Page 37 of The Witness

He started by exploring. And it was torture. Mind-bending, bone-melting torture. He searched out every nerve ending and pulse point with precision, finding the places that made me shudder and gasp.

Sensation eclipsed worry. Pleasure replaced stress.

Then he began to conquer. His lips fastened to my clit as he slid one long finger into me. He sucked and stroked in a rhythm that sent lashes of liquid heat racing up my spine. I arched up, chasing his mouth, demanding more. He put his other hand under me and lifted my butt off the chair, delivering my body to his mouth.

Oh, I’d been so right, he was very, very good at this.

He groaned and squeezed my ass. I kicked off my sandals and put my feet on his huge shoulders. I strained into his caresses. My body slicked with sweat at the effort, and it was worth it. On the horizon was a glorious explosion of pleasure.

He bore down. His tongue circled my clit and his finger curved within me to brush that one perfect spot. I spasmed and fell over the end of the world in an explosion of colors and sensations. I screamed so long and so loud as my body trembled that my throat ached. It was more than an orgasm. It was a release of fear and anger and hope all tangled together in a complex knot that I had no interest in untying.

I sagged into the chair, my arms limp and my ass barely on the edge of the seat.

“Holy shit,” I gasped.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He sat back, lifting my ankles from his shoulders, and licked his glistening lips.

“Ah, yeah. I needed that.” I was still fully dressed, my body buzzing with the lingering pleasure from one of the most intense orgasms I had ever experienced. Giddy with euphoria, I giggled.

“Oh, Siren. We are only getting started.” The crooked smile on his lips was pure promise as he reached under my dress and slipped off my panties.

He stood, stripping off his gray slacks and the black briefs beneath. He stroked his erection. It was massive. Michael was six and a half feet tall and his cock was, ah, proportional. I reached out a tentative hand and could barely wrap my fingers all the way around him.

I bit my lip, and he stepped back. I looked him up and down, his heavy muscles, swirling tattoos, and thick thighs. It was a sight to behold. My eyes settled on his straining erection.

“Nervous?” His tone was half concern and half a taunt. The perfect blend of humor and sincerity. Not like this was my first penis. I’d birthed a child and understood female anatomy. I knew it would fit. But…

I considered what I was feeling before I answered. “Intrigued. I’ve always been a motion of the ocean, not a size of this ship kind of girl. But that’s an aircraft carrier.”

He laughed and scooped me from the chair, then sat with me straddling his lap. “Well then, let’s put you at the helm.”

I laughed; nothing better than laughter mixed with orgasms.

I dug my hands into his thick pecs and kissed him. His impressive cock sandwiched between us, thick and throbbing. He reached behind me and tugged down the zipper of the borrowed sundress, then swept it over my head. The clasp of my bra gave way under his skilled fingers and joined the dress on the carpet.

He growled with appreciation at the skin he’d revealed. His hands ran up and down my body with a reverence that made me feel beautiful.

I lifted myself up on my toes, poised to slide down on his impressive length, and paused. “We don’t have a condom.”

He closed his eyes and moaned like he was in pain. I shared the sentiment. I wanted—no, needed—this so very, very badly. My body actually ached. Being practical sucked.

“I’ve been tested recently. All good. You?” He gripped my waist and waited for my answer. His hands flexed, and all I wanted was to slip through his fingers and onto his cock.

“I’m good, and it’s not like I’m getting pregnant at my age.” I didn’t bother to explain I had a hormone-laced IUD that was helping with my early menopause symptoms. Not the time.

His hands relaxed, and slowly I took him inch by magnificent inch. It was a tight fit, but so fucking worth it. When I rested fully on his lap, I looked into his face. He was about to snap. The effort he exerted to stay perfectly still was inhuman and made me feel like a sex goddess with an enthralled captive.

I relaxed, taking time to adjust to the size of him filling me so completely. In this position, he gave me what circumstances had taken away: control. It was a gift. Straddling his lap, I rocked my hips, applying the perfect amount of pressure to my already fevered nerves. I gasped his name and picked up my pace, breathlessly riding his length.

Beneath me, his breathing had gone ragged, his body slicked with sweat. I lifted his hands and put them on my waist wordlessly inviting him to move. He clamped down on my hips and began to push and pull my shuddering body back and forth, fucking up into me at the same time. It was glorious.

I dug my nails into his muscles, dropped my head back, and held on for dear life, hoping that this would never end. Wave after wave of sensation enveloped me. Everything about him was overwhelming. His huge length pummeling in and out of me. The broad steel bands of his chest. The marble-like hardness of his thick thighs under me.

My orgasm built slowly, ratcheting up like a roller coaster inching toward the top of a towering incline. I whispered nonsense words, his name, and prayers to every deity I knew until I plunged screaming over the other side.

I might have blacked out for a moment. Too many sensations, not enough air. Delicious.

He tangled one hand in my hair, the other spanned my lower back, and he drove his hips up. His face pressed into the hollow of my neck. A final bone-shaking thrust, and he followed me over the summit and plunged into bliss.

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