5. Shaw #2
The crude command ignited something visceral within me. I positioned myself between his thighs, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. At least for a little while, I could pretend that I possessed him while ignoring who truly held the power.
I eased forward, a strangled curse tearing from my throat as his tight heat enveloped me. Nothing in my limited experience had prepared me for the intimacy of being buried in another man’s body.
When his muscles clenched around me, all thoughts of restraint vanished. I gripped his hips hard, digging my fingers into his pale flesh and thrusting with desperate force.
Dante’s head fell back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. When I leaned forward, the angle change trapped his cock between our bodies, rigid and leaking against my stomach.
The realization that I had selfishly focused on my pleasure hit me with shame.
I understood our arrangement was purely physical and one-sided, but I wasn’t comfortable taking without giving in return.
I told myself I wasn’t like his other clients.
Maybe if I believed it hard enough, it would be true.
More than anything, I needed to matter to him.
I reached between us, wrapping my fingers around his length. He gasped, bucking into my grip.
“Should I stop?” I asked, suddenly uncertain.
“I’ll never forgive you if you do,” he said. His arms looped over my neck, his nails digging into my shoulders. The pain sharpened my pleasure to an almost unbearable edge.
I stroked him in time with my thrusts, faltering as I struggled to process the dual sensations. His cock was hot and heavy in my hand, the head slick with precum that eased my movements. I ran my thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath the crown to see what would happen.
“Fuck me harder,” he commanded. “Like you mean it.”
It was the permission I needed to let go. Instead of bickering as usual, I obeyed without question, unable to resist the pleasures of unleashing my desires on his willing body. If temporary physical surrender was all I could have of him, I would take everything offered.
I shifted my angle, earning a beautiful moan. Found it. I targeted that spot, watching his composure fracture with each thrust. His cock throbbed in my hand, wetness spilling over my fingers ahead of his release.
“That’s it,” I murmured, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears. “Show me what you’re really feeling. No more professional performance.”
Dante’s breathing grew shakier. Sweat slicked our bodies, the scent of sex heavy in the air. The Greek villa facade faded away until there was nothing but us in a moment stolen from reality.
My orgasm built at the base of my spine, tension tightening with each pump of my hips.
I fought against it, determined to make Dante come first, to wring genuine pleasure from him rather than the practiced responses he gave his clients.
I wanted to ruin him for everyone else tonight, to leave him thinking of me long after I’d gone for all the right reasons.
It was arrogant when I was a virgin and probably doing a terrible job, but I was determined.
“Come for me,” I demanded, wanting to see him wrecked. “Let me see you lose control.”
His eyes locked with mine, defiance warring with desire. I stroked him faster, twisting my wrist on the upstroke in a move I’d perfected on myself during lonely nights thinking of him.
“Give it to me,” I demanded. “All of it.” The rush of dictating his pleasure made my head spin.
His body went rigid beneath mine, back arching off the bed as he climaxed with a strangled cry I wished was my name. Hot pulses coated my hand and splashed across his stomach. The sight of his eyes unfocused, lips parted, completely abandoned to pleasure, pushed me over the edge.
My own orgasm hit seconds later, ecstasy crashing through me in ripples that seemed endless. The force of it drove the breath from my lungs as I emptied into the condom.
As I collapsed against him, still buried in his heat, the magnitude of what had just happened hit me.
I’d lost my virginity to a sex worker in a simulated Greek villa paid for with my deceased parents’ money.
And yet, all I felt was a bone-deep satisfaction and the irrational desire to never pull out.
When I finally softened, I withdrew. His body released me reluctantly. The condom was filled with my release, physical proof that we had actually fucked and that it wasn’t another elaborate fantasy.
He was covered in the evidence of our encounter. Red marks colored his hips from where I had gripped him, his cum drying on his stomach in pearlescent streaks. The sight of him used and marked by me introduced me to a new sexual pleasure.
He watched me in silence as I processed the total collapse of the barrier between my moral disgust and my physical obsession.
“What should I…?” I trailed off, unsure of brothel etiquette. I wanted to curl against him, to feel his heartbeat slow in time with mine as we cuddled in the afterglow, but that required an intimacy I hadn’t paid for.
Amusement flickered across his face. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
“Okay.” I tried to hide my disappointment as I moved off him, extending my hand to help him up. He hesitated before taking it, our fingers lingering together a moment too long before he released me to shrug out of the robe.
“Follow me,” he said with a beckoning gesture.
I obeyed, wondering what Dante had in store for me next and how much more of myself I would surrender before our time ran out.