8. Elena #4
"I have every right." He moves closer, and I try to back away, but there's nowhere to go. My back hits the headboard, and he's right there, caging me in with his body. "You're my wife. And if you're that desperate for relief, I can give it to you."
My breath catches, and my heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I'm not desperate."
"No?" He reaches out and cups my face, his hand warm and rough against my skin. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I have to fight not to open my mouth and suck it inside. "Then why are you flushed? Why is your breathing so fast? Why can I see your pulse racing in your throat?"
"Because I'm angry."
"No, you're aroused." His voice drops lower, rougher, and the sound of it makes my thighs clench. "Because you were lying here touching yourself and thinking about me."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie." His hand slides down to my throat, resting there possessively. "I know you were thinking about me. About what I could do to you. About what it would feel like if I touched you the way you were touching yourself."
Heat floods through me. My body betrays me, responding to his words, to his touch, to the dark promise in his eyes. My nipples tighten. My pussy clenches. I can feel how wet I am, and I hate myself for it.
"I can make you feel so good, Elena." His thumb strokes over my pulse in my throat.
"I can make you come so hard you forget your own name.
I can use my mouth on you—my tongue on your clit, licking and sucking until you're screaming.
I can start slow, just teasing you, barely touching you, until you're begging me for more.
Then I can flatten my tongue and lick you from your entrance to your clit, over and over, until you're shaking.
I can suck your clit into my mouth and flick it with my tongue while you come apart. "
His voice is low and sensual, scratching over my skin. I can’t breathe as his voice paints images in my mind that I don't want to want but can't stop seeing.
"I can use my fingers," he continues, sounding strained, like he's barely holding himself back.
"Two, three, as many as you can take. I can slide them inside you and feel how wet you are.
How tight. I can fuck you with them—slow at first, then faster, harder—until you're begging me to stop… or to keep going. Whichever you need."
His other hand slides from my hip to between my legs, cupping me through my silk pajamas. I gasp, my hips jerking toward him involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction—more of everything he's describing.
"I can feel how wet you are, even through this silk. Such a delicate princess, all wrapped up in expensive fabric, but you're soaked, aren't you? Desperate for it. For me. Your pussy is aching and empty, and you need to be filled. You need to be fucked."
"Declan—"
"I could bend you over this bed and eat you from behind," he purrs, his fingers pressing harder against me, making me whimper.
"Make you come on my tongue while you're on your hands and knees.
I can spread your ass cheeks and lick you from your clit to your asshole, tasting every inch of you.
I can push my tongue inside your pussy and fuck you with it while you grind back against my face. "
No man I’ve ever known in my life would talk like this.
He’s so crass, so vulgar, and I tell myself I hate it, that I’m disgusted by anyone who would be so foul.
But it’s a lie. My whole body is trembling.
I'm so close to coming just from his words, from the pressure of his hand combined with the images he's putting in my head.
"Or I can lay you back and spread your legs and take my time," he continues, his eyes locked on mine. His entire body is tense, and I know if I reached down and touched him the way he’s touching me, he’d be hard.
I’ve never touched a man like that, and I wonder what it would feel like, that hardness trapped beneath his jeans…
or what it might be like in my hand. What it would look like, feel like…
"Hours, if that's what it takes. I can kiss my way up your thighs, teasing you, making you wait. I can breathe on your pussy and watch you squirm. I can lick you until you're begging, then stop just before you come. Over and over. Until you're crying and so desperate you'll do anything I ask."
"Please—" The word slips out before I can stop it.
"Please what?" His hand moves, his fingers finding my clit through the silk and rubbing in slow circles that make my vision blur.
"Please make you come? Or please fuck you? Please stop torturing you? You have to use your words, princess. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you if you ask nicely enough. "
"I—I don't—"
"I could make you come right now." His fingers move faster, and I can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in my belly.
"I could slide my hand inside your pajamas and stroke your clit until you're shaking.
I could push my fingers inside you and feel you clench around them.
I could make you come so hard you'd forget every reason you have for hating me.
So hard you'd forget your own name. So hard you'd beg me to do it again. "
I'm trembling. My entire body is on fire, aching, needing. I'm so close to coming. So close to begging him for everything he's describing.
"But I'm not going to."
The words are like cold water. He pulls his hand away and stands up, leaving me gasping and confused and furious.
"What—"
"You want relief?" He looks down at me, and his expression has turned hard and unforgiving, all the lust gone, despite the fact that when my gaze flicks down, I can see the thick ridge of his cock straining against his jeans.
"You want to come? Then stop turning my house into a battleground.
Stop undermining me. Stop trying to make me feel like I'm not good enough for you. "
"I don't—"
"Yes, you do." He moves toward the door. "And until you stop, you don't get to come. Not by your own hand. Not by mine. Not at all."
"You can't—"
"I can." He opens the door. "You want to play games, Elena? Fine. But I'm better at this game than you are."
He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I'm left alone in my bed, aroused and frustrated, and so angry I could scream.