“I want it all. I want you,” she said in between pants and moans, her body arching into the toy.
“This is how you’ll be mine,” he said, gliding the toy across her clit that was so swollen she ached with the need to come. She felt desperate in every pore of her body. The intense need to climax was bearing down on her. Her world narrowed to this hot neon need as pleasure took over, spinning wildly out of control, blissfully into chaos as she leaned back into his chest, his arms holding her in place, his finger working her over and over with his toy as she shattered into endless erotic bliss, crying out his name above Manhattan.
Minutes later she turned around, looping her arms around his neck. “You win. That was the best orgasm of my life. I’m yours for thirty nights.”
* * *
He was right. He didn’t fuck her properly. Not one bit. Everything about the way he lifted her skirt and pressed a strong hand on her back, pushing her forward and forcing her to grasp the railing even harder, was thoroughly improper.
Rough. Demanding. Confident.
So was the slap on her ass and the bite on her shoulder blade—oh, the sweet sting of that bite, sure to leave marks. Then there was the way he shifted gears, running his hands down her back, layering kisses along her spine. As if he relished the transition from rough to tender.
“Now that I’ve won you, I’m going to have you,” he said in a hungry voice.
He palmed her ass, digging his thumbs into her cheeks and spreading her open. For the briefest of moments, she tensed. He wasn’t going to do that now, was he?
“Like that,” he said, his voice a rumble against her ear. “I want you like that. Nice and open for me.”
A shot of worry torqued through her. How far would he go? How much did he want from her? But the worry was less about him, and more about her. Everything he’d done so far was like a sensual reawakening. A reminder of the kind of sex she wanted to have. Earth-shattering. Mind-blowing. Pleasure beyond her fantasies. As she bowed her back, her hips high in the air, she couldn’t have felt more exposed even though she was half-dressed.
“Close your eyes,” he told her, and she trembled, but obeyed.
“They’re closed,” she whispered. She heard him open a condom, then there was a pause as he rolled it on. Off in the distance, a horn honked, and a car somewhere slammed on its brakes. A night breeze gusted by, kicking up her skirt even higher. She shivered from the momentary chill. Everything sounded and felt more intense with her eyes closed.
Especially the anticipation.
She waited for him.
For his next move.
His next touch.
His next order.
Then, she felt him, rubbing the head of his cock between her legs.
The first touch undid her. Like an unraveling. She wanted him so badly, so much, that her body was a beacon for him. She was aching to be filled. Mercilessly, he refused her wishes, her attempts to draw him in. He teased her. Taunted her. Giving her the barest taste of what his fantastic length would do this time. She couldn’t bear to wait any longer.
“Please,” she said, her voice a beg, and she didn’t fucking care.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“How? How do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, buzzing his soft lips over her shoulder blade, as his hand moved up to her throat. He ran his thumb across her collarbone. Heat blasted through her. Like a powerful force of nature, swallowing her up, enveloping her in nothing but raw, unabated desire. He rubbed his steely length along her sex, hitting her clit once more. The world around her was black and fuzzy, noise and haze. There was only this. Pure physicality. Unadulterated need. “How?” he asked again, demanding an answer.
“Fuck me improperly,” she said, arching her back for him. “Fuck me now.”
“That’s right,” he said, his voice hot against her ear. “That’s exactly how I’m going to do it.”
Her breath caught in her chest and that moment felt like a stitch in time. As if everything in her life would be marked before or after. That was silly, she knew, to think of one night of sex as so goddamn monumental. But then, all thoughts drained away in one single thrust.
She inhaled sharply, and panted hard as he filled her so completely she wanted to sing out. She wanted to cry from the sheer ecstasy of the way he stretched her, driving deep inside her, opening her body to him.
“Give yourself to me.”
Instinctually, she knew what he wanted. Control. Complete control of her body, so she raised her ass higher, flattened her back more and handed over the keys to him. He thrust deeper and harder, and she cried out in pleasure. Soon, she could feel that tightening in her body, that climax just within reach.
Then he surprised her with his next words. “Don’t come,” he growled.
“What?” she asked, her body begging as she pushed back on him.
“Don’t come until I tell you I’m ready to let you,” he instructed, all while sliding deeper into her.
“But,” she protested, and her words were cut off by a hand over her mouth, a slowing of his rhythm, and his voice in her ear. Soft. A sharp contrast to how he held her. Imprisoned. “Let me take you there,” he whispered, his tongue flicking across her neck, punctuating his words. “I promise I’ll get you there. Just hold back.”
She breathed out hard, full of longing and untamed desire. But she chose to trust him. Though this kind of submission was foreign to her, she was willing. How could she be anything but willing, seeing as how she was fifty stories above Manhattan with her skirt hiked up her spine, and his hand over her mouth?