Chapter 10
Mikhail
Iwoke to the sound of running water and an empty bed.
Shanice was in the shower. That meant that I’d slept so well that I hadn’t heard her get out of bed.
I didn’t like that at all. What if someone had made it inside and hurt her?
I knew the likelihood of that was almost impossible, but I still didn’t like that I’d slept that soundly.
I lay there for a moment, listening to the faint sound of her moving around, and my body reacted immediately.
I was hard, achingly so, the morning arousal made worse by the fact that I'd spent the night holding her soft body against mine.
Her scent was embedded in my memory so whether or not I actually smelled her right now was debatable.
Then I heard it. Her voice, soft and slightly off key, singing something I didn't recognize. The sound went straight to my dick. I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my face. This was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture. I loved every minute of it though.
Her scent seemed to be everywhere, clinging to the sheets, the pillows, my skin. Floral and something uniquely her, and it was driving me insane. The fabric beneath me still held the warmth of her body, and I could pinpoint the exact spot where her head had rested against my chest.
I needed relief. I hadn’t found relief at all since I’d been in her bed at night.
It was usually my time to think about her while getting off.
Ironically, when she was laying in my arms that couldn’t happen.
Plus, she was usually crying and needing comfort.
That meant my needs had to wait. It’d been too damn long though and now, I couldn’t handle it any more.
My hand moved down my body, palming myself through my jeans. The pressure felt good, but it wasn't nearly enough. I needed skin to skin contact.
I unbuttoned them slowly, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet room. The relief of freeing myself was immediate but inadequate. I pushed the denim down just enough, my dick springing free, already hard and leaking. The first stroke made me hiss through my teeth.
I was rock hard, the head flushed and sensitive. I'd been in this state for days, working myself up with Shanice, touching her, kissing her, tasting her skin, but never taking what I really wanted.
Control, I reminded myself. This was about control. About drawing out the pleasure until it became almost painful. About proving to myself that I could wait, that I could hold back even when every cell in my body screamed for release.
I stroked myself slowly, deliberately, my grip firm but measured.
Base to tip, twisting slightly at the top the way I knew would make it last longer.
Building the pleasure instead of chasing it.
Enjoying myself. A reward after holding back for so long.
My other hand fisted in the sheets, gathering the fabric that smelled like her.
I brought it closer to my face, inhaling deeply as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.
In the bathroom, Shanice kept singing. Something about summer and freedom, her voice happy and unguarded in a way that made my chest tight even as my dick throbbed in my hand.
Still I worked it. Letting the sensations take the lead as I moved my hand up and down.
I even stroked my sac, not leaving it out of the party.
Then the water shut off. I should stop and put myself away before she comes out. I should have some shred of decency. But I didn't want to. I wanted her to see and know what she did to me. She needed to understand that every moment of restraint was costing me.
So I kept going, kept my pace deliberately slow, letting my thumb swipe over the head to spread the precum that kept leaking. The sensation made my hips jerk slightly, but I controlled it, held back, and drew it out.
The bathroom door opened.
Steam billowed out, carrying more of that intoxicating sweet floral scent. Then Shanice appeared, wrapped in a towel that barely covered her, her skin still damp and flushed from the hot water, her hair covered in some kind of shower cap.
Shanice froze when she saw me. Her eyes went wide, her lips parting on a sharp inhale. Her gaze traveled from my face down to where my hand was wrapped around my dick, moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
Meanwhile, I didn’t miss a beat. I didn't stop.
Didn't hide what I was doing. I just kept stroking, slow and steady, my eyes locked on hers. I squeezed my erection at the tip, closed my eyes briefly while savoring the sensation, and then opened my eyes to hold her stare. I licked my lips when she didn’t shy away. Showtime.
"Mikhail," she breathed, her voice barely audible.
"Morning, baby," I said, my voice rough and deep. I didn't stop moving nor adjust my position. I just lay there against her pillows, one arm behind my head, the other working my length with unhurried precision.
Her gaze dropped again to my hand, watching the movement. I saw her throat work as she swallowed, saw the way her chest rose and fell faster beneath the towel.
"Can I help?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands clutched the towel tighter.
"No."
The word came out firm, final. I squeezed myself a little harder, twisted my wrist at the top, and had to bite back a groan at how good it felt.
Shit.
"But—" she started as she took a step in my direction.
"Stay right there, Shanice." My voice came out commanding, authoritative. The same tone I used when I needed someone to obey without question. "Don't move. Don't come closer. Just watch, baby."
She obeyed, rooted to the spot about six feet from the bed, her hands clutching the towel. Water coated her shoulders, running in rivulets down her chest, disappearing beneath the terry cloth.
I kept stroking, kept my pace slow and controlled even though every instinct screamed at me to rush, to finish, to find release.
But where was the fun in that? Where was the torture, the delicious agony of denying myself what I wanted?
And since I couldn’t have her the way that I wanted, I’d settle for looking at her fine ass while I got off. She could watch.
My eyes traveled over her body. The curve of her shoulders… The way the towel molded to her breasts, showing the shape of them, hinting at the nipples I'd had in my hands yesterday morning. The expanse of her thighs, strong and soft all at once.
I wondered if she was wet. If watching me was affecting her the way I knew it was.
"How was your shower?" I asked conversationally, as if I wasn't currently stroking my dick while staring at her.
She blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "I... what?"
"Your shower. Was the water hot enough?" I ran my thumb over the sensitive head, collecting the bead of precum there, using it to ease my strokes. The sensation made my abs tighten, and made me want to speed up again. I didn't.
"Yes," she managed. "It was fine."
She wasn’t though. I could tell that it was killing her not to be doing something right now. She wanted to come over here just as much as I wanted to pin her against the wall with her legs around my waist. We were both suffering.
"Good. You were singing. What was the song?"
"I don't... I can't remember." Her eyes were glued to my hand, watching every movement. "Mikhail, please."
"Please what?"
"Let me touch you."
"No." I stroked myself base to tip again, slower this time, making sure she could see every detail. "You're not ready for that yet."
"I am ready," she insisted, taking a small step forward.
"Stop." The command in my voice halted her immediately. "I said don't move."
She froze again, and I saw her thighs press together. Saw the way her breathing had gone shallow and fast. Saw the flush spreading down her neck and across her chest. She was affected. Good. It wouldn’t do anything for me if she wasn’t.
I adjusted my grip slightly, changed the angle, let my head fall back against the pillow with a low groan. The pleasure was building, a slow burn in my spine, in my balls, spreading through my entire body.
But I wouldn't rush it. Wouldn't give in to the urge to speed up and chase the release. This was about control. About showing her what restraint looked like. About making her understand that when I finally took her, it would be because I chose to, not because I couldn't help myself.
"Do you know what I'm thinking about?" I asked, my voice rougher now.
"What?" The word came out breathless.
"Last night. Holding you while you slept.
Feeling your body against mine. Knowing I could wake you up and have you if I wanted.
" I stroked myself harder, just once, then returned to the slower pace. "Kissing your neck. Playing with those perfect tits. Making you come just from touching you. How damn responsive you are. I can only imagine what you’ll sound like when I’m finally inside you. "
Her breath hitched. Her hands loosened on the towel slightly.
"I'm thinking about how wet you must be right now," I continued, watching her face. "How badly you want me to stop being patient and just fuck you already."
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I want that. But you insist on making me wait. You think I’m not ready, but I am, Mikhail. So, yes, I want you to fuck me already." The frustration was heavy in her tone, but I liked that, too.
"I know you do." I squeezed myself tighter, my hips starting to move slightly, fucking into my own fist in small, controlled thrusts. "But you're not getting it. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow either."
"You're cruel."
"I'm thorough." My breathing was getting heavier now, the pleasure building higher despite my control. "There's a difference."
Shanice's breathing grew heavier as she watched. Her thighs pressed together again, and I saw the exact moment need overrode embarrassment. Her hand slipped beneath the towel. The sight of it, the knowledge of what she was doing, nearly broke my control completely.
"That's it," I murmured, my grip tightening involuntarily. "Touch yourself for me. Show me how much you want this."
Her hand moved beneath the fabric, and I could see her arm shifting, and could imagine exactly what she was doing. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, then dropped to watch my hand again, then back to my face.
"Tell me what you're doing," I commanded.
"I'm..." she swallowed hard. "I'm touching myself."
"Where?"
"My clit," she breathed, her cheeks flushing darker.
"For me." I heard her gasp. "Keep going. Don't stop, baby. Make that pussy whimper for me."
I increased my pace slightly, still controlled but building now. My balls were drawing up tight, my whole body starting to tense with the approaching orgasm. But I held it back, forced myself to stay on the edge without going over.
Shanice's hand moved faster beneath the towel. Her other hand came up to grip the fabric at her chest. Small sounds started escaping her throat, little whimpers and gasps that made my dick throb.
"Are you wet?" I asked.
"Yes," she whimpered.
"How wet?"
"So wet. Mikhail, please."
"Please what? Use your words."
"Please let me touch you. Please fuck me. Please something, anything." Her voice broke on the last word, desperate and needy.
God, she was perfect like this. Desperate, wanting, and completely undone. I heard the sweet sounds of her arousal as she played in her wetness. There was something about it that was always music to my ears. A wickedly erotic symphony that I could listen to on repeat.
I stroked myself harder, faster now, still not rushing but letting myself build closer to the edge. My hips lifted off the bed slightly, fucking into my fist with more purpose now. I now at the point where rationalization was fading and my body was taking over, needing this damn release.
"Not yet," I managed, my voice strained. "You're not ready yet."
"I am," she sobbed, her hand moving frantically now. "I swear I am."
"Not yet." I was close now, so fucking close. The pleasure was coiling tight in my spine, my vision starting to blur at the edges. "But very soon."
Her movements became more frantic, her breathing coming in sharp pants. The towel started to slip, revealing the nipple of one breast, and she didn't even notice.
"Mikhail," she whimpered. "I'm going to come."
Those words, that confession, sent me over the edge.
"Then come," I growled. "Come for me, Shanice. Let me see it."
She did, her whole body shuddering, her mouth falling open on a silent cry. Her hand stilled beneath the towel, her thighs trembling. The sight of her coming, knowing it was because of me, because she'd watched me pleasure myself, destroyed what little control I had left.
I came hard, my release spilling over my fist and onto my stomach, my body jerking with the force of it.
I kept my eyes on her the whole time, watching her watch me.
Seeing the hunger, satisfaction, and renewed need, all warring in her expression.
My orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me until I was completely spent.
For a moment, we just stared at each other, both breathing hard, both wrecked.
Then I stood, crossing the room to her. She looked up at me, her hand still beneath the towel, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and wanting.
I took her wrist gently, pulled her hand free from beneath the fabric.
Her fingers were slick with her arousal, glistening in the morning light.
I brought them to my mouth and sucked them clean, one by one, tasting her. Sweet and musky and absolutely perfect.
She made a sound low in her throat, somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
I released her hand and leaned down, bringing my mouth close to her ear.
"Get ready for class," I murmured, letting my lips brush against her skin. "You can’t be late."
"Mikhail," she protested, her voice weak. She leaned toward me, and I was powerless to stop her. She pulled my mouth to hers and I let her have this moment. She took what she needed, slipping her tongue into my mouth to tease mine.
I pulled away first, feeling myself ready to cave. Not yet.
"Times ticking, Shanice." I straightened, heading for my room. I walked out, leaving her standing there, flushed and thoroughly wrecked.
It took everything I had not to turn around, throw her on that bed, and finish what we'd started. But not yet. The anticipation was half the pleasure. The waiting, the wanting, and the knowing that when I finally took her, it would be worth every agonizing moment of restraint.
Very soon, but not today.