighs to wrench me open. His palms are rough on my skin.
I quiver under him, a sharp pain shooting through my thighs because I'm open so wide.
“Don't worry. I'm not gonna fuck you, and I'm not gonna hurt you.” Now, he sounds like he's here, but I'm still panicking, digging my nails into the table, unsure of what to do.
He presses delicate yet hungry kisses up the insides of my legs after his hands. I moan against each peck, my body on fire, my head flooding with this overwhelming dizzy feeling.
I know he's going to kiss me down there again and I'm not sure I want to stop him.
I let my head drop back on the table and grab my face.
He nibbles up each side of my groin with his teeth, and I writhe, squirming, unable to deal.
I can't do this. I'm too anxious.
“Charlie, please, don't do this to me,” I beg him. For the first time, I actually ask him to stop. I can't help it. I'm not sure I like feeling so at his mercy.
He freezes, a bit out of breath.
“You want me to stop?” he rasps out.
This is so embarrassing.
Of course I don't want him to stop. I want him to make me feel good again but I don't at the same time.
I cover my eyes with one arm and nod. This is my control. Since his apology, he seems to be giving me a semblance of control—or, I thought he was before he made me suck his cock; before he gave a warning for making him feel guilty.
Oh, I don't fucking know. I'm so confused.
“Blaire, look at me,” he demands, though his voice is soft. Fingers close around my wrist and Charlie gently moves my arm off of my face.
I peer down at him, finding his dilated blue eyes. He looks so hot. Why can't I just let go and be with him like this? Why can't I shut off mentally?
“Do you want me to stop?” He raises his eyebrows at me, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb.
I nod again, trying to close my legs but I can't because he's between them.
Our gaze united, he's not sure what to do. I imagine his instincts are telling him to just do whatever the fuck he likes but I think he's working on this whole mutual respect thing, and he did tell me that if I want him to stop, all I have to do is say.
This is his chance to prove I can trust him.
I hope he doesn't fail.
When he steps back, scoops my trousers up from the floor and puts my feet into the legs, I feel a little gutted. I like the way he turns me on and makes me cum, but at the same time, I just don't want him doing that to me again. I'm the architect of my own confusion, I know, but I'm just not sure whatthisis between us.
I'm torn.
I pull up my trousers and stand on jelly-like legs, drawing into my shoulders. My hair is a static mess, flowing around my shoulders and waist. Must be an endorphin reaction.
