Seduce Me Tonight (8 page)

Read Seduce Me Tonight Online

Authors: Kristina Wright

Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica, #General, #Short Stories (Single Author), #Romance, #Contemporary

BOOK: Seduce Me Tonight
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I could only nod. I hated that I was so transparent in my need for him. That he seemed so cool and controlled in the face of my runaway heart. But as I knelt there, my taut nipples between his fingertips and wetness gathering between my thighs, I didn’t care. This was an addiction I had no interest in curing.

My hips moved imperceptibly, or so I thought, as I rubbed my clit against the unyielding seam of my jeans. The relief was bittersweet – enough to take the edge off, but not nearly enough to give me the release I wanted. Only he could do that, and he was in no hurry to offer me anything but this slow, sweet torment.

‘I didn’t tell you to move.’ He slapped the side of my bare breast with the palm of his hand hard enough to make my breast sway. ‘Stay still.’

It didn’t hurt, but the sharp sound made me gasp. I dropped my chin to my chest, properly chastised and loving every second of it.

His slid his hand down my belly and over my jeans. I tried so hard not to arch my hips towards him, but I couldn’t help myself. I could never help myself with him. He brought out impulses that were impossible to control. Lust, I told myself, my brain fuzzy from the endorphin rush he was already raising in me. Just lust. But I knew it was more than that. I could walk away from lust. I couldn’t walk away from this.

He cupped my denim-covered crotch in the palm of his large hand and squeezed hard. ‘You are so hot down here,’ he murmured, alternately squeezing and releasing. ‘So hot and needy.’

‘If you keep that up,’ I gasped as his middle finger rode the seam of my jeans, ‘I will come.’

‘We can’t have that, can we?’ He removed his hand and I bit back a groan. ‘Undress me, Laura.’

I blinked, his words barely registering in my lust-addled brain. Then I realised what he had said and reached for his tie. In a haze that felt as if I was moving in slow motion through molasses, I removed the crisp burgundy tie, then his shirt, my fingers fumbling with the buttons. He helped me by slipping off his shoes and socks while I worked at his belt. It was an expensive piece of stiff dark leather that I had known intimately on other occasions. I shivered, wondering what he had in mind for me tonight. Whatever it was, I would spend many hours masturbating shamelessly to the memory of it, as I did with all of our erotic encounters. However fleeting the experiences, the memories lingered on and on, tormenting me with their sweetness and making me long for more – more pain, more pleasure, more Christopher.

I unfastened his trousers and guided the zipper down over his semi-hard penis, my fingers brushing along his length. He was as large there as everywhere else and my cunt throbbed in remembrance. His trousers dropped to the ground and he stepped out of them. I reached for the waistband of his boxers then, but he caught both of my wrists in his hands, pressing his fingers into their boniness hard enough to leave marks.

‘No. I want you to use your mouth on me.’

I whimpered in anticipation as I bent over, still on my knees, and pressed my lips to his cloth-covered cock. It twitched against my mouth, hardening, lengthening, as I traced the outline of his arousal with my tongue. Finally, I zeroed in on the swollen head, sucking the engorged tip between my lips. He stood there, hands at his sides, silently observing me. I sucked him until the cloth of his shorts was soaked through and I could see hard, dark pink flesh beneath the pale blue cotton.

‘Enough,’ he ordered, pulling me away by my hair. ‘Are you hungry for me, Laura?’

I nodded, licking my lips and imagining I could taste him. ‘Oh, yes,’ I breathed, my hips moving in a natural rhythm again.

‘Let me feel you.’

I sat up and his hand went back between my legs. My cunt felt swollen, almost uncomfortably so, against the tight denim. He squeezed my flesh hard until I made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a plea. It felt as if he was wringing the wetness out of me.

He pulled his hand away and showed it to me. His palm glistened. ‘You wet straight through your jeans,’ he said, sounding pleased with his discovery. ‘Taste yourself.’

He held his hand to my mouth and I licked his palm, tasting my essence. Then I sucked his fingers into my mouth one at a time, teasing him until he pulled away and stripped off his boxers. His cock jutted out at me, thick and heavily veined. He slowly ran his hand up the length of his shaft to the swollen red knob, taunting me the way I’d taunted him. I felt myself leaning towards him, nearly losing my balance in an effort to be closer to his hard body.

‘This is what you want, isn’t it? This is what you need.’

A crystal-clear drop of arousal appeared at the tip, a reminder that I wasn’t the only one who was in need right now, no matter how controlled he might be. That thought made me smile. He wasn’t the only one with power.

I licked my lips and leaned forward to suck him into my mouth, but he stepped back from the bed, as far as the dresser behind him would allow. I made a sound of disappointment low in my throat. My hips were swaying to a rhythm all their own as I rubbed my cunt against the soaked crotch of my jeans. ‘Please, Christopher. I want you. I can’t take any more.’

That wasn’t true, of course, and he called me on it. Christopher had tested my limits many times over and I would have been disappointed if he had given in to my request so quickly. Maybe that’s why I loved him so much. Where other men were easily manipulated, Christopher maintained self-control even when he was hard and wanting. He not only played the game, he played it even better than I did.

He laughed. ‘I’m going to push you as far as you can go, Laura. And then I’m going to push you some more.’

‘I know,’ I whispered.

A smile still lingered on his lips. ‘Show me how much you want me.’

I tugged at my jeans, but they were so tight they clung to my damp skin. I lost my balance and tumbled sideways on the bed before I got them down around my knees. I plunged my hand between my thighs, dipping my fingers into my wetness. I moaned in relief, but also in frustration because I wanted him inside me.

‘Greedy, greedy,’ Christopher reprimanded me. He grabbed the waistband of my jeans and jerked them the rest of the way off, turning them inside out in the process. Then he wrapped his arm around my waist and flipped me over onto my stomach as if I weighed nothing. ‘Show me your ass, love.’

I did as he said, my back arched, my bare ass stuck in the air before him. My fingers never stopped working between my spread thighs. I knew he’d make me stop soon enough, knew I’d never reach orgasm before he did, but I couldn’t stop. My need was too great.

His hands spanned my narrow hips and he pulled me back against his cock. He didn’t go into me, not yet. He held me there, quivering against his hardened shaft, both of us breathing roughly. He hadn’t even told me he wanted me yet, but I knew it in the hardness of his cock and the roughness of his hands. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I marvelled over that truth every time we were together – how did I ever forget it? Why did I ever question it? His every action and every word showed me how much he wanted me, even if he didn’t say it. I was as much his drug as he was mine.

Then he uttered one word. ‘Beg.’

My mind was reeling with thoughts but my mouth couldn’t form a coherent response. I whimpered. I felt a primal need to scream, to cry out in longing. Finally, in a voice I didn’t recognise, I gasped, ‘Please, Christopher. Please, fuck me. Please.’

He thrust into me then, that one powerful stroke driving me nearly halfway across the wide expanse of the bed. ‘Yes!’

‘Please, please, please,’ I continued to plead even though he was giving me what I wanted, for fear he would stop if I stopped begging.

He drove himself into me, over and over, driving all reason out of my mind in the process. I could feel his emotions in his thrusts, there was nothing aloof or distant in the way he fucked me, no walls between us. He was raw with lust and need that were as real and as strong as mine. I took what he gave, but I gave in return – thrusting back against him, clenching my muscles tightly around him, working my hand down between my legs to rub his balls and stroke his wet shaft as he slid out of me.

We were equals here in this mind-space of emotional desire and physical release, equals and halves, completing each other in a way no other could. At least in a way no one else could for me. The idea that Christopher might feel this connection with anyone else was enough to stop my heart in my chest, but I knew, I felt, that there could be no other. Between the narrow space of his true self and the wall he kept up so much of the time, there was no room for anyone except me. Only me.

It was only in moments like this, only when he was lost inside me, that I truly felt like he was mine, that I had all of him, including his heart. I was torn between needing to come and wanting to make it last as long as I could. My need, denied too long, won out. Orgasm washed over me, tingling up from my belly and spreading along my skin, making my cunt wetter and my nipples harder, making my muscles go rigid and my neck arch.

I screamed his name as I came, panting raggedly like a woman in labour. He let me come alone and I knew he was listening to me, watching me, memorising every detail of my physical response. Noting the way I gasped when he slid halfway out of my clenching cunt, the way I arched my back even harder and pushed against him to keep him inside of me. The way I whimpered and trembled like a newborn pup when he shoved his cock into me again, filling the space he had left.

When my orgasm had faded to the faintest of ripples, he gave three short, deep thrusts and came with a guttural moan. His cock swelled and throbbed inside me as his breath quickened and his hands tightened on my hips, enough to leave bruises in their wake. I felt him go still and tense behind me, his chest draped over my lower back as he came down from the rush of release.

At last he pulled away from my damp body and I collapsed on my stomach. After such a feeling of fullness, I felt bereft at his absence. No amount of time was ever enough to feel him inside of me. At least, I hadn’t experienced it yet.

He stretched out on the bed and I rolled towards him, a hand still clenched between my damp thighs. I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as his breathing evened out. I reached out to lay a hand on his chest, over his heart, but I pulled away.

‘Christopher, do you love me?’

He glanced at me the way a man might glance at another passenger on a bus, as if suddenly realising he’s not alone. ‘Why do you ask? Are you feeling all romantic in your big bed?’

‘It’s a simple question.’ I felt my own protective emotional barrier go up, the intimacy of a moment before drying like sweat on my damp skin. ‘It’s OK if you don’t,’ I said, sounding as pathetic as I felt. ‘I just wondered, since you’ve never said it.’

‘Do you think I love you?’

How could I answer that question and not sound needy or conceited? I shook my head, something hard and cold settling behind my breastbone like a rock. ‘I don’t know. Why can’t you just answer the question and tell me?’

‘What do you think this is between us?’

He was like that, always responding to my questions with questions of his own. Forcing me to analyse my motives for even asking in the first place. Why did I want to know? What did it matter? I was finishing my PhD and would go wherever I could find an academic job. I couldn’t stay where I was just because of Christopher.

Unless he loved me, too
.

The thought, the faintest whisper in my heart of hearts, is why I asked. Why I needed to know.

‘Do you love me?’ I asked again, on a rush of breath that left me feeling as if I would suffocate if he didn’t say what I needed to hear.

‘I love your body and how it responds to my words and my touch. I love your clever, inquisitive, sexy mind,’ he said, reaching to tug at my bottom lip, which I realised was quivering, the only hint that I was feeling any emotion at all. ‘I love the way you whisper my name – and scream it. The way you grow your hair long just for me even though you’d rather keep it short and simple.

‘I love that you know my favourite wine and how to touch me to get me instantly hard,’ he continued. ‘I love how we fuck – and how we make love, because there is very much a difference between the two and you fulfil me in both ways. In all ways.’

He paused, and in that space I asked, ‘Is that all?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’ he asked, his eyes impossible to read. ‘What more do you want?’

‘Your heart.’ I whispered it so softly, I wasn’t sure he heard. I wasn’t sure I even wanted him to hear. I had my answer in the words he did not say and the rest, lovely, beautiful, sexy compliments all, didn’t matter a whit to me.

He closed his eyes and I thought he was going to sleep. Then he turned to me and gathered me in his arms, roughly yet somehow tenderly, and pressed a kiss to my lips that was enough to spark my arousal all over again.

‘I love you, Laura. Of course I love you. It’s in every word, every look, every action,’ he said, sounding slightly exasperated, as if I’d asked for the combination to a lock and he couldn’t remember the digits. ‘You have my heart and I love you with all of it, almost to the point of anything else. And it scares the hell out of me.’

‘It scares me, too,’ I whispered, tucking my head against his shoulder.

‘Then let’s be scared together,’ he said, giving me a little shake. ‘Love me and I will love you and we’ll be scared together.’

It was me that was falling asleep, every need I had satiated by this man whose kisses were rough and sweet and whose touch left bruises on my body. I had his heart and he was as terrified of that as I was.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes. Let’s be scared together.’

Healing the Wounds

The clock hanging on the wall behind me ticked loudly. I dug my fingers into the arms of the leather chair and studied the man behind the big desk. Jason looked older than I remembered. He still had the same square jaw and blue eyes, but the face had more lines, the hair more silver. There was a sag in his shoulders that had never been there before. That shouldn’t be there now.

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