"Oh my gods,"
The first thing I notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It's very pleasant, and the lighting is soft, subtle. In fact, I can't see the source, but it's around the cornice in the room, emitting an ambient glow. The walls and ceiling are a deep, dark burgundy, giving a womb-like effect to the spacious room, and the floor is old, old varnished wood. There is a large wooden cross like an X fastened to the wall facing the door. It's made of high-polished mahogany, and there are restraining cuffs on each corner. Above it is an expensive iron grid suspended from the ceiling, eight-foot square at least, and from it hang all manner of ropes, chains, and glinting shackles. By the door, two long, polished, ornately carved poles, rods across the wall. From them swing a startling assortment of paddles, whips, riding crops, and funny-looking feathery implements.
Beside the door stands a substantial mahogany chest of drawers, each drawer slims as if designed to contain specimens in a crusty old museum. I wonder briefly what the drawers actually do hold. Do I want to know? In the far corner is an oxblood leather padded bench, and fixed to the wall beside it is a wooden, polished rack that looks like a pool or billiard cue holder, but on closer inspection, it holds canes of varying lengths and widths. There's a stout six-foot-long table in the opposite corner, polished wood with intricately carved legs, and two matching stools underneath.
But what dominates the room is a bed. It's bigger that king-size, an ornately carved rococo four-poster with a flat top. It looks late nineteenth century. Under the canopy, I can see more gleaming chains and cuffs. There is no bedding… just a mattress covered in red leather and red satin cushion piled at one end.
At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is a large oxblood chesterfield couch, just stuck in the middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement… to have a couch facing the bed, and I smile to myself. I've picked on the couch as odd, when really it's the most mundane piece of furniture in the room. I glance up and stare at the ceiling. There are karabiners all over the ceiling at odd intervals. I vaguely wonder what they're for. Weirdly, all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather makes the room kind of soft and romantic… I know it's anything but, this is Henry's version of soft and romantic.
I turn, and he's regarding me intently as I knew he would be, his expression completely unreadable. I walk further into the room, and he follows me. The feathery thing has me intrigued. I touch it hesitantly. It's suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small beads on the end.
"It's called a flogger," Henry's voice is quite and soft.
A flogger… hmm. I think I'm in shock. My subconscious has emigrated or been struck dumb or simply keeled over and expired. I am numb. I can observe and absorb but not articulate my feelings about all this, because I'm shock. What is the appropriate response to finding out a potential lover is a completely freaky sadist or masochist? Fear… yes… that seems to be the over-riding feeling. I recognize it now. But weirdly not of him. I don't think he's hurt me, well, not without my consent. So many questions cloud my mind. Why? How? When? How often? Who? I walk toward the bed and run my hands down one of the intricately carved post. The post is very sturdy, the craftsmanship outstanding.
"Say something please." Henry pleads, his voice deceptively soft.
"Do women do this to you or do you- "
"I do this to women. With women. Only women who want me to."
I don't understand. If he has willing volunteers, why am I here?
I wander to the far corner of the room and pat the waist high padded bench and run my fingers over the leather. He likes to hurt women. the thought depresses me. "You're a sadist?"
"I'm a dominant." His eyes are a scorching green, intense.
"What does that mean?" I whisper.
"It means that I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me."
I frown at him as I try to assimilate this idea.
"Why would I do that?"
"To please me." He whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.
Please him! He wants me to please him! I think my mouth drops open. Please Henry Haddock. And I realize, in that moment, that yes, that's exactly what I want to do. I want him to be damned delighted with me. It's a revelation.
"Please you? How?" My mouth is dry, and I wish I had more wine. Okay, I understand the pleasing bit, but I am puzzled by the soft-boudoir-Elizabethan-torture set up. Do I want to know the answer?
"I have rules, if you follow them, I'll reward you. If you don't, I'll punish you." He whispers. I glance at the rack of canes as he says this.
"You'd punish me; you'd use this stuff on me?" I wave my hand in the general direction of the room.
"Yes,"
"What would I get out of this?"
He shrugs and looks almost apologetic.
"Me." He says simply.
Henry closes the room to his 'playroom' and takes my hand. We turn right out of the playroom, as he calls it, as we reach the one at the end.
"If we're gonna do this, this will be your room." He said and open the door in front of us.
Beyond it is a bedroom with a large double bed, all in white… everything, furniture, walls, bedding. It's sterile and cold but with the most glorious view of Seattle through the glass wall.
"You can decorate it however you like."
"You want me to move in?" I can't hide the horror in my voice.
"Not full time, just Friday through to Sunday. We can negotiate the particulars." He adds, his voice quiet and hesitant.
"So- I'd sleep in here with you?"
"No, I sleep downstairs. I told you, I don't sleep with anyone." His eyes are reprimanding.
My mouth presses in a hard line. This is what I cannot reconcile. Kind, caring Henry, who rescues me from inebriation and holds me gently while I'm throwing up into the azaleas, and the monster who possesses whips and chains in a special room.
"What if I don't want anything to do with that?" I said without hesitations.
He looks at me and turn back down on he's step on the floor. After we talk on my room if ever, he'd lead me back down stairs.
"Then I understand completely." He says carefully.
"But then we wouldn't have any sort of relationship at all?" I ask.
"This is the only sort of relationship I have."
"Why?"
He shrugs.
"It's the way I am," he said then sits on the stair floor of his living room.
"When you said negotiate, what did you mean?" I ask once more then sit beside him, looking at him.
"I already have the contract prepared. Fairly detailed. You would review it, and negotiate what you are and not willing to try."
Crap. I've no idea. I am completely stumped. He gazes at me and furrows his brow.
"How can I know what I'd be willing to try?"
"Well when you had sex, was there anything you didn't like doing? We have to be honest with each other for this to work,"
"I… I wouldn't know."
"What do you mean?" he whisperly ask.
I squirm uncomfortably and bite my lip.
"Because I haven't…" I shake my head and look at him.
"You're still a virgin? I've had to show you-" He breathes.
For the first time in what seems to be ages, I blush.
"I know, I know, I just- " I squirm uncomfortably again and stare at my knotted fingers.
"You've don't other things right?"
"No." My voice is small. I peek up at him, and he's staring at me, mouth-open, frozen, and pale, really pale.
He takes a breath and move a little forward to me. He then touches my cheek and move his thumb across my lip.
"Where have you been?"
"Waiting."
"Guys must throw themselves to you,"
"They're never what I've wanted."
"You're biting your lip," His voice is husky, and he's eyeing me speculatively. He leans on me then kisses me on the lip.
Sweet Freya, is this it?
He moves upward and slowly letting go of his lip to mine. I want more!
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Rectifying the situation." He answers then slowly lifting me up to follow him.
The floor has fallen away. What?
"I'm a situation?"
His bedroom is vast. The ceiling height windows look out on a lit up, high-rise Seattle. The walls are white, and the furnishings are pale blue. The enormous bed is ultra-modern, made of rough, grey wood, like driftwood, four posts, but no canopy. On the wall above it is a stunning painting of the sea with a Viking boat on it.
I am quaking like a leaf. This is it. Finally, after all this time, I'm going to do it, with none other than Henry Horrendous Haddock III. My breath is shallow, and I can't take my eyes off him. He removes his watch and place it on top of a chest of drawers that matches the bed, and removes his jacket, placing it on a chair. He's dressed in his white linen shirt and jeans. He is heart-stoppingly beautiful. His auburn hair is a mess, his shirt hanging out, his green eyes bold and dazzling. He steps out of his Converse shoes and reaches down and takes his socks off individually.
"I assume you're not on the pill."
What! Shit.
"I didn't think so." He opens the top drawer of the chest and removes a packet of condoms. He gazes at me intently.
"Be prepared," he murmurs. "Do you want the blinds drawn?"
"I don't mind." I whisper. "I thought you didn't let anyone sleep in your bed."
"Who says we're going to sleep?" he murmurs softly.
"Oh." Holy Hel.
He strolls slowly toward me. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing, and my heart begins to pound. My blood's pumping around my body. Desire, thick and hot, pools in my belly. He stands in front of me, staring down into my eyes. I have to admit; he's so freaking hot.
"Let's get this jacket off shall we?" he says softly, and takes hold of my lapels and gently slides my jacket off my shoulders. He places it on the chair.
"Do you have any idea how much I want you, Astrid Hofferson?" he whispers. My breath hitches. I cannot take my eyes off his. He reaches up and gently run his fingers down my cheek to my chin.
"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?" He adds, caressing my chin.
The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of me clench in the most delicious fashion. The pain is so sweet and sharp, I want to close my eyes, but I'm hypnotized by his green eyes staring fervently into mine. Leaning down, he kisses me. His lips are demanding, firm and slow, molding mine. He starts unbuttoning my shirt while he places feather-like kisses across my jaw, my chin, and the corner of my mouth. Slowly he peels it off me and lets it fall to the floor. He stands back and gazes at me. I'm in the pale blue lacy perfect-fit bra. Thanks Valhalla.
"Gods, Astrid," he breathes. "You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it."
I flush. Odin's beard… why did he say he couldn't make love? I will do anything he wants. He grasps my hair tie, pulls it free, and grasps as my hair cascades down around my shoulders.
"I like blondes," he murmurs, and both of his hands are in my hair, grasping each side of my head. His kiss is demanding, his tongue and lips coaxing mine. I moan, and my tongue tentatively meet his. He puts his arms around me and hauls me against his body, squeezing me tightly. One hand remains in my hair, and the other travels down my spine to my waist and down to my behind. He holds me against his hips, and I feel his erection, which he languidly pushes into me.
I moan once more into his mouth. I can hardly contain the riotous feelings or is it hormones that rampage through my body. I want him so badly. Gripping his upper arms, I feel his biceps, he's surprising strong… muscular. Tentatively, I move my hands up to his face and into his hair. Oh Thor. It's so soft, unruly. I tug gently, and he groans. He eases me toward the bed, until I feel it behind my knees. I think he's going to push me down on to it, but he doesn't. Releasing me, he suddenly drops to his knees. He grabs my hips with both his hands and runs his tongue around my navel, then gently nips his way to my hipbone, then across my belly to my other hipbone.
"Ah," I groan.
Seeing him on his knees in front of me, feeling his mouth on me, it's unexpected, and hot. My hands stay in his hair, pulling gently as I try to quiet my too-loud breathing. He gazes up at me through impossibly long lashes, his eyes a scorching smoky gray. His hands reach up and undo the button on my jeans, and he leisurely pulls down the zipper. Without taking his eyes off mine, his hands move beneath the waistband, skimming me and moving to my behind. His hands glide slowly down my backside to my thighs, removing my jeans as they go. I cannot look away. He stops and lick his lips, never breaking eye contact.
He closes his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face, and I practically convulse. He reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes me gently so I fall on to the mattress.
He then stands up and removes my jeans. I'm lying on his bed dressed only in my bra and panties, and he's staring down at me.
"You're very beautiful, Astrid Hofferson. I can't wait to be inside you." Holy shit. His words. He's so seductive. He takes my breath away. "Show me how you pleasure yourself."
What? I frown.
"Don't be coy, Astrid, show me," he whispers.
I shake my head.
"I don't know what you mean." My voice is hoarse. I hardly recognize it, laced with desire.
"How do you make yourself come? I want to see."
I shake my head.
"I don't," I mumble.
He raises his eyebrows, astonished for a moment, and his eyes darken, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
"Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that." His voice is soft, challenging, a delicious sensual threat. He undoes the buttons of his jeans and slowly pulls his jeans down, his eyes on mine the whole time. He leans down over me and, gasping each of my ankles, quickly jerks my legs apart and crawls onto the bed between my legs. He hovers over me. I am squirming with need. "Keep still," he murmurs, and then he leans down and kisses the inside of my thigh, trailing kisses up, over the thin lacy material of my panties, kissing me.
Oh… I can't keep still. How can I not move? I wriggle beneath him.
"We're going to have to work on keeping you still, milady." He trails kisses up my belly, and his tongue dips into my navel. Still he's heading north, kissing me across my torso. My skin is burning. I'm flushed, too hot, too cold, and I'm clawing at the sheet beneath me. He lays down beside me, and his hand trails up from my hip, to my waist, and up to my breast. He gazes down at me, his expression unreadable, and gently cups my breast.
"You fit my hand perfectly, Astrid," he murmurs and hips his index finger into the cup of my bra and gently yanks it down freeing my breast, but the under wire and fabric of the cup force it upward. His finger moves to my other breast and repeats the process. My breast swell, and my nipples harden under his steady gaze. I am trussed-up by my own bra.
He blows very gently on one as his hand moves to my other breast, and his thumb slowly rolls the end of my nipple, elongating it. I groan, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to my groin. I am so wet. Oh please, I beg internally as my fingers clasp the sheet tighter. His lips close around my other nipple and he tugs, I nearly convulse.
"Let's see If we can make you come like this," he whispers, continuing his slow, sensual assault. My nipples bear the delicious brunt of his deft fingers and lips, setting alight every single nerve ending in my body so that my whole body sings with the sweet agony. He just doesn't stop.
"Oh… please," I beg, and I pull my head back, my mouth open as I groan, my legs stiffening. Holy Hel, what's happening to me?
"Let go, baby," he murmurs. His teeth close around my nipples, and his thumb and finger pull hard, and I fall apart in his hands, my body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces. He kisses me, deeply, his tongue in my mouth absorbing my cries.
Oh Thor. That was extraordinary. Now I know what all the fuss is about. He gazes down at me, a satisfied smile on his face, while I'm sure there's nothing but gratitude and awe on mine.
"You are very responsive," he breathes. "You're going to have to learn to control that, and it's going to be so much fun teaching you how." he kisses me again.
My breathing is still ragged as I come down from my orgasm. His hand moves down my waist, to my hips, and then cups me, intimately. His finger slip through the fine lace and slowly circles around me, there. Briefly he closes his eyes, and his breathing hitches.
"You're so deliciously wet. God, I want you." He thrusts his finger inside me, and I cry out as he does it again and again. He palms my clitoris, and I cry out once more. He pushes inside me harder and harder still. I groan.
Suddenly, he sits up and tugs my panties off and throws them on the floor. Pulling off his boxer briefs, his erection springs free. Sweet Freya… He reaches over to his bedside table and grabs a foil packet, and then he moves between my legs, spreading them further apart. He kneels up and pulls a condom on to his considerable length. Oh no… Will it? How?
"Don't worry," he breathes, his eyes on mine. "You expand too." He leans down, his hands on either side of my head, so he's hovering over me, staring down into my eyes, his jaw clenched, eyes burning. It's only now that I register he's still wearing his shirt.
"You really want to do this?" he asks softly.
"Please," I beg.
"Pull your knees up," he orders softly, and I'm quick to obey. "I'm going to fuck you now, Miss Hofferson," he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of my sex. "Hard." He whispers, and he slams into me.
"Aargh!" I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity. He stills, gazing down at me, his eyes bright with ecstatic triumph.
His mouth is open slightly, and his breathing is harsh. He groans.
"You're so tight. You okay?"
I nod, my eyes wide, my hands on his forearms. I feel so full. He stays still, letting me acclimatize to the intrusive, overwhelming feeling of him inside me.
"I'm going to move, milady," he breathes after a moment, his voice tight.
Oh.
He eases back with exquisite slowness. And he closes his eyes and groan, and thrusts into me again. I cry out a second time, and he stills.
"More?" he whispers, his voice raw.
"Yes," I breathe. He does it once more, and stills again.
I groan. My body accepting him… Gods, I want this.
"Again?" he breathes.
""Yes." It's a plea.
And he moves, but this time he doesn't stop. He shifts onto his elbows so I can feel his weight on me, holding me down. He moves slowly at first, easing himself in and out of me. And as I grow accustomed to the alien feeling, my hips move tentatively to meet his. He speeds up. I moan, and he pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and I keep up, meeting his thrusts. He grasps my head between his hands and kisses me hard, his teeth pulling at my lower lip again. He shifts slightly, and I can feel something building deep inside me, like before. I start to stiffen as he thrust on and on. My body quivers, bows, a sheen or sweat gathers over me. Oh gods… I didn't know it would feel like this… didn't know it could feel as good as this. My thoughts are scattering… there's only sensation… only him… only me… oh please… I stiffen.
"Come for me, Astrid," he whispers breathlessly, and I unravel at his words, exploding around him as I climax and splinter into a million pieces underneath him. And as he comes, he calls out my name, thrusting hard, then stilling as he empties himself into me.
I am still panting, trying to slow my breathing, my thumping heart, and my thought are in riotous disarray. Wow… that was astounding. I open my eyes, and he has his forehead pressed against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Henry's eyes flicker open and gaze down at me, dark but soft. He's still inside me. Leaning down, he gently presses a kiss against my forehead then slowly pulls out of me.
"Ooh." I wince at the unfamiliarity.
"Did I hurt you?" Henry asks as he lies down beside me propped on one elbow. He tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. And I have to grin, widely.
"You are asking me if you hurt me?"
"The irony is not lost on me," he smiles sardonically. "Seriously, are you okay?" His eyes are intense, probing, demanding even.
I stretch out beside him, feeling loose-limbed, my bones like jelly, but I'm relaxed, deeply relaxed. I grin at him. I can't stop grinning. Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms... coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow. I had no idea what my body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly. The pleasure was indescribable.
"You're biting your lip, and you haven't answered me." He's frowning. I grin up at him impishly. He looks glorious with his tousled hair, burning narrowed green eyes, and serious, dark expression.
"I'd like to do that again," I whisper. For a moment, I think I see a fleeting look of relief on his face, before the shutters come down, and he gazes at me through hooded eyes.
"Would you now, Miss Hofferson?" he murmurs dryly. He leans down and kisses me very gently at the corner of my mouth. "Demanding little thing aren't you. Turn on your front."
I blink at him momentarily, and then I turn over. He unhooks my bra and runs his hand down my back to my behind.
"You really have the most beautiful skin," he murmurs. He shifts so that one of his legs pushes between mine, and he's half lying across my back. I can feel the buttons of his shirt pressing into me as he gathers my hair off my face and kisses my bare shoulder.
"Why are you wearing your shirt?" I ask. He stills. After a beat, he shuffles out of his shirt, and he lies back down on me. I feel his warm skin against mine. Hmm... it feels heavenly. He has a light dusting of hair across his chest, which tickles my back.
"So you want me to fuck you again?" he whispers in my ear, and he begins to trail feather light kisses around my ear and down my neck.
His hand moves down, skimming my waist, over my hip, and down my thigh to the back of my knee. He pushes my knee up higher, and my breath hitches... oh my, what's he doing now? He shifts so he's between my legs, pressed against my back, and his hand travels up my thigh to my behind. He caresses my cheek slowly, and then trails his fingers down between my legs.
"I'm going to take you from behind, Astrid," he murmurs, and with his other hand, he grasps my hair at the nape in a fist and pulls gently, holding me in place. I cannot move my head. I am pinioned beneath him, helpless.
"You are mine," he whispers. "Only mine. Don't forget it." His voice is intoxicating, his words heady, seductive. I feel his growing erection against my thigh.
His long fingers reach round to gently massage my clitoris, circling slowly. His breath is soft against my face as he slowly nips me along my jaw.
"You smell divine," he nuzzles behind my ear. His hand rubs against me, round and round. Reflexively, my hips start to circle, mirroring his hand, as excruciating pleasure spikes through my blood like adrenaline.
"Keep still," he orders, his voice soft but urgent, and slowly he inserts his thumb inside me, rotating it round and round, stroking the front wall of my vagina. The effect is mind-blowing – all my energy concentrating on this one small space inside my body. I moan.
"You like this?" he asks softly, his teeth grazing my outer ear, and he starts to flex his thumb slowly, in, out, in, out... his fingers still circling.
I close my eyes, trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to absorb the disordered, chaotic sensations that his fingers are unleashing on me, fire coursing through my body. I moan again.
"You're so wet, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Astrid, I like that. I like that a lot," he whispers.
I want to stiffen my legs, but I can't move. He's pinning me down, keeping up a constant, slow, tortuous rhythm. It's absolutely exquisite. I moan again, and he moves suddenly.
"Open your mouth," he commands and thrusts his thumb in my mouth. My eyes fly open, blinking wildly.
"See how you taste," he breathes against my ear. "Suck me, baby." His thumb presses on my tongue, and my mouth closes round him, sucking wildly. I taste the saltiness on his thumb and the faint metallic tang of blood. Holy fuck. This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic.
"I want to fuck your mouth, Astrid, and I will soon," his voice is hoarse, raw, his breathing more disjointed.
Fuck my mouth! I moan, and I bite down on him. He gasps, and he pulls my hair tighter, painfully, so I release him.
"Naughty, sweet girl," he whispers, and then reaches over to the bedside table for a foil packet. "Stay still, don't move," he orders as he releases my hair.
He rips the foil while I'm breathing hard, my blood singing in my veins. The anticipation is exhilarating. He leans down, his weight on me again, and he grabs my hair holding my head immobile. I cannot move. I'm enticingly ensnared by him, and he's poised and ready to take me once more.
"We're going to go real, slow this time, Astrid," he breathes.
And slowly he eases into me, slowly, slowly, until he's buried in me. Stretching, filling, relentless. I groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable. I groan again, and he deliberately circles his hips and pulls back, pauses a beat, and then eases his way back in.
He repeats this motion again and again. It's driving me insane – his teasing, deliberately slow thrusts, and the intermittent feeling of fullness is overwhelming.
"You feel so good," he groans, and my insides start to quiver. He pulls back and waits. "Oh no, baby, not yet," he murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, he starts the whole delicious process again.
"Oh, please," I beg. I'm not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight, craving release.
"I want you sore, baby," he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward. "Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here. Only me. You are mine."
I groan.
"Please, Henry," I whisper.
"What do you want, Astrid? Tell me."
I groan again. He pulls out and moves slowly back into me, circling his hips once more.
"Tell me," he murmurs.
"You, please."
He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. My insides start quickening, and Henry picks up the rhythm.
"You. Are. So. Sweet," he murmurs between each thrust. "I. Want. You. So. Much."
I moan.
"You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby," he growls.
His words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice. My body convulses around him, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress, and Henry follows with two sharp thrusts, and he freezes, pouring himself into me as he finds his release. He collapses on top of me, his face in my hair.
"Fuck. Astrid," he breathes. He pulls out of me immediately and rolls onto his side of the bed. I pull my knees up to my chest, utterly spent, and immediately drift off or pass out into an exhausted sleep.
When I wake, it's still dark. I have no idea how long I've slept. I stretch out beneath the duvet, and I feel sore, deliciously sore. Henry is nowhere to be seen. I sit up, staring out at the cityscape in front of me. There are fewer lights on amongst the skyscrapers, and there's a whisper of dawn in the east. I hear the music. The lilting notes of the piano, a sad, sweet lament. Bach, I think, but I'm not sure.
I wrap the duvet round me and quietly pad down the corridor toward the big room. Henry is at the piano, completely lost in the music he's playing. His expression is sad and forlorn, like the music. His playing is stunning. Leaning against the wall at the entrance, I listen enraptured. He's such an accomplished musician. He sits naked, his body bathed in the warm light cast by a solitary freestanding lamp beside the piano. With the rest of the large room in darkness, it's like he's in his own isolated little pool of light, untouchable... lonely, in a bubble.
I pad quietly toward him, enticed by the sublime, melancholy music. I'm mesmerized watching his long skilled fingers as they find and gently press the keys, thinking how those same fingers have expertly handled and caressed my body. I flush and gasp at the memory and press my thighs together. He glances up, his unfathomable green eyes bright, his expression unreadable.
I move forward as he keeps playing, I noticed now that his wearing PJ pants. I stop in his back but then, he stops playing and hold my hand to move myself to face him. He slowly pushes away the duvet that covers my nakedness, as I, his slave, sits in his lap and kisses him dearly. I let him move me to his bed and takes me once more.
…
Another one is finished, thanks for all the support and yeah, late update. But it's the longest! Hahaha, for now… Anyway, I want to thank OPAYYAP for all the things she helped me... lol, love it and it helped a lot. Once again, review if somethings not right or you like it or blah blah blah.
