I lean forward, bury my face in her sex and just breathe her in for long moments. But she’s restless, tense, her whole body stretched taut on the razor’s edge between desperation and satisfaction. I know I should send her over, should put her out of her misery, but I’m not ready for it to end yet. Not when she looks so good, feels so good. And not when I want to see how much higher I can take her.
I lick my way along her labia, relishing the way she presses her hips forward in a silent plea for more. In answer, I thrust my tongue and my thumb inside her at the same time.
She gasps, starts to fall forward, but I hold her in place with the hand I have resting on her breastbone. Hold her still so that I can touch and kiss and take every part of her. So that I can drive her right back to the edge without ever hurtling her over.
Again and again and again, I tease her with the promise of release. Of ecstasy. Again and again and again I stop right before she climaxes.
“Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian.”
My name is on her lips, my scent on her body and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Aria right now. Leaning forward once again, I press wet, open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, her mons, her clit.
She screams this time, sobs, as her body bucks wildly against me, trying to throw me off. And through it all, her hands stay planted firmly against the glass, as she was instructed. But no matter how well she submits, no matter how well she stays with me, at this moment I’d be a fool to think the rest of her body was screaming anything but no, no, no. Her breathing is agitated, her hips jerking against me, and her whole body is heaving and shaking like she’s just come off a day-long crying jag.
I’ve pushed her too far.
Anger surges through me at the realization. This is my fault. Aria is in this state because I took her here. She’s so responsive, so susceptible to what I want to do to her that she slid further down the rabbit hole than I had ever intended her to. I slipped up on my own control, didn’t monitor her closely enough. I pushed her too far, too fast.
If I could reach it, I’d kick my own ass.
But I can’t and doing so wouldn’t solve Aria’s problem anyway. Not in the state she’s in.
“Aria.” I say her name firmly, quietly. Then wait to see if she responds. If she even hears me past the hammering of her heart and the high, keening cry that’s coming from deep in her throat.
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t acknowledge by so much as a look that she’s heard me. She’s too far gone, her head thrashing back and forth, hips rocking, body undulating. And damn me, but she’s a sight to behold. Flushed, shaking, desperate. Her body bruised and aching. She was born for this, her body soaking it up like rain. Born to submit. Born to control.
But she’s too far gone and no matter how beautiful she is to me, I can’t leave her like this. So locked in her own head, her own body, that the rest of the world has all but ceased to exist.
“Aria.” I say her name more firmly this time as I place one hand on her abdomen, use it to press her hips back against the window and hold her firmly in place. It’s obvious just from the short time I’ve known her that she needs boundaries to buck against. But she also needs someone to hold her to those boundaries. To hem her in when she pushes too hard against them, as she’s doing right now.
But she needs someone to take care of her, too. To coddle her and soothe her and put her needs first. Which is why I use my other hand to stroke her hip, to calm her down.
“I’m right here, Aria,” I whisper in between gentle kisses to her thigh, her hip, her stomach. “I’ve got you.”
Eventually, she stops writhing against me and her breathing calms down to some semblance of normal. But when her eyes open slowly, I can tell she’s still under. She might be looking down at me, but she’s not seeing me. She’s in deep, her eyes glassy and just a little bit lost.
Fury at my own stupidity flares to life once again. I beat it back, bury it deep—there will be time enough for that later. For now, I need to take care of her.
Cupping her breast in one steady hand, I rub my thumb across her nipple at the same time I thrust two fingers deep inside her and crook them, looking for her G-spot.
It only takes a few seconds to find it. And then I’m rubbing against it, once, twice, then again and again as I flick her nipple with one thumb and circle her clit with my other.
She comes then, with a gasp and a shudder and a cry that rips all the way through me. I don’t let up, not yet. Instead I work her through first one climax and then a second one, only stopping when her body once again sags against the window—this time with relief instead of desperation.
I push to my feet, gather her in my arms. She feels so fragile now, so delicate, and I realize, suddenly, that she always was. Aria might act bold and brash and ready to take on the world, but inside she’s soft and breakable and desperately in need of care.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her lips.
She doesn’t answer and a quick look at her eyes tells me everything I need to know. She’s not back yet, not really.
I glance around the room with a muttered curse, for the first time noting that there’s no damn couch to sit on. No place for me to hold her against me and gentle her back to herself. Figuring one of the despised chairs will do, I start to pick her up.
She stops me with one word. “More.”
Before I can process what she’s asking, she’s got herself wrapped around me like a limpet, her arms and legs and body intertwined with mine.
Instinct has me resting a hand on her ass, pressing her hips against my still-hard dick. “You want to come again, baby?”
I hope that’s exactly what she means. I’d love to spend the next two hours, the next two days, doing nothing more than making her come. Just the thought has me gritting my teeth and fighting my own orgasm. Something that becomes exponentially more difficult when she presses a hot kiss to the skin right below my ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me, right here against the window.”