Page 34 of Resist

His fingers twitch across the back of the couch.

“Are you aching to touch me?”

I track his fingers as they curl into the material. “Yes, ma’am.”

“But you’re being so good and resisting that urge, aren’t you?”

His back arches, head pressing into the couch as his wounded groan sounds once again.

“Aren’t you?” I press a nail through his cotton t-shirt into his skin.

“Yes, ma’am.” He grunts.

The urge to call himKajirusagain catches in the back of my throat. It’s not cool to use honorifics with someone when they haven’t been properly discussed, it’s presumptive, and rude and reproachful.

Honorifics are precisely that, an honor, a gift, and a sign of something far more than a one night—which this isn’t.

But he’s so responsive, so receptive, so eager that it’s hard not to let praise, affection slip from my mouth.

I lean back, staring down at his still-hard dick wrapped in latex, my arousal glistening on the tip. “Look how hungry you are for my pussy.”

He looks between us at his bulging hard-on. “Fuck. Please.”

I’ve barely touched him, and from the sweat beading on his forehead and the color rising in his cheeks, he looks like he may burst at any moment.

“Please, what?” I hold his gaze with my own taunting eyes, silently daring him, to do what? I’m not sure.

“Touch me, fuck me, let me fuck you, let me touch you. I need...” Both fists flex along the back of the couch. “Please, Cecelia,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. “I’m so fucking horny. I want you so badly. Please?”

His pleading is like music to my ears. The delicious ache of lust brewing in his body making me want to fuck with him just a little bit longer. So I slide my fingers between my pussy lips and finger myself.

When his arm flinches like he’s going to move to help me, I slap his hand. “Ah. No touching.”

His nostrils flare as he watches me circle my clit, my hand tucked between us, brushing against his thick shaft as my breath quickens.

“Please, let me. Please.” His eyes flicker between my fingers sliding through my sopping wet folds and my eyes, pleading with me to let him touch me.

With my free hand, I pull my tank down, revealing my naked tits.

“Fuck.” His eyes widen, probably at my piercings. His breathing quickens, and his fingers dig deeper into the couch like it’s physically impossible for him to keep holding on.

The room is heavy with the heady scent of sex, desire, and the crackle of expectation, hope, a fine elastic strung across the room, pulled taut and ready to snap in a fraction of a second.

“You can touch them.” I indicate my breasts.

“Lick?” He tips his head.

I nod.

“Suck?”

I nod again.

“Teeth?”

Another nod. “Knead, twist, slap, bite, suck... I love having my tits played with.”

“Even with the hardware?” His eyes sparkle like I just told him it’s Christmas Eve, but he still doesn’t move.