Choosing Her Lover

Chapter 21

‘Mine’…?

Am I his…?

I think I am….

He waits, saying nothing.

Waiting for my reaction?

Yes, I think so.

Biting my lower lip, I cup my breasts in my hands, lifting them, thumbing my nipples, pressing them together to exhibit my cleavage.

His eyes follow my movements. He’s keeping his cool, but I think I see the press of his erection showing. As I circle the darker halos of the areolae, the skin crinkles tighter and his pupils, widening, turn his already shadowed eyes all but black.

“Enough,” he says. My hands freeze in mid-movement.

His eyes lock with mine, then indicate down.

“You want me to….?”

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I slip fingers into the top of my panties, his eyes tracking the movement. “Take them off,” he says. “I want to see you; all of you.”

In truth, I am only too happy to take them off. My pussy is running hot, streaming and my panties are hideously uncomfortable. I strip them away to reveal my dark curls, glistening wet. Uncertainly, I run my fingers through the moist hair. I can scent my own arousal….

And of course, so can he….

His eyes not leaving my body, he picks up his glass from the side table, tasting the wine, a deep velvet crimson in the dim light.

“Don’t stop there,” he says. “I want more than that. Lie back. Open your legs. Show me all of yourself. Show me what I’m going to taste.”

My breath catches again.

I lie back onto the covers but laid out so flat, I’m not comfortable, and it is not easy to reach myself.

Quickly, he stands from the chair, pulls pillows from the bed. “Raise your head and shoulders,” he says. “I want you to be able to move. And I want to see your face as well as your cunt.”

I’m not used to the coarse words. They should offend me, but instead, I well hot and liquid.

Now, propped against the pillows, I can look him in the eye again. Perspiration runs down my face and I’m sure that my mascara must be running, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

“Fuck yourself,” he says, his voice with a deep, gravelly edge. “Show me what you want me to do to you; where you want me to touch you, how you want me to touch you.”

He stands over me, the wine glass still in his hand. He sips at it, watching me with his midnight gaze.

“Why are you being shy? I want to know you. I want to see you.” he insists.

My knees are slightly parted, but he nudges at first one, then the other with the glass, easing them wider. “Show me,” he demands.

I think that he will sit in the chair again, to watch me, but instead, he sits beside me on the bed, close enough that I scent him. He smells of musk and lust and sex and masculinity and…. I want this man…. I want to give myself to him and I want him to know me….

And now I spread my thighs wide, as wide as I am able. His lips don’t move, but his eyes smile as they travel from my face to my pink and parted folds, and back again.

“That’s better,” he says. “Show me, and I’ll give you everything you ask for. Everything you want.”

In a heady mix of lust and excitement, wantonness and desire, I trace the line of my swollen, almost melting folds with fingers that glide, wet and slippery from my pussy to my clit.

“Show me your sweet spot. Show me what you want me to do, where you want my tongue.”

I thumb away the hood of my bud….

“You look beautiful, you know,” he says. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, aroused like that. I can see that you’re embarrassed, but please don’t be timid with me. Give yourself to me. Show me what gives you pleasure.”

Ah, Jeez….

“You’re fucking with my head.” I pant.

“Of course I am,” he says smoothly, quietly. “All good sex starts in the mind. Where else would I start fucking you except in your head? Now…. I don’t want to repeat myself, show me what gives you pleasure.”

And now I start to work myself in earnest, sliding fingers over myself, rubbing my clit, working the tip and the root. Ryan watches closely, his gaze intense as his eyes follow my movements.

“Fuck yourself,” he says. “I want to see your fingers inside.”

And I obey, pushing inside myself as deeply as I can into my hot and swollen core, while silently, he watches.

Then…. he moves, quickly…. He takes my hand, pressing it down, pinning it to the duvet. Kneeling at the edge of the bed, he breathes warm over my streaming pussy.

And where my fingers had worked, his mouth follows, like fire streaking through me, where my fingers work circles around my clit, his tongue winds spirals over the sweet spot. Where my fingers drew languorous trails through my folds, he laps moist heat over pussy lips, and where I delved my pussy, he mouths and sucks my entrance, tonguing in deep, wiping through against quivering flesh as I moan and wail my way through rising climax.

And as he takes me, as he possesses me, as he makes me his, I want nothing more than to have this man own me, for him to claim me, body and soul. I want to dissolve into him. I want to have him inside me, head, heart and mind. I want him to take me, in whatever way pleases him, because in pleasing him, I know he will pleasure me.

And as I ride the wave, the swell of orgasm rises in me, blooming up from my core in an ecstatic, rhapsodic surge. Flesh convulsing, I know that I am howling out my climax, my body writhing and straining, hands gripping, seeking an anchor on reality, but my mind is serene, my soul calm.

Like a ship finding safe harbour, I know I have come home.

And as my flesh calms and the world focusses around me again, he is there, now naked….

When did he undress?

….. his weight above me, his flesh plunging within me, as with his arms tightly around me, his mouth on mine again, he takes what is his.