Page 44 of Black Velvet

"Did you deserve it?"

I giggle. "I always made sure of that."

A sharp inhale laced with traces of a yelp flees my lips when his hand lands on my ass. A burning ache flows through me for a second before it turns into hot afterglow. Shit, that hurt.

"Like that?"

My voice is trapped, the shock still cording up my throat as I process the sudden impact. I nod quietly.

I can hear him move, and a moment later he's standing so close behind me that I can feel his breath on my neck—and his hardness poking me just above the throbbing skin on my ass. I fight the urge to lean back into him, or to reach back and get ahold of his length. I've always been impatient when something was luring me in. I was never the kind of girl who could wait for her treats.

But he is making me. He told me never to move unless he tells me to. So that is what I will do, even when I feel his lips on my neck, even when he skims my skin with kisses that are barely more than a whisper. I close my eyes, tilting my head back and leaning into him while he places his hands on my hip, his fingers digging into the flesh on my hip bones.

A moan escapes my lips, mingling with the sound of my erratic breathing.

"Fuck, that was a beautiful sight, Elene," he whispers right next to my ear. "You sitting there waiting for me, being such an obedient good girl. I'm very impressed."

A smile plays at the corners of my mouth.

"Are you wet for me?" he wants to know. "Did your cute little pussy get ready to be ravaged by me?"

The heat that's blossoming on my cheeks only intensifies when his hands echo his words, traveling down to my center from both sides. His body leans into mine, his erection poking me from behind while his strong arms shield my front. I sigh with relish when his fingers find my soft lips, gently pinching the sensitive flesh.

"You want to come again, don't you?" his voice hovers behind my ear. "I bet your pussy will drip all over my hand again, throbbing and clenching while I give you what no one else ever could."

I mewl my reply, parting my legs in an attempt to urge him on. But he doesn't move his fingers, and just keeps them resting right there, so freaking close to my clit that I feel like I'm about to burst with tension. I feel dizzy, confused, and so agitated by everything he's done. Making me climax with just his fingers, forcing me to wait for five days. My head dazed with anticipation every single night, my core throbbing and my heart racing, always to no avail.

And now he's taking it slow, teasing me with filthy words, a coy touch and an erection I'm so eager to touch but not even allowed to see.

"Tell me, Elene," he breathes, grinding his length against my back as his fingertips travel further down. "Have you touched yourself in the past few days?"

A moan breaks the silence in the room when he parts my folds, sliding between them with ease and gracing my swollen bud with two fingers. Just like last time, even a soft fondle like this sends electric bolts through my core. He draws another moan from me when he decides to circle my clit in wide rotations, barely coming in contact with the most sensitive spot.

"Answer me."

Have I touched myself and thought about him during the past five days? The honest answer to that question sends a glow of embarrassment up to my face.

"Yes," I reply truthfully.

"Did you think about me while you touched yourself?" he presses, his motions intensifying as he continues to massage my clit. "Did you fantasize about my cock stretching your little pussy while I fuck you? Rough—just like you need it?"

"Yes," I breathe, sticking to the truth once again.

"Good girl."

He praises me, but as soon as the words are spoken he withdraws his hand from my core, leaving me trembling with lust and disappointment.

A confused sigh flees my mouth when he moves away from me. I stand alone with nothing to hold onto, robbed of his comforting proximity while my skin is radiating a shameful glow.

He reappears in my eyesight, positioning himself in front of me about three feet away. A strand of dark brown hair falls into his face when he juts his chin forward, locking me down with his gray and promising gaze.

"You're not coming on my fingers tonight," he says, and just as I am made to believe that he will finally let me see and feel more of him, he shatters those hopes by adding: "You're coming on your fingers tonight."

I gasp in shock, instinctively shaking my head. "No, please—"

"It's what I want," he cuts me off. "And you agreed to play by my rules, didn't you, Elene?"

Why does he insist on calling me by my name? Is it because he knows what that does to me? Is it because he can see the way my heart flutters every time I hear my name cross his lips? Because it does. He has such a tender way of addressing me, always lacing it with a dark promise that makes me shaky.

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