Dirty Page 8

  It is immensely satisfying to watch a man get hard at the sight of you. He wore flannel sleep pants, slung low on his hips. They tented admirably when I slid open the coat to reveal the little I wore beneath.

  “How about this?”

  He blinked, his gaze taking me in, toes to thighs to hips to breasts to throat to mouth and at last, to my eyes. He stared at me. My breath caught, my bold act more act than bold. For an instant I thought he’d fail me. That he’d ask me to sit down, offer me a drink. But only for a moment, because he gave me exactly what I wanted with his next words.

  “Take it off.”

  I dropped the coat to the floor. I wore black thigh-high stockings and matching black lace bra and panties. Clothes from the back of my drawer I hadn’t worn in ages. Power clothes, to make me feel sexy. They worked. Watching him watch me tightened my nipples.

  “Get on your knees.”

  I did. He put a hand on my head, his fingers gentle and tangling in my hair. He nudged his hips forward, pushing flannel-covered cock toward me, and I reached for him. I touched him through the soft fabric, stroking, and his instant sigh of pleasure shot desire straight between my legs.

  “Put me in your mouth.”

  He made it so easy for me to do what he wanted. I wanted that. I craved it. Having it made easy for me to not have to decide. I rewarded him with my acquiescence. He took away the responsibility, and I shivered with delicious, illicit joy. There is so much freedom in not having to choose.

  I slid my fingers into the waistband of his pajama bottoms and slid them over his hips, then his thighs. Slowly, slowly I drew them down to his ankles. I let my fingers caress the sensitive backs of his knees. I studied his skin, the pattern of hair, darker than that on his head, the lovely thickness of his penis, standing at attention for me.

  There are women who think getting on their knees for a man is demeaning. That putting a penis in their mouths is dirty, disgusting, a chore, a bother, something to suffer through, tolerate, an act to be borne instead of relished. In some cases I understand why they might find that to be true, but I pity them, nevertheless. They don’t understand how much power they can wield from their place at his feet. How much they can gain by giving him pleasure. I looked up, meaning to speak, and the look on his face stopped me.

  He put a hand on my hair. “You are so beautiful. Do you know that?”

  I don’t like the word beautiful. It’s used for vases, horses, houses and flowers as much as it is for humans. Beautiful is a flattering lie.

  I shook my head a little. “Shhh.”

  His fingers smoothed along the top of my head, then down my cheek. “You want me to say something different?”

  “I want,” I said, and pressed my cheek to his thigh, “you to tell me to suck your cock.”

  His hand twitched on my head, and he groaned a little at my words. “Elle…”

  I smiled. I kissed his thigh, nuzzling the hair, softer on the inside and higher up. I brushed the soft weight of his testicles with my lips, earning another soft gasp from him. “Say it.”

  “I want you to suck my cock.”

  I took him in my mouth, an inch at a time, steadying myself by holding on to his thighs. His grunt was reward. The way he pushed forward into my waiting heat another. The way he whispered my name as he stroked my hair yet a third. I took him all the way in until my lips brushed his belly and then drew out again, pausing at the head of his penis to offer a bit more suction. Then down again, slowly, breathing through my nose and concentrating on discovering every ridge and line along his length.

  I wanted this. The taste of him. The sound of his breath getting faster. The feeling of the muscles in his thighs trembling beneath my fingers as he pushed his hips and put himself down the back of my throat the way I’d put the shot of whiskey he’d bought me the first day we met. I wanted this because in doing this I could think only of this. Of cock, of balls, of thighs, belly, moans, thrusts, of the salty, slippery taste of semen on the back of my tongue as his pleasure mounted.

  “Elle.” He murmured my name. “Elle, baby, stop. I’m going to come.”

  I didn’t stop. I drew another moan from him as I used my tongue on the tender divot on the underside of his prick. I added my hand at the base, moving it along with my mouth so that he was never left without sensation. I used my other hand to cup his balls and stroke my thumb along them.

  He pushed into me so hard it would have choked me had I not been gripping him so tight. I tasted him and his orgasm throbbed against my tongue. He gave a low cry. I took all he had and waited another moment or two until he’d finished, then pulled away from him with a last, gentle suck to end it.

  I got to my feet. In my heels I could look directly into his eyes. He blinked, his hand finding my upper arm and holding it as though to keep himself from wobbling.

  “Wow,” he said at last. His eyes cleared.

  I wiped my lips with my thumb. “Can I get a drink of water?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He pointed to the kitchen.

  I walked across the living room and knew his gaze followed the sway of my hips. The water from his faucet was cold and quenched my thirst. It felt good on my cheeks, too, and on the back of my neck. When I turned from the sink, he was behind me.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” He’d pulled his pants up, though they still slung low enough on his hips for me to see a hint of pubic hair.

  “Well.” Mission accomplished. I’d managed to erase the conversation with my mother long enough to make it easier to put from my mind. Not to forget. That was likely impossible. But far enough to at least ignore. “I’ll be going.”

  He snagged my arm as I tried to pass. “You’re leaving?”

  I looked at his hand on my arm, then at his face. “I thought I would, yes.”

  “Why?”

  I smiled. “Because I’m done.”

  Dan smiled, too, this time with a bit of a harder edge. The way he’d looked the last time I tried to leave. “What if I’m not?”

  I gave a pointed glance to the front of his bottoms. “I think you are.”

  He smoothed his hand over my hip. “I don’t think you are.”

  I tilted my head. “I didn’t come here for that.”

  “You didn’t come at all,” he said, inching me closer.

  “If I don’t care, why should you?” I let him pull me next to him. His hands massaged my lace-covered ass.

  “Elle, did you come over here just to suck me off and leave?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused in stroking my butt to peer into my eyes. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  He looked surprised, and I took the opportunity to step away from him and head for my coat.

  “Elle, wait.”

  I turned, one arm already in the sleeve.

  He caught up to me. “I don’t want you to leave. Stay here with me for a while.”

  “I’m not exactly dressed to play Parcheesi.” I slipped the coat on the rest of the way and started on the zipper.

  “You’re really leaving.”

  “I’m really leaving, Dan.”

  “No.”

  I turned to look at him. “Most guys would love it if a scantily clad woman came over in the middle of the night, gave them a tremendous blow job and left without expecting anything.”

  “I’m not most guys.”

  “You…you didn’t like it?” I covered up the hesitation in my voice with a quick cough and avoided his eyes. My cheeks burned. Without seduction to shield me, I felt foolish.

  He came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back against his chest. “I loved it,” he whispered into my ear. “But I don’t want you to leave just yet.”

  I shivered at his breath on my ear. When his lips touched my skin a second later, I bit my lower lip. His touch felt good, and I did want it. I wanted his hands on me.

  I’ve never made excuses for liking to fuck. Never allowed what
happened in the past to prevent me from accepting the pleasure my body brings me. Much had been stolen from me, but I haven’t allowed that to be taken.

  “You don’t want to leave, do you?”

  His hands came around my front. His fingers slid on the slick vinyl, and he held my breasts. I couldn’t feel more than the weight of his hands. The material prevented any more delicate stimulation. In another moment, though, he pulled down the zip, and cool air once again caressed my skin, already sweating though I’d only had the coat closed for a short time.

  His fingers skidded along my damp skin, and this time when he cupped my breasts, the sheer lace tugged and pulled my nipples erect. I leaned back against him while he nuzzled my neck. His chest was broad, his skin warm against mine in the places we touched. His hands moved over me without haste. He slid his fingers along the lace of my panties, and my hips pushed forward into his touch.

  “You smell so good.”

  I sighed and turned my head. He kissed the side of my neck as his fingers circled against me. His other hand slid inside my bra and rolled my nipple. I shivered at the dual sensation, and he must have felt it because his teeth came down on the curve of my shoulder and he bit me gently, making me moan.

  “I love that sound,” he whispered, kissing the mark he’d left. “You’ve got the sexiest voice. You make everything you say sound like it tastes good coming out of your mouth.”

  I blinked and turned my head to look at him. “What?”

  He smiled. “Just seeing if you were listening.”

  I didn’t have a reply. Most compliments take me aback. I know my strengths. I figure other people do, too. Anything else is flattery or insincerity.

  He looked at me, his hand not ceasing in its slow seduction. “You don’t like that, either?”

  I put my hand over his to stop the motion, but though I wanted to pull out of his arms I stayed still. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?” He passed his thumb over my breast. “That?”

  “No. Say things like that. You don’t have to.”

  He looked thoughtful and turned me a little so we weren’t craning our necks. “I want to.”

  I shook my head a little. “Why? I’m already here. You’re already going to get what you want.”

  He frowned and let go of me. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Is that the only reason you think I’d say something like that?”

  We stared at each other, both of us frowning. I straightened up and adjusted my bra strap, which had fallen over my shoulder. My cheeks heated as he looked me over, and this time it wasn’t from lust. His gaze finally rested on mine.

  “Elle,” Dan said. “If you don’t like me saying that sort of thing, then I guess I won’t. But telling you to suck my cock’s okay?”

  I smiled a little. “Yes.”

  “Just like fucking you in the bathroom was okay but not asking you on a date.”

  “Yes.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, spiking it higher until I itched to smooth it. He took a deep breath and looked back at me. “And you can come over here anytime you please dressed like something out of my ninth grade wet dreams and get me off without letting me return the favor.”

  “Yes.” I smiled a little wider and put my hands on my hips. “Though I haven’t left yet.”

  He studied my face for a minute longer. “Come here.”

  I did, obedient, acquiescent, my heart skip-tripping again. He put his hand on the base of my skull, fingers tight in the back of my hair. He tugged my head back, then took a finger and traced the line of my throat, ending in the hollow of my collarbone.

  “You like it when I tell you what to do.”

  I murmured in assent. The fingertip trailed lower, over the swells of my breasts and down. He touched my navel briefly, then slid his hand back between my legs. My arousal had faded with our conversation, but now it began to return.

  “Why?”

  “Because I think all the time,” I whispered. “And sometimes it’s nice to not think anymore. Sometimes it’s nice to just…do.”

  “Or be told what to do.”

  “Yes.”

  His fingers slid back and forth over my panties, between my legs and up to stroke my clitoris. His other hand kept me still as he looked into my face with such intensity I wanted to look away.

  “Has it really been three years since you fucked anyone?”

  Stung, I pulled away from the hand in my hair and stepped back. “Yes. Why would I lie about that?”

  “Why does anyone lie about anything?” He made no move to come toward me.

  “Yes. It was three years.”

  “Come here.”

  I almost didn’t. But then I did. It took two steps. He grabbed me a little harder this time, and I winced though he hadn’t really hurt me. He pulled me close to his body and put his hand between my legs again.

  “Are you going to tell me what you like, or am I going to have to guess?” He asked, stroking me. “Do you like to be tied up? Spanked? You want nipple clamps and hot wax?”

  “Hot wax?” I tried to pull away again, but he held me fast. His gentle stroke, stroke, stroke between my legs never erred. Heat bloomed beneath his fingers and spread.

  Dan smiled, eyes ablaze. “No hot wax?”

  “I’m…I’m not…” In truth, I was having a bit of difficulty expressing exactly what I was or was not interested in. The longer he stroked me, the fewer words seemed to form on my tongue.

  I put a hand on his shoulder to support myself as his hand moved a little faster. He hit all the right spots with the right amount of pressure, the right pace. I’d never been with a man who could get me off as easily as I could myself.

  “You like me telling you what to do.”

  “Yes.”

  He bent to nuzzle and nip at my neck. The graze of his teeth on my skin pumped my hips forward against his hand. My fingers tightened on his shoulder.

  “I like telling you,” he whispered. “It looks like we both win.”

  He took me into his bedroom and pushed me onto his bed. Not like he wanted to hurt me, but a little rough. I was too aroused to mind.

  “Touch yourself.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He stood beside the bed and stared down at me, his expression implacable. “I want to watch you get yourself off.”

  “If I wanted to do that, I could go home.” I got up on one elbow.

  He shrugged and pointed at the door. “So go ahead.”

  I hesitated, trying to judge him. “You…want me to touch myself.”

  “Yes.”

  I’d never done that in front of anyone before. It wasn’t even part of my fantasy repertoire. I did it anyway, because he told me to. I lifted my breasts in my hands and ran my thumbs over the nipples. It wasn’t the same as if he’d been doing it. I pulled the lace down below my breasts, then licked my fingers and ran the wet tips across my nipples. That felt much better, and I drew in a quick breath.

  His eyes followed my every movement. The front of his pants had begun bulging again, and that sight triggered more desire. I pushed my hand into the front of my panties and found the hard nodule of my clit. I pinched it as I pinched my nipple, working both small tight buds at the same time.

  “You like that?” Dan asked. “Is that what gets you off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you make yourself come that way?” His voice dipped a little deeper.

  “Yes,” I said, as my hand moved faster. I slid a finger down to bring some slickness up over my clitoris. I shuddered.

  “Take off your panties. I want to see you.”

  I did as he said, my eyes on his face the whole time. When I pushed the scrap of lace to my thighs, his eyes centered on my pussy, and I felt his gaze there as if it had physical weight. I touched myself again with him watching me.

  He got on the bed next to me and I thought he meant to take over, but he only watched me
intently. The scrutiny made me falter a bit, but I continued on. I kept the pace steady, even, trying to lose myself in it.

  “Is it difficult for you?” He looked up at me and put his hand on my belly.

  It took some effort to speak. I had to lick my lips first. “Sometimes.”

  “Even when you’re doing it to yourself?”

  I hitched in a tiny laugh, my hand pausing. “It’s hard to do it with you watching me like I’m going to test you on it later.”

  I hadn’t realized how much I was hoping he’d smile until he did, and relief swept through me. He bent to press a kiss to my shoulder. Then another to my neck. His hand moved down to cover mine and he moved them both in the same measured rhythm I’d set for myself.

  “Is it multiple choice or an oral exam?”

  I gasped as he spoke, because he’d slid his finger inside me. He pushed in another, stretching me a little, moving back and forth. The small flame of desire leaped to life.

  “You’re so tight,” he said against my shoulder. “And hot. And wet.”

  He moved his fingers as he spoke, and it was good, but not quite enough. I wanted more. I lifted my hips to his hand and rubbed my clit faster.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked into my ear.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Dan, I want…” The words caught in my throat not from lack of desire but too much of it. “I want you to…”

  “Say ‘fuck me.’”

  “Fuck me.”

  He reached to the nightstand and sheathed himself, first in latex, then in me. He hit my core immediately, and I cried out. He fucked me hard and fast, with very little effort into caring for my comfort…and it was fantastic. I came hard, like lightning striking, and then again like the rumble of far-off thunder. He came a moment later, holding himself up on his hands.

  Breathing hard, he looked down at me. A drop of sweat dripped from his face onto my lips, and I licked it away. He withdrew, took care of the condom, then rolled on to his side and pulled my back against him. Spooning.

  “Did you like that?” he asked. “When I told you to touch yourself?”

  I thought about it, believing he deserved an honest answer. “I didn’t not like it.”

  His hand made a roller coaster’s journey along the slope of my hip and curve of my waist. “What’s that mean?”