14. Elena #3
His fingers find the edge of my panties, and I arch into his touch. He groans, the sound vibrating through me. "Elena." My name is rough on his lips, a question and a plea both. He sounds like he’s dying to keep going.
"Don't stop," I whisper.
He doesn't. His fingers slip under the lace, and he groans against my mouth when he feels how wet I am. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as he strokes my clit, slow and deliberate, with just his fingertip. He’s teasing me, I can tell, but I’m wound so tight I think I could come if he just keeps going a little longer.
My hand moves to his belt, and I fumble with the buckle, my fingers clumsy.
He helps me, groaning again with anticipation.
I slide my hand around his cock and get it free of his boxers for the second time in our marriage, but this time, I’m doing it entirely because I want to.
He’s hot and hard and straining in my hand, and his hips buck up immediately, his breath gasping against my mouth.
I run my thumb over the tip, feeling his arousal leak against it, and he groans, his fingers slipping into me.
I clench around him instantly, and I feel his cock throb.
He’s so big. I have no idea how this would fit inside of me, but the thought makes me clench again, and Declan’s hips jerk, fucking his cock into my hand. "Fuck," he breathes against my neck. "You feel so good."
I stroke him, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside me. Nothing exists except this—his touch, his breath, the desperate need building between us. I grip him tighter, and when he moans, his thumb rolling over my clit as his fingers stroke into me, I can feel that we’re both getting close.
I know I’m almost there. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter, threatening to break. I want it so badly. “Declan—” I gasp his name, and he groans, slowing his strokes and making me whimper with frustration.
“Fuck, Elena, ask me for it.” He pulls back, his thumb lifting off of my clit.
I can feel him tensing with the effort of holding back his own climax.
“Ask me to let you come, and I will. I’ll make you come with my fingers and then eat you out right here.
I’ll give you my cock in this car, or I’ll wait ‘til we get home if that’s where you want your first time to be.
Just fuck… God, Elena, ask. Please. Tell me how badly you want this.
I want to make you feel so good, baby, but you have to ask for it. ”
I'm right there. Right on the edge. All I have to do is let go. All I have to do is ask.
No, not ask, the small, insidious voice in my head whispers. He wants me to beg. He wants me to debase myself again for an orgasm, for the gift of being allowed to fuck him and take pleasure from him. And I can't.
I can't give him that. I can't surrender that last piece of control. Even though my body is screaming for release and I want nothing more than to let him finish what he started.
I pull my hand away from his cock, pull back from his touch. "Stop," I whisper.
He freezes. "Elena—"
"Stop." My voice is stronger now. "I can't."
For a long moment, he doesn't move. His fingers are still inside me, his breath still hot against my neck. I can feel the tension in his body, the restraint it's taking him not to push. Then, slowly, he withdraws his hand.
The loss of his touch is almost painful. My body protests, still aching for release. But I force myself to stay still and not reach for him again.
Declan sits back, adjusting himself. His jaw is tight, his breathing harsh. I can see the shadow of the thick ridge of his still-hard cock straining against his pants.
I smooth down my gown with a shaking hand and try to compose myself, even though my heart is racing, my body screaming with unfulfilled need.
The car pulls up to the penthouse and the driver opens the door. I step out on unsteady legs. Declan follows.
We ride the elevator in silence. The air between us is thick with tension, but he doesn’t look at me.
He’s still painfully aroused, I can see, and so am I.
My entire body feels like it’s throbbing with it.
All I want is to come, to let him fuck me, but I refuse to debase myself for him again.
Even after what we shared tonight, I still don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He says it’s about knowing that I want it, that I’m enthusiastically giving myself to him. But it still doesn’t feel like that to me.
When we reach the penthouse, I head straight for my room. But I can feel his eyes on me as he follows and then pauses at his bedroom door. I can feel the weight of his disappointment.
I turn at my door and look back at him. He's standing in the hallway, his expression unreadable in the dim light. But I can see the hurt and frustration in his eyes, the disappointment that I couldn't give him what he wanted.
What we both wanted.
"Good night," I manage.
He doesn't respond. Just turns and walks into his own room. I close my door and lean against it, my heart pounding.
I almost did it. I almost begged him and surrendered completely. But I couldn't.
Even though I wanted to.