Page 80 of Whiskey Splash

But suddenly he’s close, right in front of me, both of his hands swinging up to each side of my shoulders. His palms slap against the stone as he cages me in between his muscled arms, boxing me in with his nakedness. The proximity of him makes every part of my body beg, his searing eyes promising to make me scream louder than when I dragged my pussy against his tongue.

He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The hover of his body is a dare.

His mouth only inches from mine, his entire posture taunting me to reach out, slip my fingers over his skin, down his abs, over his most impressive part. We’ve been joking about his cock for days, but now it’s time for me to take him—between my lips, between my legs.

My heart is racing with how badly I want him, my body weak and his dominating position spinning my brain. This is all happening so fast. The fact that he’s even here is enough to have me reeling, but the fact that he’s above me with his wide chest and arms—naked, vulnerable, ready.

I gulp down the balmy air, his eyes waiting patiently, asking permission to swallow me whole.

I lick my lips and break his stare, daring myself to look down the front of his body, over the robust planes of his chest, the muscles of his stomach and legs, and then—at his cock.

I take my time savoring his gorgeous, weighty manhood, something I would normally look away from, normally too private and personal. But in the dripping steam I caress him with my eyes, exploring his shape, thick and beautiful, his chest breathing heavily as I savor it. The girth of him drags a breathy moan from my throat and I feel Desmond’s mouth brush against my forehead, smiling at my admission. The mere sight of him making me wicked.

“I know what your hands feel like,” he says huskily, “all over my body.” He’s talking about that day on my massage table, when my hands first explored his velvet brawn. “Almost every inch of me knows your talents.”

I burn, knowing he means the beautiful part of him I’m now looking at. A hint of guilt trickles through me, aware that he’s made me come and cry out, but I—I’ve made him moan and thicken, but I haven’t brought him to completion.

I lift my gaze to those amber eyes, seeing the kindness behind the desire, the kindle of an emotion that ties us together, knowing his posture isn’t a demand. It’s not even a plea, so much as a question.

Are you ready? Do you trust me?

I clutch the tiny towel draped across my front, my nipples peaked against the cotton. It’s such a tiny shield for all that’s bursting within me, my desire, my boldness, my need. This vulnerability that wants to trust him with all of me, to blossom as much as surrender.

Symbolic and literal, I drop the towel. Peeling away and exposing parts of me I want him to know, to touch, to unearth in my skin. The fabric slips away between us, releasing a growl from him, the falling cloth a whisper but also a lashing.

The towel pools at my ankles and I take the slightest step forward, my nipples brushing against his chest as my eyes flutter at the wickedness of it. Prickles of heat tighten the hard buds, shooting ripples of pleasure across my breasts, down my ribs, keeping my pussy swollen.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me as my hands fall to his hips, the contact a whisper, my fingers a phantom ghosting up his abdomen, his chest, slipping around to trace his back muscles. His eyes hold me, intensely, watching my every reaction, my every fleck of excitement and nervousness as I tread this tightrope of discovery. The reverence in his eyes, the waking tenderness of it, consumes me in a way his body can’t, his hands still flat against the tile, his strapping arms still caging me in. But his eyes, they feel every fingerprint I lay on him, every quiet kiss of devotion.

I angle my head, softly opening my mouth and brushing my lips against his. It isn’t a kiss, so much as a caress, a breathless wandering as the tips of our bodies touch. I reach down between us and delicately lift his cock. He groans at the tickle of my fingers as I tip him upward and I lay him against the soft pillow of my belly, sandwiching his heat between our navels.

“You undo me,” I breathe, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and tugging softly, inviting him to take my mouth, my heart, my body.

Desmond cups my neck delicately, but his mouth is unleashed, ravaging, drowning. I moan as his tongue claims me, runs against my teeth, opens me till I’m gasping. The tiny pressure of his hand at the base of my skull is wildly erotic, but his cock pressed between our stomachs has me lascivious and raw, the undulation of our bodies thickening him.

His hunger grows, our bodies carnal and molding, my breasts raking against his steam-slicked chest. A thunderstorm of electricity shooting bolts between my legs. His second hand finds the small of my back, fingers tickling the top of my ass, unweaving me in hot pulsing breaths. But it’s the new pressure, the way his hand curves my hips and stomach against him, the way it slips his cock indecently between our stomachs, fusing us tight, making him grunt and fist my hair and bite.

It unleashes the beast inside of me.

I kiss him hard, ruthlessly. The wet fog making our skin so slick, my hands can’t stop slithering—over his shoulders, his ass, his wickedly muscled back. Desmond presses me harder against the wall, angling his weight into me and sandwiching me between the callous wall and the scorching brand of his body. I whimper, achingly empty, dragging one of my drenched legs upwards and hooking it over his hip. Desmond hisses as the new position slides his cock closer to my open trembling.

I pump my hips, my bare pussy quivering at my hedonistic need to climb him, to have both of my legs wrapped around his waist and his cock deep inside me.

“Against the wall?” Desmond asks, repositioning his hands so they’re lower and gripping my ass. “Is that how you want me?”

I moan into his neck, his words shooting straight to my empty core.

“Tell me how badly you want me inside you right now,” Desmond demands, and I cup the sides of his face and kiss him passionately, my tongue sliding against his. I nip and devour, wanting to taste every dirty word he’s just said. My hips grind against this thickness, but he pulls away slightly, moving the position of his hand, thrusting this thumb deep inside me.

“Oh god!” my nails dig into his shoulders.

“My cock’s much bigger,” he teases, probing with his thumb before pulling it out to ring my clit with my own juices. I let out an intelligible sound, something barbaric and whimpering, becoming liquid as his thumb teases. “Ask me to fuck you,” he says harshly in my ear, sucking my earlobe into his mouth roughly. He rings my clit again as I moan into his neck. “If you don’t ask, I’m not going to do it.”

I’m pumping against his thumb, trying to use his hip for leverage as my ass slaps against the stone behind me. My pussy sucks on his rough finger as I invent a whole new language of growling.

“No no no,” he whispers, pulling his thumb out of me and lifting my head, running his thumb over my delirious mouth with my own slickness. “I need words. Real—” his hand drops to my breast, kneading it’s swollen weight. “English.” His mouth drags over mine, tasting my greedy heat. “Words.”

I nip at his mouth before he can finish his sentence. “Yes!” I growl. “No more damn foreplay, Desmond! I need to know how your cock feels inside my cunt!”

---