Page 63 of Deception

The movements, the touches are sharper, rougher.

And just the right amount of pain to make me tremble inside, my knees weakening, my pussy throbbing in anticipation of him.

His other hand runs down my belly, cupping into my crotch, two fingers spreading me open and slipping along my folds, back up, exposing my clit in a shock of bliss.

Every time I think, I hope, that he’ll bury one of those fingers inside me, he pulls back, waiting. Taunting me. He drags those slicked fingers up, rolling in tight circles, building my pleasure up, raising me closer to my threshold.

My clit is aching, almost as much as my center, desperate for him to touch it again every time he slides back down, hinting at my opening, making me insane.

“Stop torturing me and do it!” I bite for his lip and he smiles, pulling away.

He knows just how to touch me. There's an intensity to this, a control that he’s savoring with each arch of my back. When I reach for him to grip his shaft, to squeeze him, he dodges my hand, pinning it against my side.

“Not. Yet.”

He cups his hand between my legs again, raising me up onto my toes, yanking gently back on my hair to force me to tip my head back for him. Only then does he hook two fingers impossibly slowly into me, curling to press against the perfect knot of lust swelling inside me.

My eyes drag back, my lids fluttering. But I want to look at him, to keep his stark, simmering gaze locked on mine.

I feel myself getting wild, losing control, just as he takes control.

I can’t take much more of this. I need him.

Now.

But he’s holding himself back. Contained.

Unlike last night, he’s plotting, carefully rationing my pleasure and enjoying every sweet second of my misery.

Keeping the tension on my hair, he spins me to face the water, letting it patter onto my chest as he presses against me from behind, the curve of him fitting perfectly into me. I feel him slide between my ass cheeks, between my legs, my folds spreading over his shaft.

His arm encircles me gripping my torso closer to him, claiming me as his, just as my hand drifts down to stroke the tip of him poking out from between my thighs. A sharp inhale hisses in my ear at the touch and I open my mouth to say his name, to sing his praise…

But his hand clamps around my throat, just hard enough to silence me.

There’s not an ounce of fear in me at the gesture, just acquiescence.

Still, he doesn't give me what I want.

He doesn't fill me. He just keeps alternating, dragging those two delicious fingers up. swirling around my clit before driving them back down again. And as he does, he slides back between my cheeks, allowing his fingers to slip in, then back out, thrusting himself between my thighs, back and forth.

Even that sensation is scintillating, overwhelming.

The whole time, his arm loops around me, keeping me supported, keeping me floating just above him as he slowly rocks his hips back and forth thrusting his cock across my cunt.

This time when he drives his fingers in, he shifts, sliding up between my buttocks, grinding and finding a bit of satisfaction for himself.

There’s the animal in him, the creature he keeps carefully leashed, barely held at bay.

I rest my head back against his shoulder, opening my eyes to see him studying me, looking for any sign of hesitance at his grip around my neck.

But I hold his gaze.

Pushing down that little thrill, that hint of terror that this man has killed before. He could kill me and there’s nothing I could do about it.

It makes me hate him.

And hate myself for how much I love it.

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