Page 59 of Casanova LLC

I over-eagerly nodded. Looked down at where his hand hovered less than an inch above me and I considered lifting my hips and devouring it. I was sure one more press would do it. Probably just the thought of that press. But his hand came to my chin, lifted my head so that I was looking at him in the mirror. Oh, right: the mirror.

I watched him move his left hand off my leg and over to my panties. He played along the elastic edge, poised to slip his finger underneath.

My eyes shot to his face and I realized he was waiting for my consent. “Go! Yes, go, now, yes.”

He slowly slipped his finger underneath the fabric and slid it aside, like a curtain, revealing me. To both of us.

He exhaled on the side of my neck. I felt him swallow. “Now. Do to your hand what you did to mine.”

I did.

I said, without thinking, “I’m so wet.”

“I can see that.” In the mirror, his eyes went hungry. “Absolutely beautiful. Would you like to show me more?” He pulled my panties even further to the side until they stayed put on their own. “Now, do whatever you want. While I indulge…” With both hands free, he was able to roam. One hand slid under the stocking and took firm hold of it. His other fingered the corset laces as he moved up the bodice. He loosened the laces and separated the two panels, releasing the remaining pressure across my breasts. Just that felt amazing. But not as amazing as when he gently cupped, scooping first one and then the other just barely to the top. His fingers brushed against my nipples, urging them to peek above the fabric. They hardened. “More. More. Do more.”

He continued to graze gently over them. Back and forth. Teasing. Maybe “more” hadn’t been the right directive. “You can do harder.” He obliged. Took them between his fingers and tugged. Then flicked. And through it all, down below, my tempo increased.

“As I said, they’re perfect.” He kneaded one before pinching the nipple between two knuckles. And rolling it. Squeezing it. “Can you feel that in your clit? Because that’s what I’d be doing to it right now.”

What the fu?—

“I’m close again. Really—” I tore my gaze away from the mirror, looked down my body, and saw his other hand. The one at my stocking. The one I had lost track of until this moment. The one that was rhythmically, but gently, tugging the material. Then it skated toward my inner thigh, in the direction of my heated core…then it stalled. And fisted.

I could read his desire as clearly as my own. Because they were one and the same. I stopped touching myself. “I want you to do it, I—want you.”

He exhaled against my neck, his chest heaved against my back. I saw him stare at my fingers in the mirror. He licked his lips. “Together. We’ll do it together.”

He took hold of my hips.

He lifted me up and closed his legs.

He resettled me on top of his thighs, instead of between them.

And I felt his full hardness for the first time. The steel length of him.

I rubbed against it like it was in my nature to do such a thing.

His breath stuttered. He brought his knees up between my legs and used them to spread me wide open.

Then he reached down and—was his hand shaking on purpose? Was this another technique?—nestled three fingers into my folds.

The feel of his touch. On me. My God.

“Take my hand,” he gritted.

I did.

“Use it.”

I did.

His hand underneath mine now, I did everything I could with it. I slid his fingers lower, took the longest one, and pushed it inside me. I had to. It wasn’t a choice.

He muttered something, maybe “Christ fuck.” Though it was right in my ear I didn’t hear it clearly, because I was starting to go.

My left hand flew to his hair, curled around the back of his head, pulling his eyes away from the mirror and down the length of my body. My back arched, which popped one nipple over the top of the corset, eliciting another curse from him.

I pushed his palm flat against me. He pressed down. Then his hips lifted, which pushed me into his hard palm and my vision splintered. His left arm came across my stomach, pinning me to his subtle thrusts. I tightened my hold on his neck, mumbling God knows what. I didn’t sound like myself.

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