I felt myself begin to quiver. And his gaze shifted, his expression turning almost cruel with hunger and command.
“Don’t you dare come,” he told me. “You need to work for it this time.”
One hand gripped my hair again. The other shifted to my waist, holding me against him as I arched back a little.
But nothing else was up to me.
And I loved it.
First, I had to fight off my own orgasm. And once again, it was years of fighting back my body’s various urges that helped me. I didn’t dare to disobey him, but I didn’t ask myself what I thought he might do if I did.
I fought the need to come. I caught myself at the edge, shook with the effort but pulled myself back.
“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly.
And that went through me like another shudder.
I glanced to the side, thinking a break in the intensity might help me maintain my control.
And I could see us in the window’s reflection. Whoever we were.
A big, strong man. And an angel.
My wings flowed over the backs of my arms, and I arched my back to make them fall even more beautifully toward the floor. A move that lifted me up and got his cock even deeper inside me.
And then I rolled my hips, experimenting with the feel of it and ignoring the protest in my thigh muscles.
I didn’t care if it hurt.
All I cared about was doing exactly what he told me to do.
Again and again, until it swept us both away.
I used my thighs and my core, and my grip on his wide shoulders. I lifted myself up, using my internal muscles to grip his cock all the way. And right when I got to the tip, I settled myself down again.
And that felt so good, so deep and full and glorious that I laughed a little.
I saw him look to the side, taking in that same reflection. I arched back even farther, dramatically, then gasped a little when he put his teeth to the side of my neck.
And then I did what I’d come here to do.
What he’d told me to do.
I fucked myself silly on him.
I found the count, the pattern. The lift and then the settle. The shimmer in my hips.
Again and again I rose up, then dropped myself down, until I lost track of the fact that this was another kind of performance. I was too drunk on the sensation of it. Too wild.
“Please, sir,” I said, then began to chant. “I need to come.”
“Too bad,” he growled in reply.
So I fought my body even as I shook and grew wetter, hotter. Wilder by the moment.
There was no sound in the room save the two of us.
Our bodies, wet and hot, coming together over and over. Harsh breathing, his or mine, I could hardly tell.