Page 16 of Tempted to Touch

"Please," I gasp out immediately. "I need it. I don't know why, but I do.Please."

Iampathetic.

But however low I may be thinking about myself right now, Hayden seems to disagree.

"Mmm, that's right." He grunts, his voice much rougher now. "That's what I like to hear. Let that slut out."

And before I can process whether that turns me on or offends me, I moan as Hayden complies, sliding his long, thick finger inside me, all the fucking way, and crooks it, pressing the pad against my wall, exploring. Searching.

I lean back down until my mouth finds his cock just to distract myself, but all I can do is press my face against it and breathe him in. Because he finds it.

He fucking finds it.

And he knows it, too.

"Ahh, would you look at that," he drawls. "That perfect little spot.Myperfect little spot.Mine."

He accentuates every word with a press of his finger against my prostate, and I no longer know what to do with myself.

My cock twitches and throbs and gains a heartbeat of its own, and my balls are painfully heavy, begging for release. "Oh, shit," I pant out as he starts alternating between playing with my prostate and sliding his finger in and out of me,fast, like he's competing in a finger-fucking Olympics.

He's winning, too.

"God. Don't stop." My words get muffled by his cock pressed against my mouth. It'd be dangerous to suck him now. I might accidentally bite him.

"Mmm. Why would I stop?" To show me just how much he's not stopping, he adds a second finger, stretching me out. It's a delicious burn. "Why would I stop when you take it so good, hm?Needy. Fucking. Mess."

"Ahh. You're gonna make me cum." I growl through my teeth, my hips bucking back to take his fingers in deeper, faster.

He laughs. It's fucking cruel. "Don't you even dream about it. Not until I allow it."

He thinks he's the boss of me.

He's right.

I grit my teeth and clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, hoping whatever little pain it provides will somehow mitigate the pleasure.

It doesn't. Not when he's rubbing my prostate with every thrust. Not when he stretches me like that. And definitely not when he grabs my cock and strokes me, fast and shallow, squeezing my head every time he touches it.

I'm dancing on the razor's edge and I'm about to fall.

And Hayden knows it. To him, I'm an open book.

He lets go of my cock with a final, satisfying squeeze and the pace of his fingers slows significantly, but not to the point of stopping. "That's right. That's exactly where I want you."

And with that, he withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty, shaking. And fucking frustrated.

My ass still hangs above his head, hips still rocking back into the empty air. I forget to be shy. I don't care anymore.

When he gives my ass a gentle slap and says, "Come," my hand shoots straight to my dick. I manage to give myself two strokes before he laughs and grabs my wrist, stilling my hand. "Not like that." Another slap. "Come with me."

"Wha—" I utter, unmoving as Hayden maneuvers himself from under me, gets off the bed, and stands in front of me, hand reaching out for me to grab. "Come."

Is he fucking serious? "You think I can walk right now?" I ask, but somehow find the strength to crawl off the mattress and stand beside him. Barely.

He takes my hand and drags me behind him.

"Where are we going?"

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