Page 26 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

“Do you know how hard it is to concentrate with you in my head?” he growls against my skin. “You drive me fucking insane, Anatife.”

“Good,” I pant, arching against him as his hands roam over my curves. “Maybe now you know how I feel.”

His answer is a low, guttural sound that sends shivers down my spine. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes blazing with a heady combination of anger and desire.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says, his voice rough with need. “Every inch of you.”

Elliot’s mouth crashes to mine, needy and aggressive, claiming my tongue with his. He grips my chin with his handtightly, moving my face to the side, pressing kisses down my cheek, to my ear, and down my neck. His movements aren't sensual. They are passionate to a degree, but for each ounce of passion, there is an aggressive fire to him.

His mouth explores every contour of my body, leaving no part untouched. Each touch sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through me, causing my body to respond in ways I’ve never experienced before. I don’t know what he will do next, but every movement elicits an intense reaction. His caress makes me arch toward him, craving more. His kisses, so passionate, make me tremble with desire.

He slides lower and lower down my body before dropping to his knees on the floor. His face is eye level with where I lie. His warm breath tickles where I want him the most, but I’m not going to give in that easily. As he spreads kisses up and down my thigh, I press my foot to his chest. Pushing him further back so he can’t reach me.

“I want to hear you beg for it,” I say, giving him a sly smile.

“Beg?” Elliot looks up at me, confused. “Beg for what?”

“You better beg to get a taste of me. I’m not giving it to you without a little effort.” I answer him with a devilish grin.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he says, trying to push past my leg. Tongue ready to lap at my pussy.

I press back with my foot harder. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I say, “What did I tell you? Beg.”

With a resounding sigh, Elliot’s entire body heaves back as he silently curses me. Only making me enjoy this more.

“S’il vous plaît, je vous en supplie. Laisse-moi goûter ta douce chatte. J’en ai désespérément besoin,” he says, pressing his palms into the back of my things with a hulking force.

“In English, jackass. I have to be able to enjoy understanding you beg.” I quip back.

“Ugh, fine,” Elliot says in exasperation. “Please, please let me taste this sweet pussy of yours.” His hands grip tight, spreading my thighs further apart as he talks. “I am desperate for a taste. Please let me taste you on my tongue.”

Satisfied with his plea, I wrap my heels around his neck, pulling his mouth closer to my center. Taking the not so subtle hint, Elliot dives in and devours my aching pussy.

Whispering into my arousal, “Tu as si bon goût, je pourrais mourir dans ta chatte et être un homme heureux.” I have no idea what he is saying, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t focus on anything other than the feeling of an orgasm building. He works my pussy with his tongue, rubbing his nose along my clit. That ugly mustache of his feels surprisingly good between my thighs. I, under no circumstances, can ever tell him that, though.

My inner walls clench as an orgasm rips through me. Elliot's tongue guides my way through. With a cocky smile, he pushes me up a little higher on the bed, climbing on top of me, laying his body weight on my leg. He moves my other leg to rest on top of his shoulder as he leans on his elbow, inches away from where he left me dripping.

He moves his fingers through my arousal, spreading it up to my clit. Taking the sensitive nub between his lips, he tugs on it, causing me to buck underneath him. His hand pressing firmly on my hip, he slides it down and presses two fingers deep insideme, pumping them in and out as he plays with my clit between his lips. I start to scream out in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation. He adds a third finger, stretching me. My body reacts to his movements as he brings me to the brink of climax again.

Without even giving me time to come down from a mind-blowing orgasm, Elliot adjusts himself above me, grabbing a condom from the bedside table, rolling it down his thick shaft.

Suddenly feeling very nervous, I joke, “If I didn’t already know better, I might get scared that you might break me in two.”

Elliot looks down at me, like his own version of a mustached devil. “You have nothing to worry about. Your body was made to fit mine.”

He thrusts into me, fully seating himself flush with my hips. He gives me a moment to adjust before he starts a punishing pace, thrusting in and out of me. He plays with my nipples, pulling them with his teeth, pinching them. His mouth connects with mine, pulling my bottom lip into his before releasing it and moving his attention back down my neck. The intensity of it all leaves me breathless, my mind spinning as he lays claim to my body in a way that is both possessive and intoxicating.

His dominance over my body draws one final orgasm from me before he growls out, reaching his own release. Every touch, every kiss, is laced with wild, desperate hunger. He moves with a precision and control that speaks of years of training, his body a finely tuned instrument of pleasure and pain. And I am his willing participant, caught up in our mutual desire.

We lose ourselves in each other, the world outside his bedroom ceasing to exist. The way he touches me, the way he moves inside me, it’s like he's trying to exorcize his demons through our connection. And maybe he is. Maybe we both are.

When neither of us can go anymore, we lie tangled together, our breathing ragged and our bodies spent.

“That was the last time,” I say into the darkness.

Elliot laughs in response, “Whatever you say.”

I watch him, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling steadily. In the stillness, the reality of what we’re doing settles over me like a heavy blanket. This is more than just physical. It is a desperate need to connect, to find distraction in each other, even if only for a night.

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