Page 11 of Taken By the Kingpin
SEBASTIAN
I give her a few seconds to knee me in my already blue balls. Several more to be certain. Then every possessive instinct in me is unleashed.
She’s mine to please, for now.
“Lift your skirt.”
She hesitates. “But the window… Anybody could see…”
“Uh huh. Have you got knickers on, or is your sweet little pussy going to be exposed to all of London?”
We’re far too high up for anyone to see, but the hitch in her breathing suggests that’s not a barrier to her enjoying the game.
There’s a rustle of fabric as she drags up the silk. It rucks around my hand and I glide my palm to the naked skin of her thighs, exploring until I touch cotton. I almost laugh. Of course my girl has cotton knickers on. I bet they’re white too.
“So sweet…” I push the waistband of her knickers aside and slide my fingers in. She’s so wet it’s seeping out of her slit, soaking before I’ve even touched her. I can’t hold back a groan. “And yet so needy. Spread your legs, angel. Bare yourself to me.”
I nudge her inner thigh with my knee and she shifts her legs further apart. And that’s what I want. Her willing compliance after her spirited fight.
I reach further into that silk. Her folds are plump, swollen with need. I push through until I find her pearl and stroke it.
She makes a little keening sound and my cock, if possible, gets even harder. I circle her clit with two fingers and she leans back into me. The scent of her is part roses and part pure arousal. She fills my senses, too delicious.
“No one else has done this, have they? Touched you here,” I demand.
She shakes her head.
A lion in my chest roars,yes.
I want to be her first everything. I don’t know how I’m going to let her go tomorrow, or how I’ll survive the rest of my life without her. This day I’ve bargained for will have to feed years of desire. A memory to sustain me like dwindling rations eked out by an apocalypse survivor.
My other hand creeps around to the slinky front of her dress, pushing it off her shoulders and to the swell of her breasts. She’s not wearing a bra, and hell but I like that. Small but perfectly formed, her tits are perfect. I cup one and brush my thumb over her nipple. It perks under my ministrations, and I love how responsive she is, like her body is attuned to mine.
She’s tucked into me now, her back pressed to my chest and trapped on the other side by the glass.
I make rhythmic circles over her clit, listening to her soft moans as I give her exactly the escalation of pressure she needs, pinching her nipple too.
That squirm of her bottom into the top of my thighs is tantalising. Much as my cock insists on attention, and it’s tempting to rub myself into the small of her back, I don’t. Her pleasure is all that matters. I could wrap my hand around my cock on my own later and think of her—though I won’t do that either—but I only have this one opportunity to give her this. For the first time, too. There will only be once that she has never before come with a man. I want it to be with me, and it has to be spectacular.
I’m succeeding. She’s disintegrating in my arms, shaking with the intensity, slumped back against me, her honey waterfall of hair over my chest. But she’s not there yet, and though rubbing her this way is a simple but effective way to bring her to orgasm, I can do more. One advantage of big hands.
I shift my fingers down so the heel of my thumb covers all of her clit and I slip my forefinger deep into her heated wet folds, and then… There. I push into her tight passage as I press onto her clit.
That does it. She breaks, clenching around my finger and writhing as pulse after pulse of her orgasm overtakes her. Her soft moans fill up my soul as I ease her through it, thrusting my finger in and out. I hold her and whisper that she’s doing well and I’m proud of her, like she’s bearing a trial. But she comes so intensely, I suspect it might feel like an ordeal. It’s minutes until she begins to hold her own weight again.
I let her inch away, even as every one of my limbs clamours that she remain with me, and that we do that repeatedly. At very least, I wish she’d turn and kiss me.
She doesn’t. Her cheeks flush and she drops her skirt. I remove my hand from her knickers, but smooth my palm over her mound as I release her. A promise. I’ll be back for more, as soon as I can.
“Sorry,” she mutters, and looks away.
“No.” I grab her chin and make her look at me. “None of that.” My voice is stony, even to my own ears. “You don’t apologise to me for what I did.”
“But I didn’t… You’re—”
“I don’t know who told you that you had to say sorry, or be ashamed for wanting something for yourself.” Though I could guess. Her father. “You accepted what was offered. You don’t have to give back to deserve what should be yours by rights. Not with me. Never again, you hear?”
As she nods there’s a fight of emotions on her face. Relief, embarrassment, disbelief and happiness are the ones I see, but she’s a kaleidoscope. Everything, this girl. But there is one emotion I don’t see, and that makes my heart glad.
