10. Chapter Ten—Carlotta #2
And enjoying it.
Sir’s large hand dips further south, grabbing one of my breasts and squeezing.
“You looking for something to get you off while I play with these big tits, Red?” He chuckles; this low, slightly jagged sound that has the hairs on the back of neck standing up.
I can’t tell if it’s with arousal or fear.
Maybe even a mixture of both.
I twist my hips and whimper, hands reaching out to grab something, anything, before eventually landing on Sir’s knees. My toes curl into the soles of my feet when I find my sweet spot, the leather material of Sir’s shoe deliciously cool against my warm, swollen clit.
“That’s it. Press your pink little clit to my shoe. Grind on it. Remember whose giving you this pleasure.”
Any thoughts whirling about my brain, fly out of my head at Sir’s dirty words.
Nothing else matters; not when I feel this good, ecstasy dripping down my spine as I chase my orgasm.
Tipping my head back, I close my eyes, lips falling open, my nails digging into the expensive feeling thread count of Sir’s tailored trousers.
Deft fingers pinch and pluck at my sensitive nipples, lips ghosting across my jaw, down the length of my neck before settling at my jumping pulse point beneath my ear.
“Make a mess for me, Red. You know you want too, so just let go.”
I come with a surprised shout, my heart beating so loudly in my chest I swear I can feel it in the back of my throat, my temples, my core.
Twitching with a violent aftershock, I lean forward, hissing at the graze of my clit, to rest my sweaty forehead on Sir’s knee.
My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton wool, my tongue lying thick and heavy, while my heartbeat still thrums loudly.
So loudly, in fact, it seems to be making the door of room eleven rattle and thump.
Inhaling raggedly, I wait for my pulse to slow down, my hearing returning, although nothing but the even sound of Sir’s own breathing greets my ears.
“You okay?” A thumb coasts along the length of my cheekbone, dipping slightly beneath my silk sash.
“Y-yeah.” I lick my dry lips, shuffling backwards—or at least, I think I’m shuffling backwards, my perception feels very much off with my darkness still clouding my vision and my head all stuffy with pleasure hormones—to move from Sir’s shoe.
“Mm,” Sir hums. “You made quite the mess, Red. Are good girls supposed to be messy?”
I don’t utter a word.
“I don’t think they are.” Sir clicks his tongue, the sound echoing across all four walls. “Clean it up, Red.”
I part my lips. “How—”
“With your tongue.”
A fresh burst of warmth soars to life in my core. I shouldn’t like being told what to do by Sir. I shouldn’t even like him…
But I can’t deny that in the safe haven of room eleven, where the real world hardly feels as if it even exists, I do.
Flattening my palms to the floor, I lower my head, tentatively sticking out the tip of my tongue until I make contact with the smooth material of Sir’s dress shoe.
My breasts grow heavy, my core clenching, baring down on thin air, as I lick a long stripe upwards, tasting the slight hint of leather and the more tangy, familiar taste of my own desire.
“That’s it.” Above me, I hear Sir shuffle, the almost musical jingle jangle of his button and zipper as he undoes his trousers. “Be a good little pussy cat and lick up your cream, Red. I’ll eat you out afterward for being so good for me.”
Shivering, I lick with more fervor, the idea of another orgasm, this one at the result of Sir’s wickedly filthy mouth, spurring me on.
I swallow down the taste of myself, a helpless moan escaping me as I do so.
With my eyes blindfolded shut, the rest of my four senses slide into overdrive.
It’s all too much. The smell of Sir’s leather shoe, the feel of the hard floor beneath me, the kiss of cool oxygen ghosting across my sodden folds.
The sound of Sir’s breathing, gradually becoming heavier with each pass of my tongue.
The taste of myself as I lap and lick and—
“Oof!”
It takes a few seconds for my mind to catch up to my body, processing the grip of Sir’s capable hands around my waist, lifting me from the floor as if I’m as light as a feather and depositing me onto the soft, bouncy mattress of the California king bed in the center of the room.
I don’t get a moment to breathe before Sir is on me, hands pulling apart the globes of my ass to bury his face in my cunt.
Balling my hands into the blankets, I vaguely hear the ping of the elasticated sheet as I yank it from the corner, falling to my elbows and screaming into the mattress.
Another thump sounds from outside, but I pay it no heed, too busy sinking into the intoxicating heat winding its way up my body; down my spine, the backs of my thighs, radiating across my folds.
Sir sucks my clit between his lips, the blunt edges of his teeth grazing my pulsing flesh.
“Fuck yes,” I grit out, basking in the feel of his stubble rubbing roughly against the soft flesh of my inner thighs. “More.”
I don’t have to ask twice.
Picking up his speed, Sir licks up one side of my pussy, mouthing at a lip and back down the other side. He sucks and bites, opening me up wider until he can shove the tip of his tongue inside me.
My hips buck wildly, rutting against his face, but Sir keeps me down with a strong grip on my waistline and an animalistic growl that warns me he’s not in the mood to play chase and if I dare move there will be consequences.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight at the sound of Sir eating me out, the slurp of his tongue and his pleased groans echoing from the walls has me climbing higher and higher, the pressure in my core building.
“Sir,” I whimper out a warning, pressing back into his face. “I’m gonna—shit, I’m coming.”
My second orgasm of the evening barrels through me, stealing the air from my lungs.
I pant and moan into the mattress, shuddering through wave after wave of ecstasy until I reach back shakily, pushing Sir’s head away from my overtly sensitive flesh.
With a low laugh, I feel him flatten his tongue, licking over me one last time to hear me squeal and squirm away from him, before he finally pulls back.
“Always so sweet, red.” He presses a kiss to the base of my spine, molding a hand to my hip and rolling me over onto my back. “This sweet little pussy is mine, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer, too busy trying to calm my breath before Sir’s thick fingers begin petting me again, slipping and sliding through my wetness and his own saliva.
“Tell me, Red.” He pats the top of my clit smartly, sending my back bowing from the mattress, my toes curling so hard a tingle of cramp starts in the back of my calves. “Do you let anyone else eat this pretty little pussy?”
I shake my head wordlessly.
“Do you let them play with her?”
I shake my head again, teeth sinking into my lower lip as I feel Sir kneel on the mattress, the bouncy surface dipping with his weight as he places a hand either side of my head, his lips to the shell of my ear.
“Do you let them fuck her?”
“No,” I croak out, widening my legs to allow Sir to settle in the crook of my pelvis. I can feel the thick length of his dick pressing insistently into my inner thigh, a warm smear of pre-come painting my skin.
“Why not, red. Hm?” A thumb coasts along my lips. I lift my head to chase it, but he pulls away before I can suck his digit into my pouting mouth. “Is it because she’s mine?”
I inhale raggedly; high on the scent of Sir’s expensive aftershave and something else, something a little spicy—clove, maybe?—that I’m not familiar with. “Uh-huh.”
“Say it,” he grits, capturing my earlobe with his sharp teeth. “Tell me she’s mine. Tell me you’re mine.”
A surge of ecstasy shoots through my spine at the possessiveness of Sir’s tone.
He’s always possessive. I think it’s a kink of his, or something, but tonight… even more so than usual. I wonder if it’s got something to do with kneeling before me in his office upstairs, urging me to slice him open, make him bleed so he can smear me with his ruby red blood, mark me up.
Warm breath, tinged with a pleasant mixture of mint and whiskey, whispers over my lips.
“Carlotta.” Sir’s mask slips, my God given name falling from his wicked tongue. “I need to hear you say it. Please.”
My toes curl at the sound of his plea. I don’t think in the six months Sir and I have been meeting up, I’ve ever heard that word on his lips.
Until now.
Tipping my hips to the ceiling, I rub against him, feeling him meet my thrust, sliding between my soaked folds.
I lift my hands to cup his toned ass, keeping him draped over me, while I raise my head, pressing my mouth to his ear. “I’m yours, Sir. Yours to lick and play and fuck. Yours to do whatever you want with."
Sir—Rome’s—breathing shifts, becoming heavier, a gruff groan escaping him.
The smooth head of his dick glides over my pulsing clit in a teasing pass, dipping south until he presses just an inch—maybe even less—inside my gushing tight little hole.
I hold my inhale in my lungs, waiting for the otherworldly feel of Sir fitting inside of me, the build of pleasurable pressure that has me spasming in his grasp.
Only, I never feel it.
Feeding me nothing but the tip of his dick, I instead feel Sir slip a large hand behind the nape of my neck.
“Lift your head for me, Carlotta,” he orders, deft fingertips plucking at the silk bow at the back of my head.
Confused, and more than a little annoyed—why won’t he just push inside and fuck me, for god’s sakes, I’m almost dying over here—I do as he says, but not without a little huff of air showcasing my irritation.
My hips buck upwards of their own volition, feet pushing against the backs of Sir’s lean thighs, urging him to sink inside me.
“Patience, sweet girl.”
I wet my dry lips. “Patience my ass—”
The rest of my words are cut off on a gasp as Sir pushes forward, filling me to the hilt and stealing the breath from my lungs, while he yanks on my makeshift blindfold until the bow gives away, the silk slipping past my temples and allowing me to see him above me.