I take his wrist in my hand and show him what I want, bringing his fingers to my core. The air is cold against my saliva-wet nipples when his mouth leaves my skin, and I look down to see his nearly black eyes wide and dark and intense on mine. I lift up on my knees. One of his hands rests on my hip, the other at the apex of my thighs, reaching nearer and nearer. He slides his hand around my hip and takes my ass cheek in his palm. I bite my lip at the strength in his grip and the delicacy of his touch, the way he caresses me as if unsure if he’s allowed to, as if he’s marveling that I’m letting him touch me, rather than desperate for him to quit playing around and just fucking take me.
I say nothing, just kneel over him and release his wrist now that it’s clear what I want. When his wrist is freed, he slips his hand in the narrow gap between my thighs, and I watch him as he caresses my inner thigh, and then his middle finger traces up my opening over the material of my thong, and I know there’s a wet spot there from my leaking juices. I’m literally wet for him, and I know he sees, feels, smells it. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. For my part, I’m breathless in anticipation.
And then he traces back down, and now his finger hooks under the elastic of the thong and pulls the triangle of black aside, baring my pussy for him. He makes a sound in his throat, a murmur of appreciation, I think. I just watch, unable to move or think or breathe or speak. His middle finger skates over my naked opening, and I tremble all over.
A gasped moan leaves me when his fingertip eases in, and now there’s just the very tip of his finger inside me, but it’s enough to have me wanting to writhe and beg for more. But I don’t. I keep still and try to keep silent, because he’s slowly drawing his finger down and then back up, and my eyes cross and my eyelids slide closed on their own, fluttering.
He drags his fingertip upward, and he finds my clit. I gasp again, unable to prevent myself. And then he brings his finger in a slow, maddening circle, and I can’t help but move my hips in a circle to match, needing more and more. And Ben gives me more. His finger slides into me, piercing me fully, and I whimper as he draws it back out, slicking my essence through me and over my clitoris.
My tits ache. I cup them and squeeze, lift, and writhe as he starts to touch me in a rhythm now, sliding in, circle twice, and slide in, circle twice. I let out a groan when he adds a second finger.
I feel him lift up and strain toward me, so I plant a palm on his chest, pinning him to the bed, lift my core off his body, and offer my breast to him, bring it to his mouth. He sighs and groans in his chest, and then laves his tongue over my nipple and I’m lost to the lighting bolt striking me at the touch of his mouth. His index and middle fingers move in me, circle and circle, and I feel my hair hanging over one shoulder, probably tickling his chest, feel something huge and hot expanding inside me. I’m gasping nonstop, and then a hot wire tugs inside me, a bolt of surging need connecting my tits to my clit and to the orgasm building inside me.
I ride his fingers, now, shamelessly grinding on his touch for more, and he gives me more, more, until I’m wild with the need to fall over the edge. There is not one single thought inside me except the need for him to get me there, and I’m on the edge. His teeth worry over my nipple gently, and I gasp, and then he sucks the nipple into his mouth and his tongue flickers over it, and his fingers circle me with a speed that matches the urgency of my grinding hips.
“Ben…shit…oh god…I’m coming, Benji…” I feel the momentary tense of his body beneath me when I use that nickname, but I’m lost to the climax washing over me, surging through me, gripping me and wringing me.
I’m helpless, now, caught by the climax.
And Ben does something totally unexpected. He rolls me to my back, and before I can protest, his face is between my thighs and his finger is keeping my thong pulled aside, and his tongue is lapping at me, and the orgasm shatters, or I shatter, a throaty moan ripping out of me. I clutch his face to me, let my knees draw up and fall open, because his tongue is driving and circling my clit and I’m riding his face, writhing and moaning and helpless to contain myself with the potency of my orgasm.
Finally I’m shivering and gasping and shuddering with the aftershocks, and I expect Ben to rise up over me, but he doesn’t. I have to push him away from me, because I can’t take the stimulation for a moment.
He rises to lie beside me, watching me, a small satisfied grin on his face as he stares at me.
I gasp for breath, waiting for him. But he doesn’t do anything, just looks at me. “What?” I ask, unnerved by his silence and by the fact that he’s not taking his pleasure yet.
“You’re incredible,” he says. “So gorgeous.”
I give a little shrug and smile. “Thanks.”
“No, for real. You are stunningly beautiful, and sexy as hell.”
I roll toward him, still shaking and breathless. “Thank you, Benji,” I say with a happy, flattered, giddy grin. His eyes close as if in pain. I frown. “Should I not call you that?”
His eyes flick open and go to me. I see determination cross his features. “No. It’s fine.”
I rest a knee on his thigh, a hand on his belly, and can’t help but glance at his cock, straining hard and huge, bigger even than I’d initially guessed. It’s thick, with a wide, bulbous head leaking clear fluid, veins that stand out, long and ever so slightly curved back towards his body, laying flat against his belly. His balls are heavy and dark, prickly with trimmed black hair.
God, he’s gorgeous, and I’m going to seriously enjoy what he’s packing.
But something in his voice stops me from touching him just yet. “You don’t sound convinced about that.”
He shrugs. “I am. Seriously. It’s fine.”
“Let me guess. Benji was a nickname the girl who broke your heart gave you.”
He nods. “Got it in one.”
“Well, I’m appropriating it.” I lean over him and press a kiss to his chest. “But for real, if you don’t like it, just tell me.”
He shakes his head. “It’s just a reminder, and I need to get over it. And I like the way you say it, anyway.”
“Okay then…Benji.” I rest my chin on his pectoral muscle and look up at him. My hands skate over his chest, toying with his tiny nipple and then down to the muscle sheathing his ribs, and to his hard abs. “So…now what?” I lace my words heavily with suggestion.