Page 7 of Touch Me

I straddle one leg, then kiss my way back up, riding hismuscled calf, the brush of the silky panties like an erotic tease against myhungry core.

He’s hard as stone when I take him into my mouth again, andI’m half-delirious with lust as I grind against his knee, my body gettingtighter and tighter, every sensation circling down to one intense point ofpleasure.

He’s close, too. I know his body as well as I know my own,and I draw in a breath, anticipating an explosion that will rival the creationof the universe.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he pushes me away.

“What—”

He lifts a finger to his lips, shushing me. Then he tugs hissweatpants back up, adjusts the back of the chaise so he’s sitting moreupright, and casually spreads his legs before looking at me and saying, “Standup.”

I lift a brow. “Rewinding?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “I think someone took chargewithout asking permission. Didn’t you, Kitten?”

Oh.

I force myself not to smile. Instead, I try to stand stilland stoic, but inside I’m a jittery mess of anticipation.

“Didn’t you?” he repeats.

“Yes, Sir.”

He doesn’t smile, but I think I see a spark of approval inthose gorgeous eyes.

“Stay still,” he orders, and I try not to move as he getsup, goes to the outdoor bar, and pours himself a glass of wine. When he comesback, he sits in the big chair instead of the chaise, his wine on the tablebeside him. “Show me what you want,” he orders, relaxing back in the chair, hislegs slightly spread and his hands on the armrests.

I take a step toward him.

“No. Stop.”

I do.

“I told you to show me.”

The demand I hear in those words whips through me, lashingmy insides in a way that fires all of my senses and sends heat coursing throughmy blood. I draw a stuttering breath, then lift my hands to cup my barebreasts, watching his face as I do.

I’m rewarded by a familiar tightness in his jaw—so verysubtle, but I know it well. It’s a sign that he’s holding tight to control, andthe knowledge sends a burst of power through me. And that one little tastemakes me crave more.

I’m beyond turned on, desperate to be fucked. I’m a womanreduced to nothing but pure desire and a wild craving for the sensation of histouch.

Want. Need.

That’s all I am, and though I try to remember when I’ve beenthis hungry for him, I can’t. It’s as if I’ll die if he’s not inside me soon,and yet I don’t want to sacrifice this sensual dance.

With my eyes locked on his, I slide one hand down my bellyuntil my fingers reach the band of my panties. Deliberately, I hold his eyes,then slowly draw my gaze down, down, down in time with the motion of my hands,so that as I slide my fingers into my slick cunt, I’m looking straight at hiscock. Watching it grow harder as I grow wetter. Knowing he’s watching me,watching him.

But he doesn’t move, and there’s something about the battlewe’re in now that’s wildly erotic. My nipples ache, my skin is on fire, and Ithink I might just die if he’s not inside me soon.

When he lowers his hand and starts to stroke his cockthrough the fleece, I have to fight back a whimper as I rock my hips against myhand, finger-fucking myself as he watches. Wanting to take him to the edge.

I know I’m supposed to wait, but I can’t. I give the band atug, then wiggle my hips, using my free hand to help slide them down until theyfall to the ground, and I’m standing naked in front of him, one hand on mybreast, the other teasing my G-spot as I struggle to stand up when all I wantto do is straddle and ride this man.

I expect him to call me over. To order me onto him. Or forhim to stand, then throw me down onto the chaise and pound himself inside ofme.

But he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still.