'Til Death: Volume One
Page 10
I blink at him. He’s in front of me, standing, perfectly naked, and I’m laying on his couch with nothing but my heels on and my legs are spread wide. Now he wants me to . . . finger myself?
“What?” I breathe.
“Fingers, in your pussy.”
His brown eyes hold mine, and I can see he’s serious. God, I’ve never done anything like that in front of a man before. I want to, though. After all, I’m never going to see Marcus again; what will it hurt? Taking a deep, steadying breath, I slowly lower my hand until I reach my exposed flesh. I dip my finger in, finding my swollen clit, and I begin massaging it.
Marcus curls his hand around his cock and starts stroking softly, his eyes never leaving mine. This is alarming, in so many ways. Firstly, he’s not watching my fingers. Secondly, his eyes look as though they can see into my very soul. My lips part on a whimper as my clit jerks to life, needing to release, still raw from his mouth being there only moments ago.
“Slide your finger inside,” he orders.
I do as he asks, slipping a finger inside while continuing to rub my clit. My back arches as my orgasm builds, and I pray to the heavens he’ll let me have this one.
“Look at your nipples,” he growls. “So fuckin’ hard. Are you going to come?”
“Yes,” I pant
“Thinkin’ about me?”
“God, yes.”
“You want my cock, Katia?” he purrs.
Jesus, the way he says my name. The way it rolls off his tongue. It has my moan clogging in my throat and my eyes rolling back, as my orgasm nears.
“Watch my cock when you come,” he demands and my eyes focus back on him.
I stare at his cock, relishing in the way his large hand moves over it, stroking so softly it’s almost lazy. It’s beautiful, though, and in a moment I’m coming. My back arches and I push my breasts into the air, gasping as my body trembles with pleasure. I don’t have the chance to even finish my last shudder before Marcus is over me, his cock gliding against my flesh, his body pressing mine into the sofa.
He reaches over, fumbles about for a second and then comes back up with a condom. His eyes pin me with feral intent as he tears the packet with his teeth and pulls the condom out. He reaches down, rolls it over his cock and then his mouth is on mine again, hard and deep. His tongue probes and his kiss becomes intense. I return the intensity until we’re kissing with a fevered frenzy that has my mind spinning. Without warning, he takes hold of his cock and slides inside me.
He does it painfully, beautifully, amazingly slow. I moan into his mouth and he catches it, kissing me so hard my lips feel as though they’re going to bruise. His hands go down to cup my breasts, and he uses them to control his thrusting. I press my hips up, taking him deeper, spreading my legs wider. He fucks me perfectly; not hard, not soft, just right where I need him.
Neither of us says anything. The only sounds in the room are his panting grunts and my whimpers as my body takes me higher and higher, bringing me to the edge. I want to come, shamefully fast. I pull my lips from his and close my eyes, clenching my jaw as I try to hold it back. Marcus growls, low and deep, and removes his hands from my breasts. He lowers them, gripping my hips and he starts fucking me harder.
“Marcus,” I finally breathe, unable to hold it back.
He says nothing; he doesn’t need to. He gives it all without a damned word. Besides, he’s not the kind of man to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. I know that even after a few hours. My mouth opens on a cry as he tilts his hips and finds that spot. He hisses, I scream and then my body is exploding beneath him. His fingers bite into my hips as he continues on through my clenching, his thrusts slowing as he pushes forward.
Then he slides out of me, lifts me up and throws me over the back of the sofa. He gets on his knees behind me, presses a flat palm to my lower back and drives his cock back into my depths. Holy mother-fucking shit. I can’t even gasp; my voice has run off and hidden itself deep, deep inside my body. All I can do is throw my head back, open my mouth and shake as he fucks me like I’ve never been fucked.
In minutes I’m coming again.
I didn’t even know that was possible.
Marcus rides me until I feel his cock swell inside me, and then he roars to the ceiling as he explodes inside me. I gasp finally, and my fingers curl into the sofa as I feel him milking his cock inside me. After a solid few minutes, he pulls out and the sofa shifts as he gets off it. I turn, slowly sliding down until I’m sitting. God, that was . . . I can’t even . . . there are just no words.
Marcus disappears into the bathroom, and I hear water running. A moment later he returns, handing me a warm washcloth. I stare at it, then at him. What does he want me to do with that? Clean him? He must see my confusion, because he murmurs in a deep, sexy voice, “Clean yourself.”
Right.
Clean myself.
I’ve never had a man take care of me after sex before, it’s kind of...nice.
I take the cloth and stand, rushing into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and stare at the massive bathroom. Well then, Marcus certainly isn’t suffering in life. This bathroom is bigger than my bedroom and bathroom combined. That’s sad. It’s all dark polished tiles and masculine intensity. There’s a massive bath that I could swim in, and a shower with twin heads. Two sinks are set in a beautiful marbled stone counter.
I walk over, staring at myself in the mirror. Nice, my mascara is running. I look like a freshly fucked raccoon. Pouting, I use the warm cloth to clean up my face. Then I deal with the rest of me. My pussy is sensitive as I run the washcloth over it. Marcus knows how to use his dick in a way I’ve never experienced in a man before.
“What?” I breathe.
“Fingers, in your pussy.”
His brown eyes hold mine, and I can see he’s serious. God, I’ve never done anything like that in front of a man before. I want to, though. After all, I’m never going to see Marcus again; what will it hurt? Taking a deep, steadying breath, I slowly lower my hand until I reach my exposed flesh. I dip my finger in, finding my swollen clit, and I begin massaging it.
Marcus curls his hand around his cock and starts stroking softly, his eyes never leaving mine. This is alarming, in so many ways. Firstly, he’s not watching my fingers. Secondly, his eyes look as though they can see into my very soul. My lips part on a whimper as my clit jerks to life, needing to release, still raw from his mouth being there only moments ago.
“Slide your finger inside,” he orders.
I do as he asks, slipping a finger inside while continuing to rub my clit. My back arches as my orgasm builds, and I pray to the heavens he’ll let me have this one.
“Look at your nipples,” he growls. “So fuckin’ hard. Are you going to come?”
“Yes,” I pant
“Thinkin’ about me?”
“God, yes.”
“You want my cock, Katia?” he purrs.
Jesus, the way he says my name. The way it rolls off his tongue. It has my moan clogging in my throat and my eyes rolling back, as my orgasm nears.
“Watch my cock when you come,” he demands and my eyes focus back on him.
I stare at his cock, relishing in the way his large hand moves over it, stroking so softly it’s almost lazy. It’s beautiful, though, and in a moment I’m coming. My back arches and I push my breasts into the air, gasping as my body trembles with pleasure. I don’t have the chance to even finish my last shudder before Marcus is over me, his cock gliding against my flesh, his body pressing mine into the sofa.
He reaches over, fumbles about for a second and then comes back up with a condom. His eyes pin me with feral intent as he tears the packet with his teeth and pulls the condom out. He reaches down, rolls it over his cock and then his mouth is on mine again, hard and deep. His tongue probes and his kiss becomes intense. I return the intensity until we’re kissing with a fevered frenzy that has my mind spinning. Without warning, he takes hold of his cock and slides inside me.
He does it painfully, beautifully, amazingly slow. I moan into his mouth and he catches it, kissing me so hard my lips feel as though they’re going to bruise. His hands go down to cup my breasts, and he uses them to control his thrusting. I press my hips up, taking him deeper, spreading my legs wider. He fucks me perfectly; not hard, not soft, just right where I need him.
Neither of us says anything. The only sounds in the room are his panting grunts and my whimpers as my body takes me higher and higher, bringing me to the edge. I want to come, shamefully fast. I pull my lips from his and close my eyes, clenching my jaw as I try to hold it back. Marcus growls, low and deep, and removes his hands from my breasts. He lowers them, gripping my hips and he starts fucking me harder.
“Marcus,” I finally breathe, unable to hold it back.
He says nothing; he doesn’t need to. He gives it all without a damned word. Besides, he’s not the kind of man to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. I know that even after a few hours. My mouth opens on a cry as he tilts his hips and finds that spot. He hisses, I scream and then my body is exploding beneath him. His fingers bite into my hips as he continues on through my clenching, his thrusts slowing as he pushes forward.
Then he slides out of me, lifts me up and throws me over the back of the sofa. He gets on his knees behind me, presses a flat palm to my lower back and drives his cock back into my depths. Holy mother-fucking shit. I can’t even gasp; my voice has run off and hidden itself deep, deep inside my body. All I can do is throw my head back, open my mouth and shake as he fucks me like I’ve never been fucked.
In minutes I’m coming again.
I didn’t even know that was possible.
Marcus rides me until I feel his cock swell inside me, and then he roars to the ceiling as he explodes inside me. I gasp finally, and my fingers curl into the sofa as I feel him milking his cock inside me. After a solid few minutes, he pulls out and the sofa shifts as he gets off it. I turn, slowly sliding down until I’m sitting. God, that was . . . I can’t even . . . there are just no words.
Marcus disappears into the bathroom, and I hear water running. A moment later he returns, handing me a warm washcloth. I stare at it, then at him. What does he want me to do with that? Clean him? He must see my confusion, because he murmurs in a deep, sexy voice, “Clean yourself.”
Right.
Clean myself.
I’ve never had a man take care of me after sex before, it’s kind of...nice.
I take the cloth and stand, rushing into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and stare at the massive bathroom. Well then, Marcus certainly isn’t suffering in life. This bathroom is bigger than my bedroom and bathroom combined. That’s sad. It’s all dark polished tiles and masculine intensity. There’s a massive bath that I could swim in, and a shower with twin heads. Two sinks are set in a beautiful marbled stone counter.
I walk over, staring at myself in the mirror. Nice, my mascara is running. I look like a freshly fucked raccoon. Pouting, I use the warm cloth to clean up my face. Then I deal with the rest of me. My pussy is sensitive as I run the washcloth over it. Marcus knows how to use his dick in a way I’ve never experienced in a man before.
