2. Rowan #2
I wriggle my hips a little more, trying to entice, but he doesn’t move. I want him to fucking move. I can barely stand the tension. Here I am, naked save for a tiny scrap of lace, while he remains fully dressed. I’m basically begging him to take me. The imbalance should scare me.
Instead, it thrills me.
“Come on. Fuck me,” I rasp. “Or do you want me to leave? Is that it? Are you scared? It’s okay if you are.”
He lets out a long exhale and then his hands are on my hips, flipping me onto my back, my breath leaving my chest in a loud whoosh. The panties are gone, ripped from my hips, the sting of it still lingering on my skin.
My cock bobs slightly, hitting my stomach as I reach aimlessly for nothing.
Yes, this is what I knew was hidden beneath all that quiet. Something wild, something mean.
Something untamed.
I want that. I want it to help me forget what I did. What I didn’t do.
Who I’ve become.
He looms over me, his nostrils flaring.
And then he does something entirely unexpected.
He lowers himself to his knees.
My breath catches in my throat. Well, well, well. Looks like this man is all about giving.
His big hands spread my thighs, exposing all of me to him. A small curse slips from his lips as I try to arch my hips up, but he doesn’t give me much leeway. Instead, his hands tighten, digging into the muscles there, and his lips stretch around my hard and dripping cock.
There’s no hesitation. He sucks me into the back of his throat and swallows.
Oh, fuck.
I nearly come unglued from that alone. The heat. The determined pulls on my cock. I’m glimpsing nirvana, and I’m desperate for more.
Before the sensation becomes too much, his mouth slips off and lowers to my balls. He takes them in, rolling them around with his tongue.
The moan that leaves my lips is desperate and pleading.
My fingers scrabble for purchase, my eyes oscillating between wide and closed, my mouth open and shut, my entire body malfunctioning.
And when his tongue slides down my taint and swirls around my hole…
Fuck. I automatically try to sit up with a gasp.
But a big hand on my chest pushes me back to the mattress, holding me in place.
My mystery man is somehow wearing a smirk on his frowning lips, making him look smug and grumpy all at the same time.
I curse at him. His smirk deepens.
Then he lowers his head back to my hole.
Suck, lick, repeat.
I’m a sweaty, incoherent mess. My hands are clinging to the bedsheets, trying desperately to find any tether to reality, to stop me from flying off at the pleasure courtesy of the man between my thighs.
And still, he doesn’t let me come. No, he seems to enjoy this kind of torture.
Bringing me right to the edge only to watch me come down from it.
Trying to chase my orgasm only for it to fail spectacularly.
This man, with his broad shoulders and sexy dagger, must enjoy hurting people in his free time.
Because right now, he’s hurting me. My cock and balls specifically. But mostly me and my thinly coiled sanity.
“Come on! Oh my god.” I groan, trying to thrust my cock farther into his mouth, but he holds me still, continuing to torment me. “What the fuck?!”
He chuckles under his breath; an odd sound coming from someone so quiet. It rumbles through me, making me shiver and twist beneath him as he pushes his tongue into my hole, slurping and sucking my rim, making my eyes cross with lust.
Then his finger pushes into me, finding my prostate, pulsing a tempo against it.
I’m distraught. I’ve never in my life been with someone so thorough with me, with my cock and balls and taint.
Not to mention my hole.
Now my prostate is getting the same treatment, and I swear, I’m losing my mind.
I groan, mewl, and beg, my cock close to exploding, a bead of precum sitting at the tip. He must see it, smell it, because he leans forward and laps at it all while his finger inside of me does that simple little tap tap against me.
I gasp, my hips bucking, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. And when I come, I scream. Not his name—I don’t know that—but unintelligible words, gibberish, a religious kind of incoherent prayer.
He eats it up. Eats me. He laps and licks at my cum spilling from my cock as if he’s thirsty for it, hungry, even.
When I finally come down from it, minutes or years later, he just leans back, his finger still inside of me, his pupils blown out.
His chest is rising and falling rapidly. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, but suddenly his stare is too intense. I can barely breathe, let alone see straight. I blink at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings, trying to regain my sanity.
Does he want to fuck me after that? He must, surely. He seemed to enjoy himself. He must be hard.
His hand slips free, and I take it as my cue. Mustering up some energy, I prop myself up on my elbows and meet his gaze. He hasn’t moved, his eyes assessing me, almost like he’s not sure what to do next.
I spread my legs a little wider.
“If you have a condom…” I begin, but my voice seems to snap him out of it.
He shoves to his feet. There’s one more glance down at me. My cum-slick abdomen, my soft cock, the sweaty mop of hair on my head.
Then without a word, he turns on his heel and leaves me alone.
And I still never got his goddamn name.