Both feet still in heels, she straddled his legs, leaned over and put her hands on his shoulders, her full breasts touching his chest as she bent to kiss him. She started slowly, languidly, arching her taut body, her ass high in the air. She moved her lips down his neck, stopping every once in a while to gaze into his eyes, to gauge his reaction. He was desperate.
“Do you think you can untie me?” he asked. “Fuck, I’d really like to touch you.”
She thought about his words for a second. Then, kicking off her pumps, she lifted her leg and placed a bare foot carefully on his thigh. One leg propped up like that, she spread herself to him, keeping him an agonizing foot away from what he craved.
“You want to touch me?” she asked. He nodded, trying to keep his eyes on her eyes, but he couldn’t help himself. They traveled down the length of her perfect body to watch what she was doing to herself with her hand.
“I like when a man does this to me,” she said, the muscles in her arm flinching with every circle. “But I also like doing this for myself.”
He made a sound, something between a grunt and a moan.
“You think you could do a better job than I’m doing?”
“Yes …” he said, straining against his ropes; this was killing him.
I felt myself heating up, surprised when my hand rose to my own chest, then dipped into my bra and found my right breast, squeezed slightly. This was so new to me.
I watched as Angela bent her knee more, drawing her cleft closer to his face. She put her hands in his hair, guiding his mouth forward towards her, almost lovingly. The top of his head moved as his mouth found her, and he lapped at her, his eyes gazing up every few seconds over the top of her thigh to check her reaction, his hands still tied behind his back. He was all mouth, only there to please and serve her.
Angela threw her head back. “That’s good … That’s very good, baby,” she cooed, her hips lightly thrusting to match the rhythm of his tongue—and I remembered his mouth on me not so long ago, his hands …
“Holy shit, yeah,” Angela whispered, grinding her hips into his face, his tongue. “Oh … mmm … you’re going to make me come and then … I’m going to fuck you.”
He nodded, weakened. This was like worship, the way his head bobbed rhythmically between her legs until she threw her head back in a spasm, gripping his hair and taking her orgasm from him, and he gave it to her eagerly. Spent, she dropped her foot to reach behind him and with a tug released his hands from their restraints. He immediately wrapped a fist around his erection, his own mounting desire impossible to ignore. Angela moved—a little wobbly—to the nightstand and took out a condom. Returning, she unfurled it on him with one swift movement. Then she straddled herself just above him.
“I’m going to fuck you, Mark,” she said. “You good with that?”
He nodded vigorously, placing his hands on her thighs and guiding her down onto his throbbing head. She seemed to take him in partway, bobbing slightly, agonizing him, but not sliding all the way down.
“Your pussy is fucking perfect,” he crooned, watching her slowly consume him.
“Shh … good boy,” she purred, stroking his hair. She inched down, then, holding his shoulders, slammed onto him, taking his shaft all the way in, as he threw his head back, pressing his fingertips into her thighs. Then it began, her fierce gyrations, her exquisite hips pumping him for everything he had. She was all appetite and he was simply food for her, and he was loving it, probably astonished that his body could provide for a woman like this. She was fucking him, and I could feel myself grow hotter as his fingers dug into her taut flesh, his ropy neck muscles pulsing. At one point, he held her face and kissed her hard, like he needed a hit. After which she gazed down at him over the mounds of her own bouncing breasts, and came. Her cries were barely dying down when he stood, lifting her up in an easy straddle, pivoting, and tossed her onto the bed, making her laugh out loud.
“Nice job!” she said.
Strangely, I felt proud of him in that moment too, I really did. Go for it, Mark, now make her yours!
He stood over her now, slapping her knees apart, his to conquer. He entered her swiftly, sharply. Oh god, she cried out at the same time that I murmured it, my fingers finding myself, doing to myself what he was doing to her. And that’s when I felt it too, watching them. I felt it travel all the way up my body. One hand tangled in her hair, he was relentless as she moaned beneath him, her legs wrapped around his lean waist, her arms flung over her head, letting him fuck her hard like that for a few moments—and soaking me in the process.
Then, in one impressive move, she flipped him over onto his back and she was now straddling him, in control again. He laughed at his pinned arms, using all his strength to lift her forward onto his still-eager mouth, his fingers separating her folds, his head moving in circles. She looked back over her shoulder at his unrelenting erection, flipped around and slid his condom off, the front of her pussy now before Mark’s tongue. When she took him in her mouth, it was mere seconds before he arched beneath her, coming, moaning, “Angela … oh Christ,” lifting his pelvis in service to her. I was awed by her skills, her enthusiasm, as she licked him clean. And when she came yet again, so did I, with an intensity I had never felt before, all my senses exploding, my moans mingling with hers. Collapsing back into my chair, feeling faint, I breathed heavily along with them.
After a pause, Angela crawled off Mark, flopping next to him in the bed. Both their bodies were swallowed up by a cloud of down duvet and pillows. The gentleness with which he held her, the soft way her hand moved up and down his stomach, this now seemed far too intimate to watch. Flushed and satisfied, I quietly exited the room, shutting the door gently behind me. I ducked into a small washroom next door to splash cold water on my face and hands.
My phone said three o’clock. Enough time to stop at the grocery store, pick up some wine, and maybe even rest a little before Jesse was at my place. That boy had no idea how this training session was also about to benefit him.
I wasted almost an hour at the grocery store trying to figure out what to cook, half distracted by Dauphine’s dilemma, but also by the incredible scene I had just witnessed. So when my cab pulled up in front of the Spinster Hotel, I had less than an hour to make bouillabaisse, set the table and take a shower. But having little time to think and pace and ruminate was a good thing. I picked out a pair of faded jeans, a blue silk blouse and silver bangles for my wrists. For some reason I didn’t want Jesse to see my S.E.C.R.E.T. bracelet; it felt odd, too talismanic.
While I was towel-drying my hair with one hand and stirring the soup with my other, the doorbell rang. He was early. Really early. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I threw open my door and there he was: that grin, the stubble, those crinkly eyes, the Cajun accent. I was speechless and … makeup-less. Ugh! And my hair …
“Well, hello there,” he said, ducking through the doorway.
“You’re early.”
“I’m right on time,” he said, kissing the side of my damp head. He smelled so good, like cut grass and summer. “A habit of good single dads everywhere. Never make your kids wait for you; they grow up feeling unimportant.”
“Good rule. But I need a few minutes.”
“For what? You look good to me.”
He handed me flowers and a bottle of wine.
“Sweet peas and cold rosé.”