I haven’t had a boyfriend in two years. Bringing myself to orgasm is an act I excel at, but it’s different this time. I’m not controlling this, even though it’s my fingers, I’m not in control. Nikolai is.
“Good girl,” he says when my fingers are between my legs, rubbing my clit in the exact circular pattern I need, with precisely the right pressure.
“Oh,” I moan through my own underwear. His fingernails dig into my skin, and it sends me to another level of arousal. I like it.
No. Fuck that. I love it. The tiny bite of pain mingled with all the pleasure he’s giving me. It’s not fair to have so much enjoyment while I have to keep silent. Maybe that’s another form of punishment he’s using. If I’d listened to him and let him take me on a tour of the house, we could be upstairs in a bedroom. No one could hear me. But we’re outside now. In the gardens where anyone can walk by and hear us.
“Do you want to come for me?” he asks, his voice raw and tense.
I nod. What else can I do?
“Then come, Charlotte. Show me you can behave. Show me you can be a good obedient girl for me.”
And it’s that word—obedient—that normally would send me into a rage that heightens my need to explode. It’s wrong, feeling this way, right? But it doesn’t matter. I’ll analyze it later. Right now, I just need to keep rubbing, and feeling his cock fill me with each stroke.
“Obedient girl,” he says, as though he knows exactly what words to stay.
And he’s right.
My body pulls tight like a violin string, then lets loose, rocketing me into a swirling storm of pleasure. I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to keep myself from screaming. It barely works.
“Fuck,” he groans from behind me and thrusts even harder into me as the waves begin to soften within me. “Fuck! Fuck!” His voice gets louder as he pounds into me. Another thrust, then another before he stills inside me.
Several moments pass and then I gently pull my panties from my mouth. They’re soaked and crumpled, and my tongue is dry.
Nikolai pulls free of my body and walks away to the garden wall to take care of the condom. I stand up on shaky legs and smooth out the skirt of my dress.
I see him tuck a handkerchief into his pocket, then he works his zipper closed as he walks back to me. Picking up his belt, he eyes the panties in my hand.
“Put them on.”
“They’re all wet,” I say, somewhat embarrassed.
“I didn’t ask if they were wet, I said put them on.” He works his belt back through the loops.
I glance up at his face to check if he’s serious.
He is.
I guess I’m still learning lessons.
I step into them and pull them up in place. It’s uncomfortable and my cheeks are hot from having to do it, but I think that was his point.
“There.” He smiles at me and runs the back of his hand across my cheek, brushing away a loose curl.
“Do you want me to take my hair down?” I ask; some of it has probably fallen loose of the pins anyway now.
“Are you trying to have the freshly fucked look for when we go back inside?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“No.”
“Then you can leave it up.” He cups my cheek, running his thumb over my bottom lip. “We should get inside before they call us for dinner.” He leans down, brushing his lips across mine. It’s gentle. Featherlike.
I hate it.
I want more.
And the way he looks at me tells me he knows it.
He slides his hand down my arm and laces his fingers between mine.
“Let’s go.” He tugs my hand and like the obedient girl he wants me to be, I follow him through the gardens and back into the house.