Chapter 16 #2
The only mirror I have in my place is the bathroom mirror, so I don’t catch glimpses of my whole body often.
It’s never something I’ve desired, anyway, because of the way my ex treated me.
When he took me clothes shopping, looking in the mirror almost made me cry.
His cruel words would poke at my skin and make me want to hide.
When I would see the flare of my hips, the stretch marks on my stomach, the cellulite on my thighs, the way my boobs fell, I couldn’t help but pinpoint every single thing I wanted to change. It nearly brought me to tears.
But looking at myself now nearly brings me to tears for a different reason.
Saint worshipping my body last night has brought a new perspective. I’m starting to see my body as something desirable—beautiful, even. I trace my hands over my thighs where he gripped them yesterday. There are no bruises like I thought, but I swear I can still feel the phantom touch.
“Mikey? Are you—fuck me.” Saint stops mid-sentence as he appears in the doorway. I watch his mouth drop open in the mirror’s reflection, turning to look at him over my shoulder. I can’t help the giggle that bursts free.
“Nice outfit,” I tease, motioning up and down his body.
The white gauzy fabric cuts down across his chest, leaving one nipple exposed, and the shorts barely skim the middle of his massive thighs.
His golden hair is down, still slightly damp from the shower, and his beard looks freshly trimmed.
I want to run my fingers over his jaw and feel the hairs beneath my palm. I want them tickling my thighs again.
When I glance down at his groin, I can see the thick length of him tenting the fabric.
I want him in my mouth, in my hand, in my pussy.
“Damn it, Mikelle, we don’t have time for this,” Saint grumbles, his eyes tracing a slow path down my body.
My nipples pebble beneath the red lace, and he groans.
“I’m sorry for barging in, I thought… I thought you left.
” He shakes his head. “I need you to get dressed because we have to leave in twenty minutes, and what I want to do with you will take longer than that.”
“What do you want to do, Daddy?”
In a flash, he’s standing in front of me, cupping my face in his big palm and tipping my chin up.
He leans in so close, his minty breath mingles with mine.
“I want to make you scream my name. I want to turn you into a whimpering, writhing mess from my tongue. Then, when you can’t take any more, I’ll stuff your hot, little pussy full of my cock.
It might be a stretch, but I know you’ll be so good for Daddy and take the whole thing. Won’t you?”
“Please.” I want that. All of it. All of him.
He slides the tip of his thumb along my lips and slips it into my mouth. I suction my lips around it, my tongue swirling over the pad.
“Your mouth looks so pretty wrapped around my thumb, sweetheart. It would look even prettier wrapped around my cock, don’t you think?”
I nod around his thumb.
I pout when he pulls it out of my mouth, but I’m not disappointed for long because his lips meet mine, and his tongue parts my lips, teasing against my own.
His hands grip my hips, and feeling his calloused fingers against my bare skin reminds me I'm kissing him in nothing more than a bra and panties.
Normally, self-consciousness would kick in, but the desire to shy away from him is a low hum instead of the blaring bass it usually is.
I grip a handful of the white material of his costume and pull him closer, running my fingers against the soft expanse of his exposed chest. His cock presses against my stomach as his hands roam to my ass, grabbing a handful.
Then, he spins me around. One of Saint’s hands collars my throat lightly, and the other trails slowly down my chest. His head is pressed against mine as we watch each other in the mirror.
“You look goddamned gorgeous, Mikelle. So fucking pretty in this lace. I want you to watch Daddy finger this pretty cunt of yours.”
His hand cups each of my breasts, tweaking each nipple once, before his fingers lightly trace over the swell of my stomach until they’re breaching the band of my panties. His pointer finger connects with my clit, and I gasp, trying to arch my back, but he keeps me in place.
“So wet for me already,” he muses, placing a kiss behind my ear. “I’ll take my time with you later, promise, but I can’t leave you wet and needy like this all day. That would be cruel. What do you say to me for taking care of you?”
I gasp as two of his fingers plunge inside me. “Th-thank you, Daddy.”
Saint thrusts his fingers, this thumb rolling my clit with the perfect pressure. I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm while standing, but I can already feel it tingling between my hips.
“So perfect. Let me hear how much you like my fingers stuffing your cunt.”
I oblige—like I have much of a choice—by moaning loudly. Saint groans in response, picking up the pace. He subtly thrusts against my ass, his cock hard and ready. I want to beg him to stick it inside me, but I can’t seem to form the words.
“Daddy,” I moan, right on the precipice. “More, please.”
He adds a third finger, and the thrumming of my clit increases. “Watch yourself fall apart on my fingers. Come all over my hand, gorgeous.”
Saint nips at my earlobe, and the little bit of pain is what sets me off. My orgasm nearly knocks me off my feet, but Saint keeps me held up as he works me through it, praising me the whole time.
“Look how pretty you are when you come. So good for Daddy. Thank you for giving me your pleasure, Mikelle.”
This man is going to ruin me.
When my orgasm subsides, Saint pulls his fingers from my panties and rights them, then he locks eyes with me in the mirror while licking my cum off his fingers.
When his hand is clean, he turns me back around and presses a lingering kiss to my lips, then steps away.
He chuckles when he sees the expression on my face.
“I’ll take my time later, but we need to go.
Get dressed, Mikey. We have a parade to get to and people to match up. ”
With a disappointed nod, I pull on my jeans, followed by a red tank top and cream colored knit sweater with red hearts.
I guess this is a sign to start wearing my heart on my sleeve.