Chapter 12 #2
My moan is worth more than his jacket, and he knows it. But judging by the bulge that is now very visible in his pants, I’ll soon get what I want.
I shift, spreading my thighs wider, offering him a full view of my pussy—which must be the right move considering the grunt that escapes him. I should feel exposed, but I just want him to see more, to see what is right in front of him without being allowed to touch.
I slide the toy lower, pressing it against my entrance just enough to make my legs tremble, but removing it just as soon as I feel the pressure building.
I’m not ready to push it inside. The size is too big, almost painful.
I close my eyes, trying to push it forward, but that inch I press in is enough to make me gasp for air.
If Azrael is half of what is showing through his pants, I can only imagine that the Professor’s cock will split me in half.
I bite my lower lip and close my eyes, trying to focus. I need to remain in control, and stop imagining future scenarios. Plus, he still has so much clothing to go. I’m too eager. When I open my eyes, he’s looking away.
“I thought you liked watching,” I say in half-pain, half-pleasure. “Isn’t that what you told her?”
It seems Azrael enjoys seeing me in pain because he is now compulsively rubbing himself over his trousers. A muscle feathers in his jaw. I can’t help but wink at him.
I bend my knees, allowing him to see the wetness that was left behind by the vibrator, while my hand continues moving it over my clit and the other is rubbing my nipples. This position is uncomfortable, but it’s exactly what I need to feel everything. This mix is too much. Just one move and…
Unable to stop, I let him know, “I’m almost done. Azrael—fuck.”
“Don’t,” he says, his voice rougher now.
“Azrael—”
“You come when I let you. Now be a good girl and let me see you.”
I could hate him. No, I do hate him. With passion.
I needed to come so badly, I was inches away from it, and the fact I had to stop just because he said so makes me hate him.
But I also want him to know my body is his to take.
I just like that he told me no, and maybe I have a praise kink because I want to be called a good girl for doing what he says.
I obey, spreading my legs wider while slowing down the movement of my hand from between my thighs, allowing him an unobstructed view of myself.
He moves his head down, his eyes closed now. What is Azrael thinking about? Is he…
“Victoria.”
“Yes?” half moan, half whisper.
“This is not something a man should see.”
Hate? Furious? Forget it. I’m just going to open this very nice nightstand drawer, grab my gun, and create two extra holes in his skull. How dare he? What the fuck, Professor? You tell me to do exactly this, and now you’re the one mad I did it? Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
“But you—” I try, getting increasingly more furious with each second.
“If that man is not me.”
Oh, Azrael is claiming me. As our eyes interlock, his hands move to his belt, and I fucking smile because I feel like I’ve just drawn a royal flush.
But he doesn’t undo it right away. He runs his thumb along the edge of the buckle, almost idly, leaving me impatient. He wants me to feel the delay in my bones, and he is very well succeeding at it.
“Azrael?” I ask. I think I gave him the wrong impression that he could still win tonight, and I’ve never been blamed for being a patient person. “You have a full five seconds to let me come or this,” flashing the vibrator, “will get into some very nasty places.”
He laughs but unfastens the belt, every motion too slow to counter the heat pooling between my legs. He doesn’t make any attempt to unzip the pants and just leans back in the chair, belt coiled in one hand like a leash.
“You’re still behind,” I say, moving the vibrator back between my legs. “If this is a game, you have some catching up to do.”
“I’m not in a rush,” he says while lowering the zipper just enough to show the edge of black fabric beneath, but he stops again.
“I said,” I gasp, “I want to see. Now.”
He cocks his head. “Then earn it.”
Oh, fuck him.
My back arches, and I don’t need more than a second before my vision blurry and the sensation in my body explodes.
My heels dig into the mattress as I press the toy faster on my clit until my breath turns ragged.
The moan is barbarous, and there is something wrong in the air because I swear I just heard my voice saying his name.
That seems to be enough because with one move, he unzips the pants.
“Let me see how hard I make you.”
He slides one hand into his boxers and pulls them down with the other, grabbing the—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I am so, so screwed. He is huge, definitely split-in-half worthy. Thick, and already dripping for me.
I exhale, shaky. “Fuck.”
His fingers curled around the base, stroking, and I wish those were my fingers instead.
“Now be a good girl and earn it.”
Again. Fucking hell. I nearly finish from those two words alone.
I let the vibrator fall on the mattress and shove two fingers in my cunt, pounding until I finally touch the right spot.
My thumb is circling my clit, and I’m so close.
My movement grows frantic while I see Azrael jerking himself.
This time though, I don’t stop and let myself ride the high of the orgasm while locking eyes with him the whole time.
I’m lightheaded and I can barely think clearly, but this is not about me.
His jaw tightens and his cock twitches under his touch as I move my fingers up my body all the way to my mouth. Moving my attention to my fingers, coated in my arousal, I can’t help but tease him.
“Should I let you taste me?”
He doesn’t answer but grips the arm of the chair like if he moved, he’d explode.
There is one way to push him beyond his limits. I move the hand back to my clit, exhausted from the self-induced orgasms, but willing to push myself for him, to show him everything. I want to make a mess—be a mess—and make him sit there and watch it.
He continues stroking from base to tip, precum slicking his fist. Watching him like this, almost undone, must be my new favorite show.
“Continue touching yourself,” he says.
“Fuck you.”
“Later.” His voice does nothing but increase the burning sensation throughout my body. Yep, decided. He needs to shut the fuck up or I’ll come again, and we can’t have that happening, “Right now, you’re going to show me what your pussy looks like when you think about my cock in your mouth.”
His cock in my mouth. God. I’d give years of my life for a taste, for his hands on me, my skin, my throat, in my hair, pulling it. The image of him on top of me, under me, behind me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My fingers are working faster just at the thought. I need it, I need him.
The sound of his hand moving up and down, skin on skin, is echoing in my ears. I’m doing everything I can not to come, but I’m too dizzy to think straight. All I want is to let the orgasm devour me and see him follow me.
“Faster,” I semi-moan, semi-scream.
And he does.
He looks like a God with his head tilted back, grunting through clenched teeth. His muscles flex and his cock twitches.
My hips buck, and I’m on the edge.
“Say it,” I order him. “Tell me I can come.”
He doesn’t stop stroking, doesn’t even break eye contact.
“You want to come for me?”
I nod.
“You want me to watch you fall apart while I coat my fist with every drop of cum you’ve earned?”
“Yes.”
He smirks. “Then do it. Come for me, little ember.”
And I do.
I come hard—screaming, thrashing, soaking the sheets. My legs shake and my thighs clench, but I keep rubbing, chasing every aftershock while he watches me burn up from the inside out.
He groans—one deep sound—and comes as well, thick ropes of cum spilling over his hand, his shirt, dripping down his clothes. My cum.
His eyes don’t look away for a second, and neither do mine.
Now…now we are even.