Chapter 23 #2
It's surprisingly hot. I never thought being objectified like this could be a turn on. But it is. The way he's looking at me, touching me, like I'm a piece of art he's about to defile... it's fucking sexy.
My head falls back against his shoulders, and a soft moan escapes my lips.
"Mmm," he murmurs, nipping at my ear. "Someone's enjoying themselves."
"You're a bastard," I breathe, my hips rocking against his hand.
"So I've been told," he says with a low chuckle. He pulls his hand away from my pussy and holds it up in front of my face. His fingers are coated with the very obvious evidence of how I really feel. "Time to wash up."
He leads me to the enormous glass shower and opens the door. He doesn't wait. He steps inside, pulling me in with him.
He turns on the water, and a dozen different showerheads come to life, spraying us with warm, pulsating water from all angles. It's like being caught in a warm, tropical rainstorm.
The water streams down my body, washing away the sand, the stickiness, the evidence of our earlier encounter. The warm water makes me more aware of my sun-kissed skin. It's a baptism of sorts, a cleansing of the old self.
He picks up a bottle of shampoo, a clean, masculine scent that is all him. He squirts some into his palm, then starts to wash me.
His hands are strong and sure as he washes me from head to toe thoroughly.
My hands are busy too. I'm washing him, my fingers sliding over the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the powerful muscles of his back. I'm memorizing him too. Storing away the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him.
My hands stray lower, and I wrap my fingers around his hard length, stroking him from base to tip. He's so big, so thick, so perfect.
He groans, and my head fills with a dark delight. I'm not the only one who's affected.
But before I can do more, he grabs my wrist and pulls it away.
"Not yet," he says, his voice rough.
He turns me around to face the wall and positions my hands on the warmed tile. "Don't move," he commands.
My heart hammers against my ribs frantically in anticipation and fear. I have no idea what he's going to do, and the not knowing is both terrifying and exhilarating.
He picks up the soap again, squirts a generous amount into his hand and starts to lather my back, even though he already did it. He washes my shoulders, my arms, my waist, my hips.
Then he moves lower, his hands cupping my ass, his fingers kneading my flesh. His fingers slide into the cleft between my cheeks, teasing my puckered hole.
I gasp, my body tensing with a shock of pleasure and a hint of alarm.
"Relax," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."
But he is. He's hurting me in the best possible way. He's pushing my boundaries, testing my limits, showing me a side of myself I never knew existed.
He slides a finger inside me just a little, and a cry escapes my lips. It's a strange, unfamiliar sensation, a fullness that is both uncomfortable and intensely arousing.
He moves his finger in and out, slowly. His other hand slides around to my front, finding my clit, rubbing it in leisurely circles, taking his time.
I'm trapped, caught between the dual sensations of his fingers, one in my ass, one on my clit. The pleasure is so intense it's almost painful.
My legs start to tremble, and I have to lean against the wall even more for support. The water streams down my body, a warm, cleansing tide that's at odds with the dirty, decadent things he's doing to me.
"You like that?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.
I can't speak. I can only nod, my body a quivering mass of raw, exposed nerve endings.
"You like being touched here," he says, gently sliding another finger into my ass, stretching me just a little more.
A strangled gasp escapes my lips, and I push back against his hand.
"Answer me," he demands.
"Yes," I pant. "Yes, I like it."
"Good," he murmurs, and then he pulls his fingers away, leaving me feeling empty and aching.
He finishes cleaning both of us and shuts off the water. Then he picks up a thick, fluffy towel and starts to dry me. He's gentle, almost reverent, as he pats my skin dry, taking care with every inch of my body.
When I'm completely dry, he wraps the towel around me and hands me another to wrap around my hair, then picks me up as if I weigh nothing and carries me out of the bathroom.
He lays me on the bed, my body sinking into the soft, luxurious linens. He's still naked and wet, and the sight of him, all hard muscle and raw masculinity, water drops sliding down his skin, takes my breath away.
He stands over me, just looking. He's not just looking at my body, but at me, at my face, at my soul. He's stripping me bare with his gaze, peeling back all the layers I've so carefully constructed over the years.
And for the first time in my life, I don't want to hide.
"What's the next step?" I ask, my voice a barely there whisper.
He doesn't answer right away. He just continues to look at me, his expression unreadable. Then, a smile spreads across his face. It's a slow, devious smile that promises wicked things.
"Next," he says, and "you give me your towel."
I give him a confused look.
"I'm all wet, and I only had two towels, Teresa," he says innocently.
I know for a fact that's not true. There was a whole stack of them in the bathroom. He's playing a game with me. Testing my willingness to obey.
I pull the towel from my hair and hand it to him.
He takes it and tosses it over his shoulder. "That one's soaked. Won't do me any good," he says.
Looking him in the eye, I slowly unwrap the towel from my body, holding it out to him.
He takes it, his fingers brushing against mine. A spark of electricity arcs between us.
His eyes roam my body as he slowly dries himself, but he seems to be in no hurry. He's enjoying the show, the sight of me lying naked on his bed, waiting for him.
I bite my lips as my eyes follow the progress of the towel as he rubs it over his chest, down to the ridges of his abdomen. He takes special care to dry the area around his hips, but pointedly doesn't touch the rigid cock still pointing at me.
He knows exactly what he's doing. The bastard.
When he's done, he tosses the towel onto the floor, then walks to the dresser. He pulls out a bottle of some clear liquid and comes back to the bed.
"Do you want more champagne?" he asks, sounding like a perfectly polite host.
"I want you to stop teasing me," I say, my voice a little sharp. A little demanding.
He chuckles. "Patience, Doctor. All good things come to those who wait."
"I've waited enough," I say, my patience wearing thin. I'm done with the games. I'm done with the teasing. I want him. Now.
"No, you haven't," he says. “Roll over.”
I give him a dirty look, but I do as he says. A shiver runs through me as I settle onto my stomach, my breasts pressed into the soft sheets.
The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and straddles my thighs.
I hear the soft 'click' of the bottle opening, and then the sound of his hands rubbing together. A light, subtle scent of coconut and vanilla wafts through the air.
Then his hands are on me again, strong and sure as he works the massage oil into my skin. He starts with my shoulders, his thumbs digging into the tense muscles, working out the knots.
It feels incredible. Heat spreads through my body, loosening me up, making me melt into the bed.
He works his way down my back, his long, strong, skilled fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. He knows exactly where to touch, exactly how to touch me.
I've had professional massages before, but this is nothing like that. This is intimate, erotic.
He moves lower, his hands kneading the fleshy globes of my ass. He gets dangerously close to my back entrance again, but doesn't touch it.
I can't help the needy whimper that escapes my lips.
"Someone's eager," he teases.
He moves back up to my ass, his hands parting my cheeks. The cool air hits my exposed skin, and I gasp.
"So pretty," he murmurs, and a fresh wave of heat washes over me. I've always been so private about my body, so self-conscious. But with him, I don't feel shy. I feel... bold. Daring.
He drizzles more oil onto my ass, then slides a finger between my cheeks, circling my puckered hole. I gasp, my body tensing with anticipation.
He pushes a finger inside me, and a cry escapes my lips. It's still a strange, unfamiliar sensation.
But this is different from the shower. This is slower. More deliberate. He's exploring a part of me that’s never been explored before.
He moves his finger in and out, slowly, stretching me, preparing me for something bigger. Something I'm not sure I'm ready for.
"Relax," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "Breathe."
I try to obey, but my body is tight with tension and anticipation.
He adds another finger, and I cry out, my hands clutching at the sheets.
"You can take it," he says, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "I know you can."
His other hand slides between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in slow, lazy circles. The dual sensations are overwhelming, a pleasure so intense it's almost painful.
He stops, and I feel his weight press into me. His hot, hard cock is sliding against my ass cheeks.
I gasp and jump, trying to get away. I can't help it. Instinct. Fight or flight.
"Just relax," he says. "We're not there yet."
I realize he's just leaning over me to grab the bottle of oil again and feel stupid.
My cheeks heat as the blush works its way down my neck and across my chest.
I'm not sure what he's doing right now. I hear the bottle of oil pop open, and I know he's doing something, but I'm not sure what. I turn my head and lift it to see.
He gently pushes my head back down to the pillow without a word. It's a command, but a gentle one. And, to my surprise, I obey without hesitation.
His weight is back on me in an instant, and I can feel the heat of him right behind me. He's not in me yet, but he's closer. Dangerously close.
"What's the next step, Vito?" I ask, my voice a little shaky.
"The next step," he murmurs, "is for you to trust me."
Something touches my entrance, and I jump again
"Breathe," he commands.
It takes me a moment to realize it's not his cock... or his fingers. It's something else. Something smooth and a bit cool.
"What is that?" I ask, my voice laced with a sudden, sharp panic.
"It's a toy," he says calmly.
"I don't want..." I start to protest. But the words die in my throat as he slides the object, a small, smooth plug, into my ass.
It's definitely bigger than his two fingers, but it's not painful. Not really. It's just... strange. Unfamiliar.
He lets me get used to the feeling, his body still covering mine, his weight a comforting, reassuring presence.
"How does that feel?" he asks, his voice a low murmur.
"Strange," I admit. "But... not bad."
He chuckles. "Good."
He starts to move it, sliding it in and out, slowly. The sensation is... indescribable.
A strange, aching fullness that sends sparks of pleasure shooting through me. He's stretching me, but also taking my mind off it with the slow, gentle movements.
The feeling is overwhelming, a confusing mix of discomfort and an intense, throbbing pleasure that starts deep inside me and radiates outwards.
I find myself pushing back against him, wanting more, needing more. My hips start to move, rocking back against him, against the toy.
He groans, and I can feel the hard length of his cock press against my thigh.
"You're a quick study," he says, his lips brushing against my ear.
I don't answer. I can't. My mind is a blank slate, consumed by the strange, new sensations.
He picks up the pace, sliding the toy in and out of me a little faster. His other hand finds my clit again, rubbing it firmly.
The dual sensations are overwhelming, a pleasure so intense it's almost painful. My legs start to tremble, and a soft whimper escapes my lips.
He slides the toy all the way in, leaving it there, a constant, throbbing presence.
My hips buck against the bed, my body a quivering, aching mess.
Then his weight disappears from me, and incredibly, I hear him walk back into the bathroom. The water runs briefly, then he comes back in, drying his hands with a washcloth.
My eyes follow his movements.
"Roll over," he commands.
It's awkward, moving with the plug inside me, but I do it. I roll onto my back, my legs falling open in a silent invitation.
He climbs back into the bed, kneeling between my legs, his cock hard and proud. His eyes are dark with lust as he looks at me.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his gaze drifting over my body. "All spread out for me. So fucking beautiful."
His eyes roam my body, and I feel a fresh wave of heat wash over me. I'm completely exposed, completely vulnerable. And yet, I've never felt more powerful.