Page 47 of Strelitzias in Spring

The decision is an easy one.

Climbing from his lap, I stand on wobbly legs and walk across the room, standing close to the wall opposite my couch. I don’t hesitate to make quick work of my shoes and sweatpants, slipping them off with a haste I’ve never experienced before. With Devin, I remained partially clothed and fully mortified before and after the encounter.

With Wolf, I’m finding his authoritative tone and bossiness intoxicating rather than annoying, and his words addicting.

When I’m standing in front of Wolf in just my tank top and ridiculous underwear, I pause, slowing down the frenzy that overtook me.

“The shirt, too. Keep the panties on,” he orders, leaning back on my couch and spreading his legs wide. His position has his cock straining against his pants, and I zero in on the bulge. “Eyes up here, princess.”

I jerk my gaze back to his face. He wears a smirk like he’s used to women ogling his penis as he orders them around. I tilt my head, considering that he probably is used to women standing before him, in various states of undress, and doing whatever he says as quickly as he says it. Jealousy courses through my veins at all of the women before me and all who will be after me; I know it’s irrational, and while my mind understands that I have no right and no claim to this man, the idea of him with someone else makes my skin crawl and my ire rise.

“Would you rather I cut it off you and tie you to your bed, princess? Because I’m about three seconds from going into your disorganized-as-fuck kitchen cabinets and finding a knife to slice that shit off your body.”

“I just cleaned,” I grumble.

I watch Wolf’s face as I work the thick straps down my arms and step out of the shirt, feeling powerful when his jaw clenches and his hand flexes like he’s physically restraining himself from breaking his control. Leveling him with a stare, I bite down on my lip, worrying my flesh between my teeth as I stand before him—almost completely naked except for the fabric covering my pussy.

The silence is deafening, and his stare is a weight pressing against my stomach, a boulder that seems to amplify the tension swarming us in the room. His eyes are trained on my body, drinking in my near-nakedness with a neutral expression, as though he’s not affected in the least.

Annoyance skates over me, and I hold onto it like a life preserver. Here I am, on display, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look affected or interested. Setting my jaw, any apprehension I had fades away, and I grit my teeth, steeling my spine for the very bold, very un-Serena-like thing I’m about to do. Like the siren he claimed me to be when I first met him, I raise my hands until I’ll cupping my boobs and pushing them together, an offering on display for Wolf to take. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches me.

“Pinch your nipples.”

I follow his order, not necessarily because he told me to; I was already planning on paying attention to the nipples that pebble against the coldness of the room and the warmth from his stare. Readjusting my grip, I glide my forefingers, middle fingers, and pointer fingers from the swell of my breasts to the tips of my nipples and let my thumbs rest at the top of my chest while my pinkies remain along the bottom curve. In this position, my hands and fingers create a frame, simultaneously plumping and pushing my boobs out while also operating as nipple clamps.

Pressing my forefingers and ring fingers against my areolas, I let my middle finger rest against the tip of my nipple, rubbing gently while I exert more pressure against the sensitive flesh. Lost to the sensation, I throw my head back, not paying attention to Wolf’s reaction or how he’s processing my display. Running my fingers in circles, I pinch harder, relishing the pain mixed with the light stimulation.

A moan slips into the room, and I’m startled to realize it’s mine; the sound is erotic and loud, needy and impatient, adjectives I’ve never used to describe myself. I don’t wait for Wolf to bark out more orders; keeping one hand on my chest, I let the other trail down, losing myself in the sensation of my hands on my body and the performance I’m giving as a byproduct of my annoyance. I inch my fingers closer to the waistband of my panties, letting my pinky rub across the seam in gentle, unhurried strokes before I allow myself to dip my fingers under the fabric and edge them down my legs, kicking them across the room in my haste to be rid of all clothing. I allow my fingers to glide across the smooth skin between my thighs, reveling in how soft my flesh feels.

Closing my eyes, I block out everything other than the pinching, caressing, and attention I’m paying to myself, letting Wolf and any wants he may have fade into the background. I doubt I would even hear him if he spoke—or demanded—anything at this moment.

“God,” I mutter, unable to keep the word in when my fingers make contact with the wetness between my thighs. I’ve been turned on before—hell, I’ve masturbated and given myself orgasms, so I know what arousal feels like. But this? This is different. It’s like a valve is loose, and I’m leaking. I don’t know if I should be mortified or proud, but I can’t find it in me to care.

I plunge one finger inside my opening, spearing myself with just the tip to get used to the intrusion. I sway back, catching myself against the wall and leaning into it, using it to hold my weight as I dive deeper, fingering myself until my third knuckle is buried inside my pussy.

My single, slim finger isn’t enough, and I add a second, scissoring the digits and stretching myself until the intrusion is almost uncomfortable, on the precipice between pleasure and pain. I increase my speed, tweaking my nipple in time to the thrust of my fingers, and I’m so close. So fucking close that all I need is to rub against my clit, and I’ll be coming, going off like a—

Rough hands pull my fingers out and my hand away from my breast, throwing them against the wall and holding them in place.

My eyes pop open, and I look down, stunned to see Wolf on his knees in front of me.

“Wolf.”

“That’s fucking right, ‘Wolf.’ Fuck your fingers tomorrow night; tonight, you’re coming on my tongue.” Wolf lowers his face, leaning in until his nose is at the apex of my thighs, breathing in my scent like a sommelier nosing wine. “You smell fucking delicious,” he speaks into my flesh, and his lips graze the insides of my thighs, sending tingles up my spine. I open my mouth to speak, to ask what he’s going to do, when his mouth descends, halting every question on my mind.

With his hands still caging my arms against the wall, he uses his jaw to work my legs open, twisting his head until he’s situated fully between my legs, and sits on his heels. He laps at me with his tongue, licking up my wetness with noises that can only be described as audible feasting.

Writhing against him, I grind into his mouth as his tongue flattens, applying pressure against my clit before sucking it between his lips. He pulls on it, taking it between his teeth and nipping at it; a burn breaks out in my core before he releases it, soothing the sting with a slow lick that seems to hit every nerve in my vagina.

Wolf pulls back, and I can’t help but look down; the wetness on his lips and jaw a testament to how turned on I am. Meeting my eyes, he licks his lips like he just ate the most decadent dessert and is savoring the lingering flavor. “Fucking delicious.”

“Wolf, I—”

“… need to come on my tongue. You’re right, princess.” He dives back in, giving me another long, slow lick before his tongue settles on my opening. My eyes widen as I feel his tongue delve inside, spearing in and out like he’s fucking me with his mouth. His nose hits against my clit, giving me the friction I need as his tongue continues to drive in and out of me.

Unable to stop myself, I ride his tongue, grinding against it as though it was his cock inside of me. My hands clench into fists and fight the urge to pull against his hold, even though I want to drive my hands into his short hair and pull him close, fight him for control, and come on his bruised face.

He must sense my need because, without breaking his rhythm, he releases my wrists and grips my hips, guiding me as I ride his face. I give into temptation and grab his head, pulling him impossibly closer until I feel the start of the eruption.

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