How do you make yourself come? I want to see.”
I shake my head.
“I don’t,” I mumble. He raises his eyebrows, astonished for a moment, and his eyes
darken, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” His voice is soft, challenging,
a delicious sensual threat. He undoes the buttons of his jeans and slowly pulls his jeans
down, his eyes on mine the whole time. He leans down over me and, grasping each of my
ankles, quickly jerks my legs apart and crawls onto the bed between my legs. He hovers
over me. I am squirming with need.
“Keep still,” he murmurs, and then he leans down and kisses the inside of my thigh,
trailing kisses up, over the thin lacy material of my panties, kissing me.
Oh… I can’t keep still. How can I not move? I wriggle beneath him.
“We’re going to have to work on keeping you still, baby.” He trails kisses up my belly,
and his tongue dips into my navel. Still he’s heading north, kissing me across my torso.
My skin is burning. I’m flushed, too hot, too cold, and I’m clawing at the sheet beneath
me. He lay down beside me, and his hand trails up from my hip, to my waist, and up to
my breast. He gazes down at me, his expression unreadable, and gently cups my breast.
“You fit my hand perfectly, Anastasia,” he murmurs and dips his index finger into the
cup of my bra and gently yanks it down freeing my breast, but the under wire and fabric of
the cup force it upward. His finger moves to my other breast and repeats the process. My
breasts swell, and my nipples harden under his steady gaze. I am trussed-up by my own
bra.