Chapter 8

 

‘Look at how wet you are.’ His voice is gravelly, his tone more wonder than admonishment as his gaze flicks from my wet panties to my face. ‘I’ve a good mind to shove them into your mouth as we fuck. But then, how would I hear you scream?’

My God, I think I almost came.

With his accent, I knew his aural would be good, but I couldn’t have guessed the dirty deliciousness of his words.

‘You like the sound of that,’ he asserts, staring at my pussy . . . my cunt. The word reverberates off the walls of my brain. And my uterus. How can I be so turned on by something that would usually make me cringe?

Yes, I know I work for a porn company, but still.

‘Fuck, look at that,’ he groans, sliding one wet finger against where I’m soaked. I can feel myself pulsing against his finger. Does he see? Can he feel it?

I only need to look at his dark gaze to know the answer.

‘You’re so fucking sexy,’ he rasps, his thumb stroking my hard nipples one at a time. As he bends his head and takes one into his mouth, I buck at the graze of his teeth, welcoming the merging of pleasure and pain. What I’m unprepared for is the deep thrust of his large fingers inside.

I cry out—words of nonsense and need as his teeth tease and the fullness between my legs increases. Is that two fingers? Three? Three definitely. Electricity swells beneath my skin; I want to reach out and pull him to me, kiss him, let him taste my need, but I don’t want this feeling to end.

Then, in one fluid motion, he drops to his knees and hooks my panties to the side to watch . . . to just stare at my most sensitive of places as he thrusts his fingers inside over and over again, his thumb rubbing my clit.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he murmurs. ‘Ride my fucking hand.’

My fingers grasp the edge of the table as I begin to chant, ‘Yes, God, yes! Please, please, please!’

On one deep thrust, Keir leans forward and places a soft kiss on the strip of hair between my legs. Another kiss, then another as he works his way down my pussy. When he reaches my opening, his dark gaze flicks up my body with a look of possession. A look that owns every bit of me. I watch as he parts my lips, stroking his tongue against where I’m most slick. It’s barely a touch, but it ignites every nerve ending as he bares my clit. Kisses it. Circles it with his tongue. Engulfs it between his lips.

‘Keir, God, yes!’

He grunts— a thoroughly masculine sound, his eyes dropping closed as his tongue licks me, pushing my legs wider, the string of my panties still hooked in his fingers.

‘You’re so fucking delicious,’ he growls against my flesh with almost a sound of awe as he feeds his hands under the cheeks of my ass, pulling me to his face. His tongue strokes, opening me, his whole mouth licking, and sucking, devouring.

I’m not sure how it happens, but one moment, he’s in front of me, and the next, I’m sitting on his face. Our position is so dirty, so fucking filthy as his hands find my hips, encouraging me in a sultry rhythm as I ride him. There’s no other word for it—I ride his face. Never in my entire life have I felt so sexy. So powerful. So desired as something hot and sleek rushes through my insides.

The noises I make are raw, almost animalistic; my hands are on my breasts, my back arching and my body stiffening as Keir drives me over the edge. I’m panting and crying and chanting his name as I struggle to break free from his face, but he refuses to allow me as he continues to work my tortured flesh with his mouth, coaxing more from my orgasm. Every nerve ending screams for either release or more of his brand of ecstasy, I’m not sure which. It seems impossible that I can feel—or enjoy—more but I do as he groans into the very core of me, drawing out my orgasm.

I’m frayed. Whimpering. Spent.

‘I can’t . . . I can’t.’ I can’t think. Can’t move. Can’t articulate what I mean as I fall forward, my palms connecting with the floor as I try to pull away from his large hands anchoring me against him.

‘Don’t cry, eh?’ His tone is deep and smoky, and with a last tormenting lick along my over-sensitized flesh, he pulls away, but not before biting the soft skin of my thigh.

If I wasn’t crying out before, I am now, the pounding between my legs only heightened by the press of his teeth.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispers a moment later, ‘would you look at that.’ But I don’t have the wherewithal to move. My head balances on my forearms; my wits are like marbles rolling around the place.

I have never come like that before. Never had someone go down on me, leaving me feeling as limp as overcooked spaghetti noodles. And I sound like I’ve been running. I hope he doesn’t want me to move because I don’t think I can. Like, ever again.

I’m brought back to the moment by his large hands on the cheeks of my ass, his thumb hooking my panties farther to one side.

‘Someone should paint this view.’

I huff some semblance of a laugh, thinking about the DIY mould kits Chastity considered featuring on the website. Or the MYOPD Max had insisted on. Mould Your Own Pussy or Dick.

‘I’m serious,’ he says, drawing his fingers along my wetness, causing me to whimper a muffled sound. ‘Oh, fuck.’

I sense the frustration with his exclamation. Turning my head over my shoulder, I find this moonlit god on his knees behind me, the cut of his jaw and abs not the hardest thing about him right now. Even though his expression is grim, it doesn’t stop my insides from fluttering at the sight of my wetness glistening on his lips and chin.

‘What is it?’ I whisper.

‘I don’t have a condom.’

‘You don’t?’ Why do I sound so surprised?

‘Unless you count the one in my wallet, which was a gag gift.’ One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. One large palm balances on the round of my bottom, and in the other, he holds himself. His dick. Cock. The thing I felt under his kilt but hadn’t seen. The kilt that now lies on the floor behind him. Not that I’m paying much attention as I stare at him holding himself. Idly touching, stroking the long, thick—

‘That condom won’t do?’ If I sound a little upset, it’s because I feel it.

‘It’s got a picture of Father Christmas on the foil.’ He quirks a brow. ‘What about in your bag?’ I shake my head. I hadn’t taken Chastity’s plan seriously at all. Not until I saw Keir, at least.

‘A call to the concierge it is,’ he says, making to move from between my legs.

‘No, don’t,’ I say, reaching behind me and grabbing nothing but air.

‘I’m sure they’ve had stranger requests.’

‘No, I mean, I want you. And I can’t imagine being tortured another minute while we wait for a prophylactic delivery.’

‘Are you complaining?’

‘Yes, Mr Smug. I need you to fuck me,’ I answer bluntly. More bluntly than I’ve ever been before. ‘I’ve had a million tests since Rob- . . . since he . . . so if you—’

‘You know what they call couples who rely on pulling out?’ Before I can answer, his brow tightens further as he grunts, ‘Parents.’

‘I’m on the pill.’

‘That changes things a little,’ he says, still scowling. ‘Though the last time I fucked without a condom, you were probably still in school.’

‘What?’ I answer with a little squeak.

But he doesn’t reply as he lines himself up, his jaw flexing as he curses again. Then he drives himself inside, expelling a long, throaty groan.

I cry out, still watching over my shoulder as his eyes roll closed. He tilts his head back as though savouring the moment as my insides clench their pleasure around him.

‘Keep doin’ that,’ he says, blowing the words out on a long breath, his thick lashes fluttering as his eyes open once again. ‘And this won’t last very long.’

‘So do it,’ I whisper, pushing back against him.

‘Do it? You mean fuck you—like this?’ He pulls back, pushing back into my pussy deliciously slow. ‘Or maybe like this?’ My hips in his hands, he drives in fast, skin slapping skin with the impact, once, twice, three times.

‘Yes!’ I cry out, any of that—all of that.

He alternates his movements between slow thrusts and solid drives until I don’t know where my body ends and his begins—until I don’t know if I’m crying out his name, or just straight up cursing, or if my words make any sense.

He flicks open my bra, my breasts bouncing free before he slides a hand under me to adjust the tilt of my butt. The change of angle alters the depth of his thrusts, and with it, the tone of my cries as he pushes down on my back.

Keir’s tempo changes as he groans, thrusting firmly again and again. His pace is unyielding, and I push my ass back against each of his thrusts as my climax approaches with a frightening speed, the tension twisting and building with the collision of skin.

Higher and higher it spirals, pushing all the air from my chest until I come loudly, my mind fragmenting, my body flexing and arching as it clenches through its release.

With one solid thrust, he grinds against me, and I think that’s it—he’s come, too. But then he pulls out, and covering my body with his, he works his length between the cheeks of my butt.

The experience is . . . I don’t have any words. And it doesn’t last long as his body lifts from mine. I turn my head again . . . just in time to see him painting my ass and the backs of my stockings with lashings of his cum.