The rest of the day couldn't pass quickly enough. I went back to my father's apartment as I promised I would and was smiling like an idiot thinking of my meeting with Drake later that night. I had to bite my lip to stop the grin from getting any larger and took in a deep cleansing breath. I put on my best glum face and popped my head into his study. He was sitting in his chair, his tie undone and his shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He had his black reading glasses on and was studying a paper.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hello, dear," he said, putting the paper down. "You're back. I was so worried about you."

"I thought I'd come by. I'm lonely…"

"Is everything OK with you? You look a bit flushed."

I shook my head. "It's cold out."

"Are you feeling OK?"

"Still a bit disappointed."

He stood and came over to me, his hands on my shoulders. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? Breaking up with Drake? You two seemed so happy together while we were out scuba diving. What changed?"

I sighed and turned away, feeling bad to be lying to him, but I had no choice.

"I think I was just a bit infatuated but when we were alone and away from everything, it just became apparent that he's too old for me."

"Nonsense, Kate. I'm twenty years older than Elaine and we're very happy."

"Maybe you're younger at heart than Drake, Daddy. He's a bit of a fuddy-duddy."

"A fuddy-duddy?" He frowned at me.  "I never would have thought that about Drake…"

Oh, Daddy, if you only knew how far from an old fuddy-duddy he is…

"Will you be staying here all night?"

"No," I said, hoping I wasn't overdoing it with the Drake dissing. "I'm better. I'll stay for supper if it's OK and then go home. I have to go to class tomorrow so I need a good night's sleep."

He nodded. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you want. I know Elaine enjoys having you here. I do, too, but I'm really busy with the campaign."

"Thanks, Daddy. I have to get back to my life."

 

Dinner was quiet, but I had to submit to Elaine's questions about Drake and how I was feeling and my father's pointed stare as I answered. It was like he didn't believe me and kept frowning when I spoke about why Drake and I weren't right for each other.

Finally, I yawned about eight o'clock and said I needed to go.

"Take the service," he said. "Why spend your money on a cab?"

"If you insist," I said, because he wouldn't let up. "I can afford cab fare."

"Nonsense," he said, accepting no refusal. "Why have an old man with money if you can't take advantage of it now and then?"

He bundled me up in my coat and handed me my bag. I kissed him on the cheek as was our usual practice. He pulled me into a hug, which wasn't our usual practice.

"You know what I think?" he said, his voice soft. "I think you don't really want to end it with Drake. If you change your mind, I'm sure – in fact I know he'd be only too pleased. So don't do this if you really don't want to. Life is too short. People come into and go out of your life and sometimes it's only when they're gone that you realize how you felt about them. How much you cared."

I sighed. "Do you mean Mom?"

"And Liam." He squeezed my shoulders. "Good night, sweetheart."

 

I took the limo service back to my apartment and went inside. I had a quick bath and examined my pussy with a faint growth of hair emerging. He was going to shave me again tonight and I felt my body respond to the very thought of it.

I changed my clothes, putting on the garter belt and a pair of nylons Dawn had brought over that night we went to the bar. I wore a black cashmere sweater that buttoned up in the front, a lacy black bra and the black lace garter belt. I wore no underwear, remembering Drake mentioning that if I became his sub, he would expect me to not wear any underwear when we were together. It thrilled me to imagine what he'd do when he found out I was nude under the skirt except for the garter belt and nylons. I hoped it would please him to know I was thinking about what he'd like.

Then, I stood in the shadows of the entryway, checking the street to see if there was anyone watching the building. Just to be safe, I went out the back exit and walked down the alley to the street and hailed a cab, giving the driver directions to Drake's apartment on 8th Avenue. Luckily, the driver didn't try to make light conversation with me and I was able to focus on the meeting with him at his old apartment. I sent him a text when I was a few blocks away.

 

I'm on my way. Be there in 2.

 

He texted back immediately.

 

I am so ready for you, Ms. Bennet…

 

I smiled, hiding my grin behind my hand in case the driver was watching me in the rearview mirror.

I was so curious to see his place – both of them. His current apartment I wouldn't get to see, but I could imagine it was all dark wood and leather furniture and smelled of him.

This old apartment – Drake said his father, and then he himself, lived in it during their school years at Columbia Medical School and I wondered why he kept it. Sentimental reasons? That just added another dimension to the image of Drake Morgan, MD, I was getting to know – bass player, philanthropist, Dominant. He liked old sixties Brit Invasion music. He was a certified scuba diver. A vodka aficionado with a taste for all things Russian. A man who loved his job as a highly specialized neurosurgeon and did it because he enjoyed it and because it was rewarding. He didn’t have to work because of his father's wealth and the still-profitable company Liam founded. A man who made junkets to war-torn parts of Africa to do delicate surgery, risking his own life to do so.

A man who liked to tie women up and dominate them sexually, controlling their orgasms, making them look in his eyes and say his name while they came.

One thing he didn't do was romance. He made that clear to me in the Bahamas and that night at my apartment. We wouldn't do Sunday breakfast in bed, or meet for lunch, or do other romantic relationship things. We'd meet like we were going to tonight. He'd tie me up and fuck me. I'd come several times. We'd each go our separate ways and I'd sleep like a baby.

That had to be enough for me.

The thing was, he was so much. There was so much to him. I already knew too much about him to think of him as just a Dominant stud service and I knew I was on dangerous ground. If I let myself slip just a bit, I could fall.

Hard.

When I looked at him, I already saw too much inside of him – that strap on his wrist, the letters he wrote to his subs, his preferring the tragic Heathcliff and Catherine of Wuthering Heights to Pride and Prejudice's Elizabeth and Darcy.  Yet, he playfully called me Ms. Bennet or Elizabeth.

I swallowed back this nagging sense of something I didn’t want to think about and exhaled, trying to blank my mind of such thoughts. I was going to meet with Drake Morgan to be well-fucked and to explore this fascination with submission that wouldn’t let up. My body responded to the very thought of what he might do to me. Would he tie me up tonight? Would he blindfold me?

I signed his contract and had to expect anything, but I had a feeling he was going to move very slowly with me. So far, he'd only made me hold my own hands together and close my eyes despite me wanting more. Would he soon start to use real leather restraints and a blindfold?

I hoped so. I wanted to feel totally possessed the way I imagined his subs felt when I read his letters.

 

After the taxi drove up to Drake's building on 8th Avenue, I paid the driver and stood in front on the sidewalk. A corner brownstone walkup with ornate windows and wrought iron window boxes with faded ivy, the building was very old. Browning ivy crept up the building's façade so that it looked like it belonged in London instead of Manhattan. There was a buzzer system and I noted that the penthouse was listed as Mr. L. Morgan. I wondered why it was in Liam's name, but it was his building so I imagined Liam bought it for Drake when he was at Columbia and Drake never changed it.

I buzzed and the door clicked open when I pulled. I stepped over the threshold into the dim entryway with three mailbox slots and a recycling box beneath it. There was a plaid rug to wipe your feet on and someone had chained a bicycle to a metal pole of some description beside the stairs to the basement. I heard a door open up the staircase and footsteps coming down, the wooden stairs creaking.

Drake – he must be coming to meet me. I smiled and started up the stairs, butterflies in my stomach. When I got to the second floor landing he was there, barefoot, dressed in some faded jeans and a white linen shirt unbuttoned and untucked to reveal his washboard abs and the thin black trail of hair leading down from his navel. He looked so… desirable, his black hair a bit mussed and a growth of whiskers on his jaw and chin. He smiled when our eyes met and a jolt of something went through me when I realized this was it – I was going to be completely in his world. Under his control. I'd signed his contract, giving him almost total license with me. All I had were safe words and trust that he'd respect them.

"There you are," he said and came to me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder and inhaled, enjoying the familiar scent of Drake – his cologne and a hint of soap as if he'd just bathed.

He tilted my face up and kissed me and I felt weak, desire flooding my body when our tongues touched, my flesh already aching.

"You may have to carry me up the rest of the way," I said, my voice a quivery from excitement. "I feel a bit weak-kneed."

"Ms. Bennet, are you nervous to be alone with me?"

"Yes," I said. "But the good kind of nervous."

"Good. I want you a little nervous." Then he bent down and picked me up, one arm under mine, the other under my legs.

"Oh, no, don't," I said when he started up the stairs. "I was just kidding! Put me down, please! Let me walk."

"I don't think so, Katherine. I think I want to carry you up and into my lair."

He grinned at that, his eyes twinkling with a look that promised so much…

I gave in and buried my face in his neck, smiling, a thrill going through me at the thought of being in his lair. His place.

We went through the doorway and it was like a loft instead of a typical apartment with separate rooms. The unit was open concept and bookshelves covered all the walls, filled with thousands of books. Because it was a corner unit, it had windows on three walls and would be bright during the day. Now, it was dark outside, and only a single table lamp provided light. The floors were hardwood planks with antique-looking Persian carpets of various sizes scattered here and there. In the front was a combination living room / den and in the center of the apartment, the kitchen was on one wall and open to a dining room. In the back, through the only door, I could just make out a bed.

The windows were huge and ornate with multi-paned windows looking out over the street. In the living room six old guitars stood on stands, acoustic and electric. Posters of old bands covered the walls without bookshelves – the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, The Who. I took it all in while he held me in his arms.

"Are you going to put me down?"

He smiled. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Ms. Bennet. I haven’t decided yet. One thing I might have to do, if memory serves me, is kiss you to keep you from talking."

He did kiss me as he stood there with me still in his arms. A soft kiss, just lips on lips. Then he pulled back and his eyes were so intense that I felt my breath hitch.

What that look promised…

"I must be getting heavy…" I said softly, for I didn't like being held.

"You're light as a feather."

I sighed and gave in to him. "You have so many books. And all these guitars…" I glanced around. "I want to explore your apartment."

"I want to explore you."

That sent a jolt of lust through me. "You do, do you? I think you already did after lunch…"

"Ms. Bennet, there's so much more of you to explore. So much more of your body. So much more of your mind."

I swallowed at that, my mind immediately going to the clauses in the agreement, but he did put me down. He removed my coat and I took off my boots, leaving them on the mat by the front door.

"Take a look around. I'll get us a drink."

I put my bag down on the table and walked around while Drake went to a small sideboard in the living room. Dark wood paneling gave it a masculine feel. More bookshelves lined the walls, an ancient leather couch and wing chair sat beside a small fireplace, and leaded glass windows faced the street. I wandered around, looking at the posters on the walls, the guitars, the piles and piles of magazines on every flat surface with titles like Guitar, Rolling Stone, Bass Player, and then scientific journals – Annals of Internal Medicine, Lancet, JAMA and others.

I peeked into the bedroom at the rear of the apartment to see a huge four-poster bed covered in a thick coverlet. The room was light, with white walls and sheer curtains at the windows. There was a small bathroom off the bedroom with an old claw-foot bathtub and pedestal sink. When I returned to the living room, Drake was there with two tiny crystal glasses etched with a delicate filigree design. Inside was a clear liquid.

"Here," he said, handing me one. "These are my father's glasses that he got from an old woman named Yelena Kuznetzova, who was rumored to be Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet Georgia. This is Anisovaya. Drink up."

"I should have known," I said, smiling. "Stalin's housekeeper?"

"It was one of my father's favorite stories. Probably just his bullshit wishful thinking."

"He was a Stalinist? I thought he was a Trotskyite."

"He was a Sovietophile. Anything Russian, especially Soviet. He was sad to see the Soviet Union fall. Said it was their folly in Afghanistan."

I nodded. "It was probably Afghanistan."

"Anyway, Za vas," he said in Russian. "To you."

"Za vas," I replied and we shot the vodka back. I grimaced a bit and he smacked his lips.

"Oh korosho, that's so good." He smiled, a wicked smile. I couldn’t help but smile back.

"This is a nice old apartment."

He took my empty glass back and looked around. "My father bought it for me when I started college. Until then, I lived in Baltimore with him. He worked at the University of Maryland Shock Trauma Center until he died."

"So you came to Manhattan and lived here all by yourself?"

He nodded. "He hated that I was moving away, but I wanted to come to New York to Columbia, get away from Baltimore – and him."

"Why him?"

He shrugged. "He wanted me to become a doctor like him, and I was in rebellious youth mode at the time. I wanted to study psychoanalysis. So I came here. When he couldn't talk me out of it, he made sure to come here and buy me a place to live. He wanted me to live here because he'd been so happy here and so he made the owner an offer way over its market value. It was his only real splurge despite his wealth. He approved because it was a rent-controlled building and he let the other tenants stay, not raising the rent once. Such an idealistic socialist…"

"It's yours now," I said. "Have you raised the rent?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Nah. I'll let the current tenants keep the units until they decide to move out. Rent controlled units are so rare, it's a shame to lose them. I keep this place just for the memories."

"Sounds like a bit of his socialism rubbed off on you." I raised my eyebrows.

He grinned. "It's just lazy rich boy, actually. I can't be bothered to change things." He glanced around. "I don't want to."

While he put the glasses down, I stood in the center of the dim apartment beside an old leather wing chair next to a fireplace. I was completely surrounded by Drake's things from his life – his music and his books and his father's old possessions. I felt like I was seeing right into his mind.

I liked what I saw.

He missed his father. Couldn't part with his things. The living room was crammed full with furniture. I just knew it was his father's for it looked like it belonged in a man's home – all leather and dark wood and overstuffed. There was a huge old wooden desk up against the window and one of those wooden office chairs on rollers. Taped up boxes sat stacked high in one corner, marked with Dad on them.

"Is this your father's furniture?"

He smiled briefly. "Yeah, I know. Sentimental, right? When he died, I couldn't bring myself to sell it or give it away so I closed up his apartment in Baltimore and had it shipped here."

I smiled to myself. "How often do you come here?"

"I practice here," he said, standing a few feet away, staring at me. "Luckily, old Mr. Neumann downstairs is practically deaf, so it doesn't bother him."

"You practice here with your band?"

"No, just me. I come here when I have time off and just play."

"Do you ever have time off? You sound so busy… Your surgery. Your band. The foundation. Your subs…"

"I'm rich. I only work as much as I want to. Interesting cases only. I keep busy."

"Do you play this?" I went to an old acoustic guitar that was attached to an amp standing next to the desk and wall of books. "I thought you played the bass guitar."

"I play lead and acoustic as well."

On the table beside the guitar was a piece of sheet music. Something by Simon and Garfunkel. "Old Friends/Bookends". On the top of the sheet music was a hand-written note.

 

'To Liam. From your 'old friend'. E'

 

It looked like my father's handwriting, the E for Ethan. I held the piece of sheet music up and beneath it was a faded Polaroid of my father as a much younger man and a man who looked very much like Drake, with dark hair and a jaw covered in stubble. Both wore fatigues and had dog tags around their necks. They stood side by side smiling at the camera, their arms around each other's shoulders. It looked like it was taken in Vietnam for the background was jungle.

"Oh my God," I said, staring at the Polaroid, a hand covering my mouth. "This is them." I turned to him and he nodded, smiling softly.

"Your father gave that photo and sheet music to my dad a long time ago. I remembered them when I came here tonight and found them so you could see."

I looked both over, amazed. "They really were friends." I glanced up at him. He had a strange expression on his face. "Somehow, I didn't really believe it. Like it was just a story my father told me about this crazy doctor friend of his from 'Nam."

He came to my side and took the photo out of my hand. "They thought they'd be friends forever."

That made my throat constrict when I thought of Liam dying in a plane crash. How this apartment – the furniture – the Foundation – were Drake's way of keeping his father with him.

"Will you play this for me?" I held the sheet music out.

He shook his head and took the sheet music away. "I don't think so."

I frowned. "Why not?"

He smiled and put the sheet of music down on the desk, but his smile was a bit forced. Then I got it. Of course. This was too personal. We were just D/s partners. Would-be Dominant and submissive.

"I understand," I said, grimacing. "That's getting too personal, right?"

"No, it's just that I had other plans when inviting you here…" He raised his eyebrows at that.

Emotions battled in me. I was a bit hurt that he wouldn’t play it for me. I didn't believe for a moment that the reason he wouldn’t play was because he wanted to have sex with me.

"I get it, Drake." I sighed and went to the window, looking down at the street below. "You don't want us to cross that line. I'm sorry. This is just new to me. This fucking without emotion thing."

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, his hands taking mine, our fingers threading together.

"Oh, there's lots of emotion, Kate. Just very contained and appropriate."

I nodded. "I know. You want to keep things compartmentalized. Your food in all the right spots on the plate. No messy mingling of flavors. I'm used to piling everything on the fork all at once. I don't know if I can do this."

"Shh," he said, his breath warm in my ear. "Stop over-thinking. Just feel. Feel this," he said and pressed his erection against me, reminding me of why we were here. "I've been imagining fucking you all afternoon. You don't know how difficult it was to blank you out of my thoughts because I kept thinking of your tight wet little pussy and getting hard. Not quite a good thing when you're supposed to be focused on delicate brain surgery…"

I smiled and leaned back against him, closing my eyes, trying not to let sadness dull the excitement I felt. "You're exaggerating."

He chuckled, and nuzzled my neck. "Maybe not during surgery but in between."

I nestled into his arms, enjoying his warmth. "I apologize if I intruded in your thoughts."

"No apology necessary."

We just stood there at the window, the faint light from the street filtering through the wrought iron trellis covering the window, his arms around me, his body pressed against mine. 

"And now," he said. "Now that I have you all to myself, alone in my lair, it's time for you to put that signature on the agreement into effect. You understand what that means?"

I swallowed hard, a thrill of something between excitement and fear going through my body right to my groin. "Submission?"

"Yes," he said, his lips at my neck. "No hesitation. No questions. Just comply."

"What if--." I said, but he stopped me, his finger on my mouth.

"Shh," he said. "No what ifs. You know the safe words. Yellow if you need me to slow down. Red if you absolutely have to stop what's happening. You also know what red means."

"Full stop and I go home?"

"Yes. But remember – I don't want to go too fast or scare you. I want you to trust me. I want this to work so I plan on keeping a very close watch over you and how you respond to me and what I'm doing. You don't have to be afraid. Much. Do you understand?"

"Much?"

"Kate, a little fear is arousing to a sub. A little uncertainty about what I'll do to you. What I'll make you do to me. Admit it. It makes you wet."

I closed my eyes, my cheeks hot, my heart rate increasing just a bit.

"Admit it," he said in my ear, his mouth on my neck, his arms tightening around me as if to reinforce his power over me. "You have to learn to be completely honest with me. It arouses you. I can tell, Kate. Your heart rate just increased. Your breathing is fast and shallow at the thought. If I was to slip my fingers between your lips, I'd feel how wet you are. Tell me I'm right."

"Yes," I said softly, his firm arms around me, his lips at my neck, his breath on my skin making me feel so aroused.

"Yes, what?"

I hesitated. He wanted me to call him something. To acknowledge he was a Dom and in control. "What do you want me to call you? Sir? Or Master?"

"What do I want you to call me? I want you to call me Master when we're in scene. I know you don't feel it yet. If you say it enough, if I make you feel it, eventually it will be second nature. I'll enjoy that. But more than that, I will enjoy you calling me Master even if you don't feel it."

"Why? Don't you want me to feel it?"

"Of course. That's what I long for. But I also just want your submission. Your obedience. I know you don't feel that I'm your Master now, but your willingness to just do what I command will please me in itself."

"Yes," I said, and swallowed "Master." I scrunched my face up because it just didn't feel right, but I did it all the same. I wanted to feel it. Maybe saying it would ensure one day that I did really feel it.

"Good girl," he said and stroked his hands over my body, over my shoulders and down my arms, then over my breasts. "When we meet from now on, after you cross that threshold and I kiss you the first time, it's a signal that we're in scene and I expect obedience. I'll call you Katherine or slave, you call me Master. Now, no more talking. No hesitation."

The shift in the atmosphere was palpable and I felt as if something descended over him, changing him subtly. Instead of just Drake with the guitars and dead father, he was Drake the Dominant, Master D, establishing control over the situation and over me.

That shift in him thrilled me.

He caressed my breasts for a moment through the fabric and then moved lower over my belly and to my thighs. Just his touch over my clothes aroused me, and I pressed against him, his erection hard against my buttocks. Desire welled up inside of me when he slipped one hand beneath my sweater to cup a breast, making my legs weak. The other hand slid up under the hem of my skirt and then he felt the garter belt.

"Mmm, I like this, Ms. Bennet…"

I smiled to myself, for he'd already messed up by calling me Ms. Bennet.

I was glad that I thought to wear the nylons and garter belt. Then his fingers moved and he felt my naked flesh beneath the garter belt.

"Oh, I really like this," he said, his voice low, husky. Sexy. "I like that you remembered and thought about this and how to please me." His fingers slipped between my labia and down lower to the entrance to my body. "I really really like that you're already so wet."

He kissed my neck while stroking my clit and I gasped, inhaling when his fingers penetrated me. He was tall enough so that he could reach down and slide his fingers under my skirt to feel the garters attached to the tops of my nylons. Then, he released me and turned me around to face him.

"Take your clothes off except for your bra, the garters and nylons."

Then he backed away and turned the wing chair around, sitting on it, his arms on the arm rests, his legs spread wide. His face was shrouded in darkness for the only light in the entire apartment came from a dim yellow bulb on a small table lamp by the fireplace and through the window from the street.

"Undress, Katherine. Slowly."  He licked his lips as if his mouth was dry. "Touch yourself while you do."

I took in a deep breath and tried to squelch the usual shyness I felt about getting naked with a man. He'd already seen me naked. But I wasn't quite comfortable yet.

"It's a shame that you don't have some nice high heels, but I know you're not good on them."

I couldn’t say anything, my throat was so dry. I started with my sweater, unbuttoning it slowly. When it was fully unbuttoned, I pulled it down over my shoulders, letting it hang for a moment before removing it from my arms. I dropped it on the coffee table. Then I ran my hands down my body and over my breasts, cupping them briefly before moving down to the zipper in back of my skirt. I unzipped it slowly.

"Turn around and do that."

I frowned, but complied, turning around so that my back was to him. I pulled the skirt down and over my hips, bending down as I did. I knew this would give him a good view of my ass, my face heating as I did.

"Oh, Ms. Bennet…" he said and exhaled loudly. "I like this view very much…"

"You said you'd only call me Katherine or slave,' I said, smiling to myself.

"Shh," he said quickly. "A slave never corrects her Master."

I stepped out of the skirt and turned back, dropping it on the coffee table as well. Finally, I was there as he requested in my black lace garter and bra, sheer black nylons. I stood quiet, waiting for his next command.

He just stared at me, his gaze moving over my body. Then, he twirled his fingers. "Turn around, slowly. Let me see you from all angles."

I did as he commanded, turning around slowly, his gaze on my body making me so aroused.

"Lift your hair up, hold it up as you turn."

I did, pulling my hair up above my shoulders.

"Come here and straddle me on the chair."

"Don't you want to shave me first?"

"Slave," he said and shook his head. "No questioning my decisions. Besides, I'm going to send you to get waxed. It lasts longer."

I gritted my teeth, wondering how much pain that would be. Then I went to him and complied, one knee on either side of his hips, my arms resting on his shoulders. He looked me up and down, at my bare pussy, my thighs spread wide, and then up to my face.

"Your cheeks are nicely flushed, Katherine. You're nice and wet as well. I suspect you're also nicely swollen inside. Almost ready for me."

I didn't say anything, waiting for what he would do to me. Finally, he pulled the fabric of my bra down to expose my nipples and tweaked each one, before pulling me up and leaning in to suck one, pulling on the areola gently with his teeth, the tiny bit of pain making me gasp but then he sucked and the pleasure immediately after went right to my clit. 

"Stand up."

I did, standing with a foot on either side of him on the cushion so that my groin was level with his face. I knew what was coming next, my pulse increasing at the thought. He reached up behind me and squeezed my ass, pulling me closer.

"Put one foot on the arm rest," he said. When I did, he began licking me all over, slowly, agonizingly slowly, biting me softly before slipping his tongue between my lips to find my very swollen clit. I had to prop myself on the wall behind the wing chair while he bit and licked and sucked me, the sensations making me dizzy with desire. He slipped a couple of fingers inside of me while he sucked and licked and my thighs began to tremble.

"Tell me if you feel close. Remember, you can't come until I say you can."

Soon, I could feel the faint stabs of pleasure building deep within me, my face hot, my breathing faster.

"Drake, I think…" I said, then realized I'd used his name. "I mean, Master…"

He didn't stop what he was doing. If anything, he increased the tempo, adding another finger, sucking me into his mouth so that I had to moan out loud.

"I'm going to…"

He still didn't stop and my orgasm started, waves of pleasure spreading outward from my groin, down my legs and up into my chest. I could barely keep my eyes open, my body clenching around his fingers, my thighs quaking.

It was too much. "Oh, God, please stop…" I gasped.

Finally, he stopped his motions and I just leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, my forehead resting on the hard plaster.

"Should I get down?" I said after a moment. I tried to pull away but he stopped me with one hand, keeping the other where it was, his fingers still inside me.

"No, wait. I like to feel this."

I stopped, my body clenching involuntarily every few seconds in the aftermath of my orgasm.

He covered me once more with his mouth, his tongue flat against my throbbing clit. I inhaled deeply for I was still so sensitive.

Finally, when my thighs were shaking too much from maintaining the position, he pulled his mouth off me, taking my hips in his hands and pulling me down so that I was back sitting on his lap, straddling him. He kissed me and I could taste myself on his lips and tongue, the slightest hint of salty flesh.

When he ended the kiss, he pulled back and just looked at me, his gaze moving over my face.

"My turn."