My hips are pumping, and I reach behind my neck to untie the halter. My breasts spill free, and I cup one of them. His eyes snap up, and his breathing harshens as I roll my nipple.
“I can do this for myself, you know,” I say, sliding one hand between my legs.
His big hand grasps my wrist with firm gentleness and presses it to my side on the bed. He watches my fingers tweaking my nipple, watches the tip harden and burgeon. I squeeze as much for the sensation as for his reaction, which is a tightening of his mouth. I drag my hand away from my breast and try again to reach between my legs.
“I wanna take this off.” I reach for the crystal clamp.
“Don’t you fucking touch it.” His voice is Brillo and velvet, and the command in it makes me shiver. “I’ll do it.”
And then, my god, he does.
He pulls back the lips, opening me like the petals of a flower, and lowers his mouth to me.
Barely.
His tongue traces the clamp, licking and sucking in little wisps of touch.
“Oh, god, Naz,” I moan. “I need you to—”
“I know, baby,” he breathes over my wetness. “Let me take care of you.”
With his tongue and teeth, he toys with the clamp until it pulls free of my clit. The blood flow that was suppressed all night rushes to that one point on my body in a flood of pain and pleasure. Both wash over me in waves, and I shudder as the sensations do battle in my nerve endings. Before I have the chance to decide if it hurts more than it feels good, he’s there, sucking me into his mouth. Soothing the nerves and stimulating them simultaneously. With one hand, he peels me back and opens his mouth wide over me, ravenous, burying his face between my legs and making grunting, growling, starving noises. The pleasure is so intense, I try to slide back on the bed, to get away, but he holds me in place by my hip, never letting up or letting go.
A coil low in my belly starts unwinding, surging pleasure down my legs and clenching the muscles in my stomach. I scream. Someone said these rooms are soundproof, but I don’t care. The whole group could be having tea outside my door, and there’s no way I could hold back the sounds his mouth is drawing from me.
Finally, I burst, my back bowing, neck arching, hot tears rolling into my hairline, release flowing from me. He pulls my legs over his shoulders, taking my ass into his hands and spreading me open even more.
“You have to stop,” I beg, pressing my heels into his back, sobs wracking my body. “It’s too much.”
He ignores me, his hands running up and down my thighs with reverence, and he keeps licking and sucking. My arms rest on the bed limply, and my head lolls back and forth. I’ve never felt this spent from oral alone. When he finally lifts his head, he smiles at me, the clit clamp held between his strong white teeth.
“You’re crazy.” I breathe out a chuckle, reaching up to run my hand across his hair. He’s so damn beautiful. The most beautiful boy I’d ever seen has grown into a man I can’t take my eyes off.
He gently rolls me onto my stomach and deals with the hidden zip at the base of my dress, then peels the silky material away from my body. He cups my ass, rubbing it, and then I feel his lips, still damp with my release, kiss one cheek and then the other. Slowly, he rolls me onto my back again and tugs me into a sitting position. Still dressed and with his dick at my eye level, he begins removing the pins from my hair. Braids spill around my shoulders. I touch his erection, and he draws a harsh breath.
“Naz, don’t you want—”
“There’ll be time.”
“I want something for you, too, tonight.”
He bends to run his hand from my breast to the soaked juncture of my thighs, slipping the rough pad of his finger over my swollen clit.
“That was for me.” He smiles, but his eyes remain sober. “You’re for me. Do you wear a hair scarf to bed?”
“Um, yeah.” I nod to the bedside table where I stowed some of my things.
He brings it over and gives it to me. “Show me how you do it.”
I wrap the scarf around my braids like I do every night, my hands trembling under his intense scrutiny.
“Do you wash your face?”
“Yeah,” I say, standing, suddenly self-conscious that I’m naked and he’s not. I walk to the bathroom, feeling his eyes on my back and ass and legs. In the bathroom, he grabs a washcloth from the neat stack on the counter. After wetting it with warm water, he brings it to my pussy, gently cleaning me. My breath stutters, and my heart batters my chest from the inside at his tender touch, at the thorough way he uses the wipes on the counter to remove my makeup.
What is this?
Once he’s cleaned me up and removed my makeup, he leads me back to the bed, pulls the coverlet back, and gives me a gentle push into the coolness of the sheets.