Chapter 12
Carla
I only made the ridiculous offer because, by the time Kellan was ready for me to rollover, I was already halfway there. Tired and grumpy after another long day at the office, I’d wanted nothing more than a glass of wine, some microwave popcorn and to binge-watch my favorite scandalous series on Netflix.
While I adored Kellan, and his near constant attention, I wasn’t used to having a man around the house every night, let alone one who made it his personal mission to send me off to sleep with multiple, verbal orgasms. I’d heard his favorite brand of Asian inspired, Middle Eastern-fused, hip-hop jazz, swing, chill mix oozing from his cell phone somewhere on the patio the minute I’d walked through the door.
Inching closer toward it, I’d seen how he’d added to my already impressive display of hanging bulbs and twinkling lights to truly make my rooftop deck a hidden wonderland. Despite my earlier reluctance, I could hardly resist the poured glass of wine and handsome face waiting for me after another long day at Miami Models.
Thirty seconds of admiring his bare, sweaty torso was all the convincing I’d needed to offer myself up to him, and his considerable talents, for one more night. By the time he put his first handful of tropical warming lotion between my shoulders, I just sighed with bliss.
Nearly an hour later and my entire back, arms, ass and legs were saturated and soothed, and I was nearer still to complete and utter ecstasy. Given his unique talents then, I had no doubt Kellan would rise to my challenge.
Naturally, he didn’t disappoint. With a hand on each of my oiled cheeks, he began to gently knead my tender, eager ass. Like dough in an expert pastry chef’s hands, I warmed to his touch, subtly rising to greet the touch of his flat palms and writhe against his probing fingertips.
Gently, subtly, I noticed he was doing more than just kneading my ass, but also pressing me down and forward onto the soft padded table beneath my swollen clit. Already slick and wet with desire, I began to grind in earnest against the padded table top. It was a blissful and surprisingly erotic sensation.
Kellan’s strong and capable hands gently slid my body up and down the tabletop. I moved less than an inch the entire time, and yet the results were shocking and sudden. Not only did my clit rasp across the soft white padding, but so did my erect nipples. With my hands above my head, I gripped the top of the table to pull, push and help him along on this sensuous journey.
In college, I’d taken to humping my pillow in the middle of the night. While my roommate slept, unaware, in the next bed over, I gently but eagerly rubbed my juicy clit against my poor dorm room pillow. While I would eventually climax—biting down on my twisted sheets to silence my ecstatic squeal—it was in pale comparison to what Kellan was doing at the moment.
Not only did he apply just the right amount of pressure to press me down against the table surface, he now gently rocked and rolled my body in a circular motion, as if knowing how it would affect my throbbing, tender bud.
The result was almost instantaneous. I shuddered and shook, trembling with the prequel to the ecstasy that was to come. Spreading my thighs shamelessly, he took the hint and applied a fraction more pressure. I came and cried out his name, this despite a week full of more sex than I’d had in the past year—maybe even longer.
The tremors seemed to never subside but, instead, to build upon themselves one after the other. Though high above South Beach and secluded from view by carefully tended bushes and shrubs, I nonetheless bit into the table top to muffle my shuddering scream. Perhaps it was an old habit, born in that far away dorm room, or perhaps the lack of oxygen as I struggled to breathe, but the act of biting down on the table’s edge only added to the ecstasy and I came once more.
Okay, fine—twice more, but after nearly half a dozen already… who was counting? His hands never moved from my ass, never slid between my legs or ‘cheated’ by teasing or toying with my slick, wet pussy—and yet I was completely sated as I eventually wriggled free from his long, expert fingers.
Somehow, I dragged myself to a sitting position and summoned the last of my strength to shuffle to the edge of the table next to him. Leaning gently back and gripping the sides of the table on either side of me, the message was clear. “I want to come on your dick. Hard, long and loud.” I said with a slightly breathy air.
Kellan, already hard, only had to tug on the drawstring of his linen pants for them to drop down and away from his glorious body. Wearing nothing beneath, he approached with the practiced ease of a languid lover, put his hands on the table on either side of my thighs and promptly thrust his cock inside my wet, hungry cunt.
I gasped with delight, a wanton sound I’d been making more and more often lately. My thighs wrapped eagerly, almost greedily, around his narrow hips, guiding him deeper still inside my wet, willing cave. Kellan was a machine, a piston-pumping, hip-thrusting, depth-mining machine. This night, however, was destined to be a sprint—not our usual marathon.
As if enticed by the hour-long massage, now my beautiful, young lover raced to find his own release. He found it quickly, but not so quickly that the gliding thrust of his elegant cock and the hard, toned flesh of his sweaty pelvis didn’t pound me into another gushing orgasm.
As if inspired, he came shortly after. Pulling himself from deep inside me, he stroked himself like a teenager in the locker room until he splashed my chest and belly with the fruits of his labor. I writhed beneath his glorious gushing, the force of his youthful blasts making me come once more then he leaned forward, tenderly pressing his damp forehead against my own.
It was so like Kellan, a born Alpha in daylight, striding and strutting across the catwalk of his life, to surprise me with these rare and random gestures just when I needed them most.
And then he lifted me effortlessly from the table and carried me to the nearest chair, resting my naked body gently on top of the padded cushion. Pouring us both a fresh glass of wine, he sat across from me and offered a sexy toast.
“Here’s to making the massage table a permanent resident of your rooftop hideaway.” I seconded that notion, of course. Eager to spend the rest of the night drizzling his flawless young body with whatever scented lotion remained in the bottle.