Page 20 of Finding Haven
Damn, I’m fucked.
15
Quinn
Havingamanwillingto give me anything I ask for is an intoxicating feeling. I’ve been wondering what it would be like to be back on camera for him since my diabetes interrupted things last time. Not that he ever said or did anything to make me feel bad about it, but I’ve been dreaming of what it would be like to redeem myself. To recreate the moment and give him the experience he should’ve had in the first place.
He isn’t the only person who has requested a private session, but his is the only request I’ve accepted. He’s also the only subscriber who has bothered to make me feel comfortable, to show respect for me as a person and not treat me as though I’m just a vessel for their pleasure.
There’s something about the vaguely familiar deep, gravelly rumble of his voice that settles my racing thoughts, calming my mind and helping me to focus on the only thing that matters right now: Him. Between paying for my undivided attention—twice—and spoiling me with new lingerie, this man has made it very clear that he wants me.
As much as I want to ask to see his face, I don’t think it would be a fair request since I’m not allowing him to see mine. He may very well have his own reasons for needing anonymity on a site like this. I’m not sure why I even felt the need to hide my identity when I started this account. It’s not like I have some high-end corporate job that requiresdiscretion, and I doubt anyone from my personal life would randomly stumble across my account. But now I feel like I would be deviating from what my subscribers have come to expect if I were to suddenly abandon the look.
“You know, Z. . .” My fingertips dip into the front of my lace thong, my gaze locked on the phone’s camera lens to give the illusion that I’m looking directly at him. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion.”
His hand is hidden beneath the fabric of his pants, but his movements are obvious.
“Is that so?” His body shifts against the pillows behind him as he pulls his hand free. Mimicking my earlier movements, he trails his fingers along the waistband of his joggers, the outline of his straining erection visible through the fabric. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I watch him. He chuckles. “Do you want to see my cock, Sugar?”
His words send a fresh wave of heat blazing over my skin like a wildfire. “Please, Z. I wanna see what I do to you,” I say softly, running my hands over the curves of my hips and up the length of my body, cupping my breasts and rolling my nipples between my thumb and forefinger.
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath before he curls his fingers into his waistband. The camera angle tilts as he lifts his hips and uses one hand to tug his pants and briefs down simultaneously, finally freeing his cock. He wraps his fist around his hardened length, running his thumb over the pre-cum pooled at his tip before working it down his shaft. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him, my mouth watering with the sudden desire to swipe my tongue over the head of his cock and taste him.
“You gonna put me out of my misery and finally let me see that wet pussy, baby?” His pace quickens as though the mere idea of seeing my body completely exposed to him is bringing him closer to the edge, his hand twisting over his crown on every other upstroke.
Not bothering to answer his question with words, I crawl off of the bed—making sure to stay within view—and trail my fingertips along my hips, curling them around the edge of the lace and slipping the thong down my thighs and over my pump site until the fabric pools at my feet. Heat blooms high on my cheeks as my body is finally bared wholly to him.
“Fuck,” he moans, gripping the base of his dick tightly in his fist as though he’s trying to stave off his release. “Turn around for me, baby. Let me see that ass.”
The deep timbre of his voice has me eager to obey as I slowly turn around. I shift my body and slide one foot slightly in front of the other, shifting my hips back to give him a better view. I arch my back and raise my hands to comb my fingers through my hair, soft waves falling over my shoulders. The pose accentuates the part of my body he’s asked to see and is one I’ve photographed more times than I can count. I only hold the position for a few seconds before relaxing and glancing back over my shoulder, desperate to see him.
“Get back up there and spread your legs for me, Sugar. I need to see you.”
Crawling back onto the bed, I lay back against the few pillows propped against my headboard. When I first started this account, I never quite imagined I would be doingthisfor anyone. It’s one thing to take photos or film myself on the brink of orgasm when I’m alone, but thethought of allowing a complete stranger to witness my body writhing in pleasure is an exhilarating experience I didn’t realize I was craving.
With my back pressed into the pillows, I lock my gaze on the phone’s screen and slowly let my knees fall to the side. Spreading my legs and slipping my hand between my thighs, my fingertips brush over my clit as a soft moan slips past my lips. As much as I want to close my eyes and succumb to the pleasure of my own touch, I want to seehimeven more. I want to see him and hear the sounds he makes as he falls apart for me.
“Damn, baby. You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he groans. The slick sound of his fist stroking up and down his cock has my pussy pulsing with the desire to be filled.
“What exactly am I doing to you, Z?” I force back the whimper threatening to spill from my lips. Gently rubbing two fingers over my swollen clit, I tilt my head back ever so slightly against the pillows, forcing my eyes to remain open and locked on the screen. If this is the only chance I’ll have to see this man come undone, I don’t want to miss a single second.
“I’m so fucking hard, it hurts,” he rasps, the words falling from his lips on a deep guttural groan as his pace quickens.
My tongue swipes across my lower lip, teeth sinking in as a soft moan escapes me. “Tell me what to do,” I plead, my chest rising and falling with panting breaths.
“Keep touching yourself for me, baby.” His deep voice is barely above a whisper as his grip tightens. The muscles in his forearm tense as he strokes himself faster, twisting his palm over the crown of his cock.
Obeying his command, I slick two fingers through the wetness pooled at my core before swirling my fingers quickly over my clit in smallcircles, moaning as I match his pace. My body is completely spread out for him as I bring myself to the edge of ecstasy, desperate for him to fall with me.
“Fuck, Qu—” The words catch in his throat, his breath hitching before deep, guttural sounds of pleasure rip through him. “Come with me,” he growls. His abdomen clenches as his release takes over and cum shoots from his cock, hitting his chest and stomach.
The sight of him losing control and falling apart because of me is what tips me over the edge. My body tenses for a split second before pleasure takes over, euphoria coursing through me as my orgasm rushes to the surface, my legs trembling from the sheer force of it.
A few minutes pass where the sound of our mutual heaving breaths is the only thing filling the silence before he finally speaks. “Sugar,” he rumbles, his voice coated in a heavy gravel. His camera is still angled to keep his body only visible from the chest down, the evidence of what just happened still decorating his skin. “Are you alright?” he asks, seeming wholly unbothered by the mess that’s spread across his stomach.
This man.
Most men would likely utter some kind of half-hearted thanks and then end things there, but he doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to say goodbye. If anything, he seems to be holding on to the moment just as much as I am. The concern lacing his voice means more to me than it probably should—more than I should let it.
