Page 61 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
I swallow, painfully aware my hand is holding his throbbing cock.
“You’ve never done this before.”
I’m about to shake my head in agreement, but he applies pressure to my chin, holding it in place. “It’s not a question.”
He lifts his gaze to the ceiling for a second, then drops it back to mine. “You sure you want to do this?”
OhGod. No? Yes? I want—Ineed—to do something.
I nod. “Tell me what to do.”
His other hand is still in his pocket, his cock jutting into my stomach, regardless of my grip around it.
His jaw unlocks. “Hold it firmly,” he orders. “Then stroke me from the base to the tip. Slowly.”
I do as he asks, and each time I try to look down to check I’m doing it right, he pinches my chin.
After a few strokes, a hoarse groan feeds its way out of his throat. The place he stroked with his tongue the day before starts to throb but I drag my focus back to his cock. It’s growing longer, thicker and so much firmer in my hand.
“Come closer,” he says.
I have to aim his cock upwards so I can step intohim. My hand grazes his T-shirt and mine as I rub him up and down.
My head tips back even further as I maintain eye contact, like he told me to. Both our lips are parted and our breaths mingle, growing heavier and deeper.
His eyes close and he hums an untethered moan, then his lips form a word. “Contessa.”
My thighs part instinctively, and my panties feel soaked. Oh God, am I going to come from just doing this to him?
My mind flashes back to the point at which I was desperate for him to finish me and the little devil in me takes over. I pause the movement of my hand and watch his lids pop open. “Do you hate me, Benito?” I ask innocently.
His lips part and a tight breath escapes them. “Yes, my little brat. I hate you.”
OhGod.
I tighten my grip and stroke him harder. I love how these simple movements are unraveling him. And I love how he can’t seem to control his response to me. I have him literally in the palm of my hand and I’ve never felt so powerful.
His eyes close again and he clamps his hands to each side of my face, then he pulls me toward him and presses his left cheek to mine. His breaths pump into my ear, long and tortured.
Then he starts to whisper.
“That’s it, honey… Just a little harder…Un… Perfect...”
My legs shake. He called me ‘honey’ and now I think it might be my favorite word.
“That’s my little brat… Oh Jesus…Contessa…”
Hearing my name on a note of desperation makes everything below my waist swell. I press my cheek into his, and his fingers caress a trail from my nape to my shoulder blades.
“Lift up your shirt,” he whispers softly.
I do as he asks. I guide his cock beneath the fabric and press it against my breasts.
“I’m going to come all over you, little brat,” he says, his voice cracking like ice falling into warm whiskey.
I tug at him once, twice… On the third stroke he groans and grips my face so hard it hurts. I feel his hot semen flood into the canal between my breasts. His body shakes as it expels every last bit and he seems heavier against me, panting from the exertion.
Quietly, I dip my fingers into the pool of come and pull a trail of it over my breasts. His breaths slow and his cheek releases from mine with a gentle pull on my skin.
