Page 51 of Prized Possession

Her round, perky tits are just the right size, and I know if I were to cup one in my hand, it would be slightly more than a handful, which is fucking perfect for me.

As I drag my gaze over her peaked nipples, I can’t help but wonder if it’s the coldness of the room that’s hardened them, or is she as turned on as me?

Moving my gaze away from her tits is a struggle. I feel like a teenage boy who just found a nude magazine and is looking at his first ever pair. These may not be my first, but they are pretty fucking perfect.

Get a grip, Marcus,I think to myself, before the rude version of me responds with,I would very much love to get a grip of those. Great, now I’m having conversations with myself. I think all the blood has left my brain and is firmly in my boxers right now.

With much more effort than I’d like, I continue my lazy perusal of Chloe’s body. Her skin looks so soft, and she has curves in all the right places. Although she’s sat down, I can see the soft curve of her stomach and her hips, which only makes me want to see her arse even more.

The twinkling of her belly button bar catches my attention, and I want nothing more than to fall to my knees in front of her and kiss every inch of herskin. I want to touch her, to know if she’s as soft as she looks. The need to hold her curves, to grip her hard enough to leave my mark on her, so she’ll know exactly who she belongs to.

I never get possessive over women. In fact, I rarely ever see a woman again after one night. I never lead them on, they always know where I stand, and that I’m not looking for any more than one night.

Yet, as I stare at this beautiful woman, with curves in all the right places, I can’t help but think that one night wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t give me enough time to devour every piece of her, to learn her body in a way that nobody else ever has.

I suspect that one taste of her will have me hooked like a drug, and I’d willingly fall into addiction for her.

As I finally drag my gaze over her pink pussy, taking in her glistening folds, she starts to squirm under the intensity. It looks like it’s taking all her effort not to close her legs, or to use her hands to cover herself up.

In fact, her hands are balled into tight fists, clutching at the sofa cushions on either side of her so tightly that her knuckles have turned white.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I growl, breaking the deafening silence that seems to be combining with the growing chemistry, creating a tense atmosphere.

Hearing the deep, raspy growl in my voice, she lets out a gasp. As I was assessing her, she must have taken the time to do the same, as her gaze is now locked on the tent in my trousers. I can’t help my smirk as I take in her awe-like expression.

“Is your pussy wet right now?” I ask, tilting my head in that direction so she’s forced to look down at herself.

She gives me a small nod, but I fix her with a hard stare, reminding her of the rules—she must use her voice. “Yes.” It’s small and shy, but I smile when she does as she’s told.

“Use your finger and tell me how wet.”

She flicks her gaze between me, her hand—that’s still curled in a fist around the sofa cushion—and her very exposed cunt. She looks so uncertain, and I watch as her chest rises and falls slowly while she no doubt tries to claw back some of her anxiety.

When she finally lets go of the sofa cushion, I involuntarily lean forward, like I need to be as close to her as I can.

She reaches down with one hand, resting her arm on the inside of her thigh, and uses her fingers to part her lips. With her other hand, she swipes her finger throughher slit.

A low groan echoes around the room, and I’m not entirely sure which one of us it came from. This is fucking torture, yet I can’t look away.

She drags her finger slowly from the bottom of her slit to the top, and as she reaches her swollen clit, she gently presses against it, making her gasp. Her eyes screw shut as she loses herself in the moment, gently circling her hard bud.

I’m so fucking hypnotised watching her, but I’m supposed to be using this to teach her about control, and once I’ve mentally chastised myself for what I’m about to do, I get things back on track.

“Stop!” I snap.

Her eyes fly open, her fingers stilling on her clit as she looks at me, very confused.

“What? Why?” she rushes out, her brow furrowing.

“Did I tell you that you could play with your clit?” I keep my voice stern, my cold stare fixed on her so she can see I’m not happy.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“What instruction did I give you?”

She opens her mouth a couple of times, her nose crinkling as she tries to remember, before she finally says, “You asked how wet I am.”

“Did you answer me?”

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