"No boxers?"
Did I say that? Why is it that there is no filter to my thoughts? I am not normally this way. I am reserved, aloof... That's what I’ve been told, anyway. Is it the role I’m playing that's allowing me to lower my barriers? To speak what's on my mind and damn the consequences? I mean, how much worse could it get, right?
"You prefer I wear boxers?" he asks.
"I don't prefer you at all."
"More lies." He clicks his tongue. "We'll have to work on that."
"I am not working on anything with you," I mutter.
"Oh, but you will." He grips his thick cock, swipes himself from root to head. A bead of precum appears at the top.
Saliva pools in my mouth. Why is the sight of him getting himself hot so hot? I've seen my share of porn online, researched more in preparation of this role—yeah, the nerd in me couldn't stop until I'd done a bloody thorough job of it—but this...? Saint's thick fingers wrapped around himself is...a study in eroticism.
"A hole." His voice is harsh.
I blink up at him, "Is that the answer to your last riddle?" I whisper.
"Did it turn you on when I said that?" he asks.
Heat flares low in my belly. My core pulses in agreement. My throat closes. My mouth is so dry I am sure I can't force out a word.
He jerks his chin as if he's already heard my answer, then releases me, only to scoop up the moisture from his dick. He holds out his thumb. "Open." His voice is low, hushed. The dark edge to his tone brooks no refusal. Obey him. Do it.
My mouth waters. Heat curls low in my belly. I lower my mouth, close it around his finger.
3
Saint
I glance down at the back of her head. Her pink tongue swirls around my finger, then she takes me in, sucks on my digit. My cock jerks. Bloody hell. She isn't supposed to affect me on such an elemental level. This yearning need that boils up inside of me, that had compelled me to glance at her across the freshly-dug grave of her husband and think: mine. What the fuck is that about?
I don't do emotions.
Nor relationships.
Definitely never allow a woman to take control. Ever. I scowl as she takes my finger deeper into her mouth. She presses the length of her tongue to my digit, and heat radiates from the contact; blood rushes to my groin.
"Fucking fuck."
She sucks in her lips, mocking the motion of what she could do to my cock. A pulse flares to life behind my eyelids, at my wrist, even in my fucking balls. She leans back, releasing my finger with a wet plop.
"Is that enough?" she snaps.
"We haven't even begun."
"This is wrong." Her lips tighten. "Whatever the relationship between Adam and me... We just buried him. It's basic human decency, that we don't—"
"Fuck?" I tilt my head. "But we aren't."
"A technicality." she insists.
"Oh, believe me, when we screw, there will be nothing technical about it."
She trembles. The limo moves forward with a muted lurch. Silence a beat, then another.
"Don't do it." she murmurs.
"You mean this?" I reach down, swipe myself from base to head.
She gulps. The black of her pupils bleeds out, leaving only a circle of green around them.
This woman... Her response is the single most erotic thing I have ever seen.
Her gaze latches onto my motions as I pump myself back-forth-back.
"Why?" she asks. Her features twist. Her gaze, though, doesn't waver. She watches with a single-minded intensity that's as much of a turn on...more so...with the anticipation that builds between us.
Because there's a strange pleasure in denying myself access to what I could so easily have. One glance and she'd be on her back, opening her legs to me...but that would be too easy. Besides, I need her to come to me; to put herself at my mercy. Until then, this will have to do.
I increase the pace of my movements.
Her breathing grows ragged. Her chest rises and falls. I watch her watch me pleasure myself, and fuck, if that isn't the most erotic sensation ever.
The tension tightens at the base of my spine. Fuck, if I don’t come right now. I squeeze the base of my cock to hold myself in.
"I absolve you of responsibility, Gigi," I snap.
She jerks her chin, "What do you mean?"
"You don't have to pretend. You want to do this, but your conscience doesn't permit you. Well, blame it on me. Use me as your excuse. When we get to the other side, you can resume your role in the real world, but for now, there's only me, you, and this orgasm that's pushing for release. Allow yourself to enjoy this, Gigi."
She draws in a sharp breath, her lips part, and it's as if it’s a signal.
My orgasm roars out; my balls draw up. I position my dick and come all over her face, her chest, across her arms.
Her chest rises and falls; her shoulders snap back.
"Don't you dare come, Gigi."
"What?" she gasps.
"You heard me," I admonish.
She licks her lips, her shoulders heave.
I reach across and rub my cum into her face, her neck, into the creamy skin of her arms.
Then I reach for the tissue holder, snatch up some sheets and clean myself off. I tuck myself in, help her onto the seat, making sure to keep the length of the seat between us.
"You bastard," she snarls.
"You're frustrated. I understand." I smirk. This is a new low, even for me. Shit. Why eviscerate her ego completely? Is this the only way I am able to communicate? To hide behind the façade I have so carefully built to hide from the world?
She makes a noise deep in her throat.
I shake my head. "Don’t do it."
"What?"
"Whatever bodily injury you were planning." I glance at her sideways. "I'm stronger than you."
"No shit." She tosses her head.
"You don't get it
