Page 51 of A Bossy Roommate
He doesn’t listen. Instead, he grabs his cock, now harder than steel, strokes himself a few times, distributing the wetness his tip has collected. He gives himself time to connect his eyes with mine, watching me squirm, enjoying how badly I want him inside of me. Then he positions himself back at my entrance, pushing more eagerly this time.
I gasp, my nerves getting the best of me, moaning at the feeling of his soft skin against mine. Never in my life have I been happier to be on birth control.
Slowly—excruciatingly slowly—he pushes his tip inside of me, stretching me open.
“Ohh…” The suddenness of feeling about one inch of his crown in my body is so intense I can’t help but release a moan.
I want to push myself against him, pull his hips against me, taking all of him at once to bring our bodies flush together.
But I’m not physically able to do so. I’m trapped and my movements are limited. In a protesting response, I try to lower my arms, but remember they’re still tied. I need them to push myself against him, but a shake of his head forces my arms back into their original position.
“Stay still,” he whisper-orders.
He can be such a boss sometimes.
In defiance, my muscles clench around his head, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. He moves his hips slightly, hardly even a quarter of an inch, causing his tip to slide out and back in. Every thought leaves my brain except for Carter, me, and the torturous way we’re connected. The position is hotter than I thought it would be. Feeling his tip inside me is hot enough, but the way he’s trying to control himself and not push into me makes me want to force him against me with every fiber of my being.
“Do not move your hips,” Carter rumbles. “Stay like this. Keep your arms up.”
“Okay,” I rasp, feeling almost dizzy from arousal.
Even though I want to immediately sling my arms around his head to his shoulders for support and pull my hips against his, I remain in position. Yep. Frustratingly obedient, I keep them up and my hips still as he ordered. His strong hands are digging into the flesh of my hips. Everything in me hopes he will pull me closer, but instead, he prevents us from moving. It’s hard enough to leave a mark on my skin. But I want him to mark me, to claim me, and leave a reminder of what we’re doing. No onewould know if he thrust into me completely. I wouldn’t tell. It would be our little secret, and the thought thrills me more than it has any right to.
“Carter,” I moan, squeezing down on him. “You feel so good. Please. Please go deeper.”
He groans and pushes himself in a tiny bit more, barely, maybe half an inch, if that much, but pulls back out to where he was, absolutely preventing his hips from gyrating and keeping him only the one damn inch deep and not all the many,manyinches he could possibly be inside of me. Anytime I try to somehow pull myself forward, he holds me tight, keeps me flush, not even giving me one fraction more of his cock.
“Just one more inch,” I beg. At this point, I’m happy to get anything.
“I can’t. I won’t be able to stop,” he rasps. “I want to fuck you so badly I can barely think.”
This is hard enough, his eyes tell me.
With his forehead leaning against mine, his hands run from my hips up my naked belly to my breasts. My blouse had fallen closed when I’d lifted my arms, and he folds it back open. He cups my breasts, and his thumbs graze my nipples, teasing and pinching them over and over, while his lips find mine.
Doing all this, he doesn’t move his hips. He remains perfectly still.
Except for his hands. One hand circles my throat while his other drops to my sensitive clit. When he brushes it with his fingers, I moan into his mouth. Relentlessly, he starts playing with it, circling it, and I’m lost in the sea of sensations that overtakes me, clenching onto his tip, relentlessly.
He was right, and I was wrong.
This position isn’t subtle. This is in no form or shape subtle sex.
This is agony.
Pure torture.
But I’m perfectly happy staying right where I am, arms up, feeling his fingers where I need them most, gearing up for the impending Big O explosion that’s rapidly sneaking up on me. By rapidly I mean I’m drawing nearer too quickly, remarkably close…almost…there—when Carter suddenly moves.
His hands leave my body. He pulls out of me.Wait, what, no. Noooo.The sudden loss of him drags a whimper out of me, but when I glance back to see what he’s doing, I’m greeted by the sight of him tearing his shirt off.
Oh, good thinking.
His inked torso is fully naked now. On either side of his chest are designs that wrap around his arms and shoulder, made up of bold, black lines. The sight is mighty impressive, to say the least. Cool, manly strength. Uncontained energy. That’s what I see. But when my eyes focus on his chest, my jaw drops open. Carter’s torso boasts a tattoo of a fierce hawk in a moment of unbridled ferocity, exuding a primal, untamable spirit with muscles rippling beneath its dark feathers. I blink. A predator. The hawk’s piercing eyes lock onto me, its wings spread wide, a warning in its gaze and a threat in its poised talons, ready to unleash powerful strikes at any moment, daring any challenger to cross its path.
“Arms down for a second,” he growls.
Oh, finally.I let my tired arms fall, and Carter undoes the tie that binds them, then slides his hands down my shoulders to lower my blouse. With quick work, he unclasps my bra, which I happily toss away with the rest of my clothing.