Excerpt from 'The Gathering of Storm Clouds'
“Fuck yourself.” he says, his voice with a deep, gravelly edge. “Show me what you want me to do to you; where you want me to touch you, how you want me to touch you.”
He stands over me, the wine glass still in his hand, sipping it, watching me with his midnight gaze.
“Why are you being shy?” he asks. “I want to know you. I want to see you.” he insists.
My knees are slightly parted, but he nudges at first one, then the other with the glass, easing them wider. “Show me.” he insists.
I think that he will sit in the chair again, to watch me, but instead, he sits beside me on the bed, close enough that I scent him. He smells of musk and lust and sex and masculinity and…. I want this man…. I want to give myself to him and I want him to know me….
And now I spread my thighs wide, as wide as I am able. His lips don’t move, but his eyes smile as they travel from my face to my pink and parted folds, and back again.
“That’s better.” he says. “Show me, and I’ll give you everything you ask for. Everything you want.”
In a heady mix of lust and excitement, wantonness and desire, I trace the line of my swollen, almost melting folds with fingers that glide, wet and slippery from my pussy to my clit.
“Show me your sweet spot. Show me what you want me to do, where you want my tongue.”
I thumb away the hood of my bud….
“You look beautiful, you know.” he says. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, aroused like that. I can see that you’re embarrassed, but please don’t be timid with me. Give yourself to me. Show me what gives you pleasure.”
“You’re fucking with my head.” I pant.
“Of course I am.” he says smoothly, quietly. “All good sex starts in the mind. Where else would I start fucking you except in your head?