Page 16 of Off Balance

"Get yourself ready for me," Emile says, his voice low and commanding.

I continue stroking myself as the water rinses away the rest of the body wash, then reach for the inset marble shelf, grabbing a small bottle of lube. After coating my fingers, I place one foot on the marble seat and lean back as I open my leg to expose myself to Emile's gaze. I begin the work of opening myself for him, pushing one and then two fingers inside as I stroke my cock. Small moans and needy sounds escape me that I can't hold back.

"Emile," I say huskily. "I'm ready. I don't want to come without you."

He gives me a clipped nod and reaches for a towel, handing it to me when I step out. I dry myself off hastily before pressing against him, wanting to feel him against my body. Pulling the towel away from his body, I fling it to the floor. Before he can protest, I push up on my tiptoes, pressing our cocks together and wrapping my hand around us both. It pulls a groan from him that I revel in. Emile isn't as vocal as I am during sex, so any little sound of pleasure is like a reward. It jolts down my spine and makes my balls tingle.

I want to perch myself on the counter and keep frotting until neither of us can hold back, but I want more than that tonight. I want connection and intensity.

"Take me to bed," I murmur against his skin.

Emile picks up his towel and leads me out of the bathroom. My heart falls a little because I know what the towel is for, and while I don't mind it, really—I totally understand that his neatness is a compulsion—part of me wishes we could just let loose and make a mess of everything. I want to sleep curled up against him, coated in sweat and cum and laying in a wet spot that makes the sheets stick to my skin. He would be horrified by the idea.

In a hopeful mood, I crawl into the middle of the bed, turning over on my back and widening my legs. Emile's head cocks from the end of the bed, where he's spread out the large towel and is rolling a condom down his length. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I bite my lip and spread myself wider, thrusting into my fist.

"You're just a filthy little slut, aren't you?” His voice sounds almost disinterested, but the way he strokes lube over his hard cock proves otherwise.

"I am if you want me to be," I say, pushing two fingers back inside my hole. I throw my head back, moaning salaciously as I fuck myself, trying to tempt Emile into coming up here and defiling me the way I crave him to.

A thrill shoots through me when a hand wraps around my ankle and drags me roughly to the bottom of the bed. Emile is slender, but strong, and I love it when he shows off his strength. I want to be manhandled, thrown around like a rag doll and used, hard and fast.

Emile pulls me down until I'm nearly off the edge of the bed and then presses his lips hard against mine. He rarely ever kisses me. It's hard and unyielding, his lips not moving against mine. Before I can slip my tongue out or try to soften the kiss, he pulls away.

"You still taste like bad decisions," he says gruffly, before flipping me over so I'm facedown, bent over the edge of the mattress.

He enters me without preamble. It aches for a moment, but I welcome it, enjoying the moment of passion. I like that he couldn't wait anymore, that I've driven him to lose control like this.

Emile bottoms out in one thrust before laying his body over my back and rocking into me the way he likes. I scramble to get purchase on my tiptoes, to move myself into a position that’s more comfortable or where he can reach my prostate, but the way my legs are pushed together between Emile's thighs doesn't allow for much movement. The bed rocks with us, and my cock aches, but I'm pressed into the mattress too tightly to get enough friction. I whine with frustration, needing more to reach that sweet spot.

"Emile," I beg. "Touch me. Let me move." As much as I like him taking control, right now my body is screaming at me for relief. I just need to change the angle a bit, and I can?—

The rocking motion becomes stuttered and jerky. He doesn't make a sound other than a quick exhalation of breath before he stops moving entirely. He slumps on top of me for a moment, before pushing down on my lower back to keep me in place while he pulls out of me. My entire lower body clenches, desperate to keep him inside me.

Pat pat.

Two little taps signals for me to get up. I turn over, my still hard cock bobbing in the air, and I wrap my hand around it. Maybe it's presumptuous of me to assume we aren't done. But when he folds the towel in half and hands it to me before walking back to the bathroom, I'm left gaping open-mouthed. I'm confused for a long moment. Did he not notice that I didn't get off? It's at least the third time this has happened, where I wondered if I should say something. I don't want to embarrass him, though, or make him upset. But clearly we need some communication, because I'd want to know if I was leaving my partner frustrated like this.

The door is open this time, and Emile is in the shower again. He's rinsing the soap from his hands and crotch. I step in to the shower with him, and he eyes me strangely. His gaze falls to my erection, and maybe I'm just feeling sensitive right now, but does he look annoyed?

"You can finish up in here, if you like," he says in his normal airy tone.

I watch him step out of the shower and wrap a clean towel around him. He steps close to the sink and checks his reflectionin the mirror, turning his face this way and that, before opening a small tube and patting some kind of product over his face. When he notices me watching him, he raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"What is it, Cameron?" His accent is stronger when he's exasperated with me. "I am tired. I will have my nightcap now and then go to bed."

In the past, Emile has used "having a nightcap" as his signal that the night was over, and he'd usher me towards the door. But surely that's not what he means this time.

"I thought…" It's hard to tamp down my disappointment.

"Maybe another night,oui? I am getting a headache."

With that, he leaves me in the bathroom, dumbstruck. I feel… pathetic.

I know you deserve better.

CHAPTER 4

DOM

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