Chapter 26 #2
But I have the best view in the house, because Ethan’s face as he stands inches away from me and explores my most sensitive flesh with the silken strands of his feather is noble and stoic even as it’s etched with indescribable longing. I’m not the only one in pain here.
‘I need more,’ I whisper. He’s close enough that he can hear me above the music.
‘What do you need, sweetheart?’ He brushes the feather lightly, lightly, over my clit and stares at my mouth.
‘Anything. Your mouth. Your fingers. Just you. I want you to touch me.’
‘This is all for you. All of it. All you have to do is ask.’
He takes a step back, dropping the feather theatrically so it floats to the floor. There’s no doubt this man knows how to command a room.
‘Your fingers okay?’ He frowns up at my shackled hands, and I wiggle my fingers for him.
‘Yep. But the rest of me isn’t. Make me come.’
‘Certainly, madam.’
He grins down at me, and it’s so damn sexy.
Some of his hair has fallen over his forehead, and I wish I had a hand free to rake through it.
Then he’s kissing me, pressing his taut body up against me once again, and I give myself over to all of it—the heat radiating from his body, and the supple power of his tongue, and the strokes of his hands as he slides them up and down my raised arms.
He breaks away and gets elegantly to his knees before me, glancing up at me through his lashes before sliding a couple of fingers deep into my pussy and twisting them.
The angle at which my legs are fixed may not be conducive to full access, but the burn is instant.
It’s a very good burn, an incredible feeling of fullness.
I really hope he fucks me right after this.
Then he’s twisting his head for better access, and I hang my head and stare down, a mess of ravenous hormones as he starts to lick me.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything hotter than the sight this angle affords me of his jaw working as he does.
He has a little stubble tonight. It makes him look more undone, and fuck if the sandpapery rasp of it isn’t giving me all the friction I need.
I’m aware that the little crowd of voyeurs is growing more excited, and Wanking Bloke’s hand on his dick grows faster in my peripheral vision. I can’t even imagine what fate would befall him if he hit Ethan with his load, and I stifle a giggle. I hope for his sake that he doesn’t.
But whatever little show he thinks he’s putting on is nothing to the real performer at my feet, licking me and finger-fucking me so hard, so skilfully, that every nerve ending in my body is singing an aria.
The heat coursing through my body intensifies, the crescendo inside me builds and builds, Ethan’s tongue and mouth and stubble abrade the very core of me, and I know I have mere seconds before I detonate.
I arch into him as well as I can and let my head fall back into nothingness as I squeeze my eyes shut and allow him to play my body like the fucking maestro he is.
The pleasure races, wild and raw, through my veins, Ethan’s licks as devastating as throwing a lit match into a summer meadow during a drought.
I ignite, bursting into flames around him, the constraints of this crucifixion only serving to intensify the sensation as my body attempts to contain the onslaught.
Ethan eats me through it all, his own arousal evident from the desperate hunger of his licks. I’m still lost in the aftermath of my violent orgasm as he and the host guy uncuff my wrists and then my ankles, and as floppy, as pliant, as a kitten when he hauls me against him.
‘So fucking amazing,’ he rasps in my ear. ‘So beautiful. I need to fuck you now.’
I agree wholeheartedly. He needs to fuck me now. So when he walks me over to a big white ottoman thingy covered in a pleather Chesterfield pattern and lays me down, I put up no resistance. No matter how desperate he is to get inside me, he’s so gentle with me. So reverent, even.
I lie back on the ottoman and luxuriate in being free from my shackles and flat on my back, stretching like a cat and rolling my hips from side to side.
In a stroke of genius that has me tipping my imaginary cap to the designers, there is a mirror affixed to the ceiling right above us.
It’s dim in here, but I watch, entranced, as my shadowy reflection undulates above me, my silhouette clear against the white ottoman beneath me.
I don’t miss the dangerous intensity in Ethan’s eyes as he gets his dick out right there in the middle of the room of debauched partiers and sheathes himself with a condom from a bowl on a waist-high stand that’s giving freestanding wine bucket vibes.
As he crouches before me, I raise my knees and part my legs so he can crawl over me.
I’m still feeling exceptionally sacrificial, especially now that the Devil in black is braced over me, fly undone, huge, angry dick pointed straight at me like a loaded weapon.
His pristine shirt and trousers make me hyperconscious of my nakedness, my vulnerability, in the best possible way.
‘Stay just like this,’ he orders me.
Right on cue, I begin to salivate. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’ll do whatever I say, won’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So desperate to get fucked that you’ll let me call every single shot, even though everyone’s watching.’
‘One hundred percent.’
It’s true. Our crowd of voyeurs is only growing, even if there’s no sign of Aggressively Wanking Guy. Maybe he’s dealing with his after-spill.
I want them to watch.
I want them to see my gorgeous boss command my body the way only he can.
I want to put on a show for them, but more so for Ethan. And for me.
‘I want to watch, too,’ I add. ‘There’s a mirror up there.’
His face lights up with understanding. ‘Gorgeous, filthy girl.’ He shifts his weight to one arm and runs a leisurely fingertip around my nipple. It’s still pinched tightly from my orgasm, and it’s so sensitive. I suck in a pleased breath. ‘Body from heaven. I could fucking drown in you.’
‘Then do.’ I bat my eyelashes at him defiantly. What are you waiting for, then? Honestly, sometimes this man’s self-control is very disappointing indeed.
‘Fuck. I will.’
And with that dark promise, he lowers himself down so he’s lying on top of me, reaching between us and notching himself at my entrance.
Our eyes meet.
I nod. Do it.
He thrusts forward.
And my breath catches.
It’s so good with him. So damn good. Who am I kidding?
I don’t want anyone else. I’ve barely given anyone else a second glance in here.
It’s impossible to want another man when Ethan Kingsley is wedging his fat cock inside me.
It’s unthinkable to hanker after group fun with total randoms when he’s pressing his forehead to mine as he inches deeper, when his ragged breathing against my mouth is erotic beyond compare.
Because no one else has this effect on me in any way.
He bottoms out, and I ignore his command to stay perfectly still, sliding my hands over his shoulders and down the muscular planes of his back before grabbing his arse cheeks and willing him to stay here.
Just like this. Just for a moment. He kisses me hungrily, entangling his tongue with mine, before pulling away enough to make eye contact.
‘Watch how well you let me fuck you.’
Oh, Jesus. ‘Yes please,’ I manage.
And he’s away, dipping his head into the crook of my neck and giving me a clear line of sight to what is a truly excellent show: his black-clad body working above me, shoulders broad and hunched as they hold him in place, waist narrow, his perfect arse pumping up and down as he grinds into me over and over, making this fuck every inch as hard and dirty as I need it to be.
He fills me up in the perfect, profound way only he knows how, and I in return spiral higher around him. Burn brighter.
Being able to watch him fuck me is hotter than hell.
I’m less clear on why the spellbound expression on my face terrifies me almost as much as it gratifies me.