It was coming, my core contracting around his fingers, my body arching against him. “Brad,” I gasped, “I need …”
He knew what I needed, and tightened his arms, holding me still, his upper hand turning whisper soft on my nipples as he increased the magic of his lower hand, his fingers taking me over the this-can’t-be-fucking-happening mountain, and I fell, in a beautiful, free cascade, a full-body explosion of perfection that had me screaming his name, my words disappearing in the loud club music, my screams turning to moans, until I finally settled on a bed of Brad, my body spent and drunk against his, his fingers maintaining movement inside of me, taking me to a perfect, delirious ending until I collapsed.
We stayed in that moment, his fingers inside of me, my body heavy on his for a minute. Then, his hands and arms moved, my body curling as they brought me into a fetal position sideways in his lap. I leaned my head back against his arm, my eyes closed and mouth curving into a smile, loving the strength and security in his grip. I closed my eyes, at peace for a moment, until the unrelenting cock beneath my body shifted. It lacked social graces, the couth to understand that it was interrupting my post-orgasm bliss. It wanted only one thing: attention.
I laughed, meeting Brad’s eyes, intense and mischievous all at one moment. “You got me all excited,” he murmured, pulling me to him and stealing a kiss. “Surely you won’t leave him hanging.”
I looked out at the club, only lighting and walls a spectator to our alcove. Then I looked down, over the railing, my eyes dancing over sex at every turn. Not actual intercourse, but it was sex all the same, a flowing river of it, invading every pore, molecule, and breath of the downstairs space. An arched body, offering itself, in full glory, on stage.
Lips against ears, whispered fantasies dancing between bodies. Spinning flesh, confidence via shot glass, sequins over tans, hands sliding over thighs, gripping ass, grabbing ankles. The sex crept up the walls, invaded the air, moved like invisible smoke upward, slithering into a hypnotic cloud into our room, curling around six feet two inches of sexuality. And underneath my body, legs spread, eyes potent, hardness impressively pushing up from below, was what I craved.
I moved, untangling from his arms and straddled him, sliding my dress upward, over my hips. His hands stopped me. “Let me,” he said, taking over the action, his hands drawing out the process, firm fingers teasing as they pulled the dress over my body. The fabric came over my head, and I emerged to find his eyes on mine, intensity in them, his hands traveling slowly back down, a hand taking each breast and cupping them, his thumbs moving over my nipples lightly.
“You know, I will never need anything more than you,” he said softly. He sat up, a strong hand sliding around my back and lifting me easily, my body now suspended over him, my breasts soft cushions around his mouth. I moaned, his lips finding their way over the soft mounds and peaks of my breasts, hard flicks of his tongue against sensitive places, gentle scrapes of teeth following his soft mouth.
His fingers dove back into that wet apex, moving in and out, readying me, moving my body into place until I felt his head. There. And he thrust, softly, only the head inside of me. His hand, cupping my ass, carrying my weight, kept me in place as he moved slowly, with short strokes, just his thick head dipping in and out of my folds.
“Brad,” I murmured. “Please.” Even as I spoke the words, I didn’t mean them, didn’t want him to stop. It was too perfect, too precise. Enough to enslave, too good to release, but not enough to fully satisfy. I didn’t want satisfaction just yet. I wanted this, this incredible yearning met halfway, as a delicious crescendo of tongue and teeth danced across my breasts.
“I mean it, Julia,” he groaned, lifting his mouth off me, stubble brushing roughly over my nipples.
Slow. Teasing. Strokes. Not. Far. Enough.
“Please, Brad. I need more,” I gasped, gripping his hair, pulling his head back so I could look wildly into his eyes.
He lowered me marginally, his eyes locked in mine, his mouth forming words I didn’t understand. “I don’t need other woman, or to watch you with other men. What I need, all I need, is this.”
He thrust, taking me fully, three rock-my-world strokes before withdrawing, his hand lifting me slightly, resuming his slow, half-inside strokes that left me whimpering in his arms. I was so close, could feel the orgasm coming despite his short strokes, a mounting pleasure that I held on to with determination. And then it swelled, my muscles tightening as one, building intensity that was taking me closer … closer ….
He stopped, his arms lifting me, my head snapping down, and my eyes flipping open. “What?” I gasped. “Why did you stop?”
“Not yet, Julia.” He smiled, his cock taking one quick dip inside of me before withdrawing.
“Not yet? I’ll come again, trust me.” I pushed against his hand, frantic to maintain the momentum that I could feel slipping away.
He ignored me, cupping a breast with his free hand, and taking it into his mouth, his eyes glancing up and meeting my furious ones.
As fucking hot as it looked, his gorgeous face below me, my body in his mouth, my orgasm was waving goodbye, cheerily content with hopping in a minivan and hitchhiking to Cleveland. I gritted my teeth and grabbed his chin, pushing his face up to mine.
“Fuck me,” I gritted out. “Now. Hard. Fast. De Luca-style.”