Page 4 of Unwanted Vows

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.

“Water,” she replies, still looking out into the night.

I get ice from the freezer, and fill the glass from the water filter beside the sink. Then I turn, and discover she’s removed her top. She is slim, with the barest hint of ribs showing beneath flawless tan skin. Her modest breasts are encased in black lace. Her jeans ride low on her hips. A few fine, dark hairs at the top of her zipper hint at secret delights below. I suck in my breath. Oh, my, but she is delicious!

I reach out one hand to her, “May I have this dance?” I ask.

She places her hand in mine, and says solemnly, “If you will provide the music, you certainly may,” she says.

I draw her into a classic tango hold, and sing softly, “Dance with me…” The Drew Seeley lyrical version flows from my mouth. I sing it first in English, then in Spanish. The room isn’t big enough for more than a few modest kicks and turns, but she follows my lead without the gymnastics she had added at the party.

Better yet, with no audience, we don’t have to hold back on the brushes and touches. With each verse, she becomes bolder, running her hands over her body to emphasize her curves, then trailing her fingertips close . . .so close… to the zipper on my jeans.

I am erect and fairly bursting by the end of the dance. She drops to her knees in front of me, and blows her hot breath on my zipper. She sings, “I’ll make love to you,” she says as she undoes my button and my zipper, yanking my pants down around my knees. “Like you want me to…”

I hum with her as she works her magic on my body.

She stands up in front of me, and shimmies out of her jeans. She’s wearing silky black panties that match her bra. Tiny, skimpy panties that barely cover her mound, and that do not conceal her rounded bottom at all as she pirouettes shamelessly in front of me.

She bends over the back of the one chair in the room, provocatively presenting me with a view of her smooth, rounded rump. The silky triangle of her panties barely covers her slit, making me even harder than before, harder than I ever thought possible.

She stands, turns, and walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. She sings, “I will not let go ‘til you tell me to…”.

She is in front of me, rubbing her nearly naked self against my nearly naked self. Her nipples are standing up like tiny pebbles behind the fabric of her bra. She shucks me the rest of the way out of my jeans. Her hair brushes against my thigh as she undoes the laces of my shoes.

My penis presses toward her hungrily. She reaches out to touch it lightly, almost reverently, the stretchy fabric of my boxer briefs deadening the sensation of her touch ever so slightly. She looks up at me with an inquiring look on her face and I nod.

“You can take them off,” I invite her, pressing my hips in her direction ever so slightly. “I won’t tell you no.” I laugh.

She bites her lower lip, and the sight makes me want to grab her shoulders and toss her onto the bed. Foreplay isn’t usually my thing, but something about her innocence is charming, even if it might be an act.

She cautiously grabs a hold of the waistband of my briefs and pulls, allowing my cock to spring free. She eyes it appreciatively, touching it with gentle fingers. I nearly moan, but manage to rein myself in. Why is her caution and her reverence so sexy to me?

She stretches up and says, “Please teach me. I want you . . . you are the best looking guy in the room, the best anywhere . . .”

“You’d better remember that,” I say, with emphasis. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.” And I let her push me backward onto the mattress.

She falls beside me on the mattress. I take her in my arms, kissing her, cupping her breast in its lace prison, delighting in the feel of her skin against mine.

I remove her bra, and take one of her nipples in my mouth. She shivers, seems lost in the sensation. One of her hands cups my balls, testing, exploring. She slides the hand up my shaft and down again, and I nearly explode right then.

I manage to hold on, transfer my attention to her other nipple, and slip my hand under the band of her panties.

“Take them off,” she gasps. “Please, take them off. Don’t rip them,” she adds as an afterthought, and I chuckle.

I abandon her breasts just long enough to slide the scrap of fabric and elastic down her beautiful, shapely legs. Then I crawl back along her length, pressing kisses to her skin as I go, until I find her delightful, wet center.

She has a wealth of dark hair here, healthy and lustrous. I run my tongue lightly over her most intimate self, making her wiggle and beg. I slip a finger inside her, and I’m rewarded when she presses into my touch with a little gasp. I focus my attention on her clit, loving the sounds she’s making in reply to each of my touches and each expert flick of my tongue.

“Now,” she whimpers. “Now! I want you inside me, right now.”

A man should never disobey his lady, especially when she begs in that tone of voice.

I press her legs further apart, and rise up over her, looking down at her as I do so. She looks so lovely and unspoiled, like a canvas that hasn’t been painted on yet, or a gift that hasn’t been unwrapped. I want to make a mess of her, make her look used and soiled, but I hold myself back at first.

“You’ll have to teach me,” she says abruptly, propping herself up on her elbows. “I haven’t…I mean…I’ve never.”

I look down at her with some surprise. “You’re a virgin?” I ask her, just to make sure I know what she’s trying to say to me.

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