Page 117 of Heart of Stone

He ran his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, then back up to cup my breasts. Grabbing a handful of curls, he pulled my hair aside and started nibbling his way down my neck.

“I’m never going to shower if you keep that up,” I chided halfheartedly. A shiver raced down my spine and a small moan escaped me.

“I could just turn around and go back to the kitchen. Is that what you want?” He teased. He slid his hands down my belly, but deliberately stopped short at my pelvic bone.

“No,” I breathed, frustrated that he didn’t continue traveling south.

“Well then, Miss Cole. Do you mind if I join you?” he propositioned.

“Why, not at all.Sir,” I played in return. I was about to make a jest about calling him sir, but was abruptly silenced when he spun me around. In one swift motion, he picked me up under the arms and had my legs scissoring around his waist. Before I knew it, I was in the shower, back pressed up against the wall, his mouth pressed against mine.

“Mother of god, you’re perfect. The things I want to do to you…” he trailed off, moving his lips down my neck. I pressed my back against the wall, pushing my hips up hard against him, only to discover the rough feel of denim.

“Alex! You still have your jeans on!” I exclaimed in shock.

“I guess I do,” he said impishly. He spun us so that he could lower me down onto the shower bench.

After unbuttoning his fly, he pushed the wet material down his legs. I giggled when I saw him struggle. His movements were normally so graceful, that to see him wrestle with the soaking wet jeans was quite comical.

“You should have thought things through a little better before you assaulted me,” I laughed. He ignored me, so concentrated on the task of removing his pants from around his ankles. Once they were completely off, he tossed them out of the shower into a wet heap on the bathroom floor. Turning back to me, his eyes were dark.

“I’m going punish you for mocking me,” he promised. “I’m going to make you crazy with need, so much so that you won’t even be able to think straight. But you’re not allowed to come. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I tightening in my belly formed, turned on by the idea of being kept on the edge.

“Spread your legs. I want to see your sex wide open for me. And no matter what I do, you’re not allowed to move unless I tell you to.”

My breathing quickened in anticipation as I did what he asked.

Alexander pulled down a detachable showerhead from the wall and performed a slow dance down my body. Starting with my head, he moved the water flow down each arm, over each breast, until the pulse of the spray stopped over my mound. He rested the showerhead on the bench, keeping the water flow shooting against my now throbbing clit. However, the spray was just enough of a tease, lacking enough pressure to actually get me off.

It was outright torture.

Standing up, Alexander retrieved a bottle of body wash. Squirting some of the soap onto his hand, he made quick work of building a soapy lather. He began massaging my shoulders, fingers slipping up and around my nipples, and eventually working all the way down to my feet. When he moved up me again, his hands slowed to knead my upper thighs, making his way ever so torturously over my pulsing clitoris, that was still aching for release from the subtle pressure of the shower head.

“I’m going to shave this glorious pussy of yours. I want to see your juices glistening all over your lips.”

What?!?!

I supposed it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. A lot of women shave or wax it. But it was one thing to take care of the business yourself, and another to let someone else do it for you. I could help the foreboding thoughts over allowing another person to put a razor on the most sensitive part of my body.

“Um,” I hesitated.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, exerting just a little more pressure onto my clit. I leaned my head back and moaned, savoring the way he fondled, pinched, and flicked at the swollen nub.

“Yes,” I sighed.

“Then close your eyes. I just want you to feel.”

When the shaving cream hit my mound, I found myself spreading my legs even wider to give him better access to spread the cream over the tender folds. When I felt the initial swipe of the razor move across my skin, I gasped with pleasure over the unique sensation.

Alexander was careful, moving the blade with calculated precision, intent on the task at hand. My initial anxiety was replaced by pure desire, a most erotic turn on that was unexplainable and indescribably intimate.

“You’re so wet,” he said, sliding his fingers along my cleft. “Slide down a little on the bench.”

Once I shifted my position, he took hold of both my legs and placed them over his shoulders. Spreading me wide, he ran the razor across the newly exposed areas, stretching me open so as not to miss anything.

When he was finished, he gently massaged the freshly shaved lips while rinsing away the remaining cream. Without warning his finger pushed against my puckered rear hole, the sudden pressure catching me by surprise.

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