Page 29 of Date and Switch

I stood totally naked, ready to open my legs and mount him condoms be damned, and he wanted me to sing?

“You’re nude.”

He said as if the air turning my nipples into razor blades hadn’t made that abundantly clear. He released his cock from his strangle hold, though it remained stiff and upright exactly where he let it go. He leaned forward, running his fingers up my inner thigh, holding me hostage in his gaze while he watched my insides dissolve with pleasure.

“I want you naked. I want to witness the convergence of your physical beauty, with the beauty of your soul.”

I felt his lips trace the curvature of my breast. He ran his cheek along my breastbone before taking a downward journey against the curve of the other breast. My back arched, silently begging he find one of the two stiff peaks that were desperate to be suckled.

“Open.”

I opened my mouth, assuming that’s what he meant. The gentle slap against the inside of my thigh told me I’d opened in the wrong place. His fingers traced my lower lips, from clit to ass and back again.

“Are you going to sing for me?”

The cool air rushed against my heated core, as he scissored his fingers and opened me for his inspection.

“W-w-what should I sing?”

I could barely stay balanced. My entire circulatory system seemed on the fritz. Each quadrant of my body felt as if it beat to an entirely different pulse.

“Something that Mr. Dinner Theater has never heard. Something you love. Something that feels like a flower blossoming in the sunshine.”

I felt like somewhere in the span of the last half hour my brain morphed into cotton. I couldn’t process thought. Each time I tried to grab hold of an idea; it would slip out of my grasp just before it could be voiced.

“Don’t think, angel. Feel. I want to watch you sing what you feel. Not what someone else wants you sing. Not for faceless people in a room.”

I opened my mouth and trusted something would come out. The first shaky bars of “Nessun Dorma” from Turnadot tinkled in the silent room.

“That’s it, angel. I knew it would be beautiful. Keep singing.”

He pulled me closer, by the hips, so I stood, straddled above the exact place he worked his cock. Mere inches separated his tip from my slit. Each motion of his hand kissed against my clit.

The proximity and our brief moments of contact had me breathless. I couldn’t keep proper breath control for my aria. My mind swirled. My body swayed, confused by all of the stimulus coming from too many sources.

“Do not come.”

Up to that point his voice had been seductive yet commanding. A lasso tossed out to try to reel me in. His directive not to come felt like the biting sting of a horse crop—and it only pushed me up that summit faster still.

“Not until the song is finished, angel.”

He cupped my pussy, rubbing his whole palm in wide circles across my swollen lips.

I was almost at the end. Just the crescendo and then three notes and the song completed. I nodded my understanding, straightening my spine to allow for my lungs to expand to take in all the air needed to hit the B4. Just as I rolled into the note, Bryce speared me with three of his fingers. He mercilessly fucked into me, teasing my clit with his thumb and I detonated, choking out the last two words of the song.

nineteen

I needed to make her sing every time we fucked. Watching her come apart on my fingers in tandem with an operatic crescendo? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything hotter. Within seconds of her finishing her song, I was covered, and in her. Her warm, slick depths still fluttering with the remnants of her orgasm.

“Angel.” Her soft curves melded against my body, the fruity smell of her still damp hair tickling my senses.

“Oh shit, Bryce,” she flexed and rolled her hips, inviting me deeper into her heavenly body. “That was so intense. I—oh god. Yes, keep doing that.”

Her back arched, her hands wrapped around my neck, and she trusted me to keep her safe as she leaned back, fucking against my hips.

“This is…it’s so…”

Her sighs and moans became a new song. One I would gladly have a front row seat to every day of the week. Every night too. Hell, if my supply lasted long enough, a little afternoon delighted sounded fucking perfect.

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