“Someone could come,” I whisper, my gaze not lifting from where I palm him.
His reply is a low rumble as he pitches forward, his mouth moving down my neck. “Not from a little over-the-pants action.”
“You know what I mean. Someone could come in. Someone could see.”
All at once, his hands seem to be everywhere as he palms my backside, lifting me against him. Pressing, rubbing, growling, he ignites such a need in me as he backs me into the wall. I try to hook my leg around him, but my skirt is too tight. It doesn’t matter because he rewards my enthusiasm anyway by cupping my breast in big hand. My body bow as his thumb skims across my nipple in a shiver inducing caress.
“Someone should come.” His lips touch my ear, his voice dark and soft before he makes a hot, wet trail down my neck. “That someone should be you.”
My whimper sounds like an agreement. He makes quick work of the tiny buttons of my blouse, sliding the fabric from my shoulder, taking the stretchy camisole with it. One shoulder, then the other, down my arms until it pools at my waist.
“I dream of sliding my cock here.” He presses his teeth to the curve of my breast, his finger sliding down my cleavage. “Seeing your skin covered in pearly strings.” Everything inside me contracts at the picture he paints. “I’d rub myself there until I became hard again when I slide my cock into your mouth.”
“I think… I think I’d like that.” There probably isn’t much in my imagination I wouldn’t let him do. And like.
He laughs a low, carnal sound. “Beautiful, filthy girl.”
His body is an elegant arc as he bends to suck my nipple into his mouth. When he blows lightly over the damp peak, my moan reverberates around the room. I slide my hands into his hair when he gives a reproving click of his teeth and tongue. Taking my wrists, he presses them against the wall.
“No cage. No cuffs,” he whispers, pressing them above my head with a squeeze, an unspoken order. Don’t move. “Be a good girl.”
His mouth brushes mine, once, twice, my body pulsing, blood turning molten in my veins. Being touched in the dark, my pleasure commanded, just heightens everything for me. It makes me feel like I might burst from the slightest touch. But Niko’s next touch is not so gentle as he drags my tight skirt up my legs, higher and higher until it meets my blouse, bunched around my waist.
“Pretty,” he whispers, his gaze trained between my legs. My pussy aches as he presses his finger to the top of my underwear. Down it trails, over the gossamer fabric, skirting past the place I pulse for him, sliding over the tops of my lacy holdup stockings. “I wonder…” His words tail off as he traces an absent circle against my bare thigh.
“Yes?”
His eyes lift to mine, cool blue shining with intensity the second before his full hand cups me. “I wonder how wet you are.” I moan as he grips me, my sounds amplified when his thumb slides down my slit.
“Niko, please,” I whimper as he presses and pets over the thin lace of my underwear.
“I like it when you beg.”
I’m all soft want and aching gasps. His touch is so deft, but I need more. And he knows it.
“Tell me, darling. What can I do for you?”
“I need you. Touch me, please.”
His eyes never leave my face as he hooks my underwear to the side, pushing his thumb between my folds. I gasp, but my relief is short-lived as he lifts it to paint a wet trail across my lips. He kisses me then, plundering my mouth. My hands pressed by my head, my body arches from the wall as he thrusts two fingers inside me. This is no tentative swipe or gentle press, his fingers driving inside me again and again.
“You look so beautiful riding my hand.”
Pleasure spirals through me as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth. Pinned by him at both ends, he owns my body, owns my pleasure, forcing it from me in pulsing waves. I’m so lost to the moment, wound so tight, I don’t immediately realize his fingers aren’t inside me when he drops to his heels, pulling my underwear with him.
“Show me,” he demands. He tap the inside of my right thigh in further instruction. Heat and mortification washes through me. It feels so wrong as I step wider. The kind of wrong I crave with him.
His low groan dissolves any conflict I feel, my whole body shaking with need as he slips both thumbs inside me, exposing me to his view.
“You’re so wet, my darling.” The compliment sounds as though dragged over gravel, his eyes fixed on where I’m spread. Like he can’t get enough of me. “But we can do better, can’t we?”