Page 39 of Mastered By Desire

“Let me look at you?”

I didn’t get to the other night—he kept his clothes on, other than taking his dick out of his pants. Yes, I’ve seen him without a shirt before. He took Danica and me to the pool when we were in high school, and I’d seen him hanging out at his parents’ house without a shirt on.

But this is different.

So very, very different.

He lifts it over his head and tosses it to the side.

I can’t resist—I reach out and run my hands over the ridges of his muscles, the faint dusting of hair on his pecs.

Opening his wallet, he pulls out a condom and sets it on my chest, between my breasts. He takes off his jeans and boxer briefs, then yanks down my pajama pants.

“So. Fucking. Sexy.” He traces the outline of my underwear with his fingertip.

“Please, Dmitri?—”

He huffs out a soft laugh and yanks my panties down. He kneels next to the couch so he can get them over my feet along with my pajama bottoms. He kisses my ankle, my shin, my knee, then my thigh.

“Are you trying to torture me?” I ask.

Kissing a trail toward my inner thigh, he says, “Don’t you want to savor it?”

“Honestly?” I rub his muscular bicep. “No. I want it now.”

“Greedy girl.”

He heaves himself back onto the couch and kneels between my legs. “Put the condom on for me, baby.”

He’s so gloriously naked, I can barely take my eyes off him to manage the condom. But then I do, rolling it over his tip and down the shaft, caressing him as I go.

He sucks in a breath like he’s in pain, but the tortured expression on his face is all pleasure.

I expect him to lie down and start fucking me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he caresses my hips, my waist. He cups my breasts and tugs lightly on my nipples. He’s still drawing this moment out. Still savoring it.

I’m lightheaded with need. I grip his forearms, trying to direct him, but he grips my wrists and presses my hands to the armrest.

“Let me,” he says.

I nod. “Yes.”

He covers my nose and mouth with one hand. His other hand he brings down my center, between my breasts, past my belly button, and to my pussy.

Soft, rippling strokes against my clit grow firmer and harder. It’s like he took lessons from watching me at Low Vice—this is exactly how I would start.

I can’t breathe, and it heightens everything he’s doing. I slide my legs against his, wishing I could pull him into me.

“Goddamn, you’re wet.” He leaves my clit so he can slide a finger inside.

I can’t speak against his hand, but needy sounds come from my throat.Yes, more, yes.

“Need a breath?” he asks.

I don’t, but he lets me go anyway.

“I was okay,” I say.

“Remember, tap me once to slow down, twice to stop.”

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