51

I forget what it was like to be touched by any other man.
I forget what it’s like to hate him.
I forget what it’s like to want anything but to come with him.
“I’m so close,” I murmur against his lips and he pulls away.
“Me too, darling. Come with me. Watch me, watch me come and I dare you to tell me that I’m not yours. And that not I’m yours to ruin.”
His hands grab at my ass, lifts me higher as he grinds against me. My clit burns as the friction of his thrusts pushes me over the edge.
“Fuck… Matthias…” I cry out.
“I’m yours. Tell me you believe me.”
My head bangs against the wall as I shake, my orgasm shattering every cell in my body.
He lets go of my hips with one hand, and grips my chin, forcing me to watch as his eyes glaze over and his entire body shakes against me.
“Say it, Clarissa…” he gasps. He drives one last time into me, shuddering as he comes. “Ohhhh, fuck.”
“I believe you, Matthias…” I whisper as he grunts out his climax, “I believe you.” My legs give way under me and my body threatens to slide to the ground.
“Easy.” He lifts me back up, his cock still deep inside me. “Stay. Don’t move. Just stay.”
With heavy breaths, his head falls onto my shoulder. He whispers my name over and over as tremors wrack through our bodies.
The pressure of his body pinning me to the wall grounds me.
It grounds me in the moment and grounds my mind back into my body.
Or else I could just float away.
“Did you mean what you said? That I’ve ruined you?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, he just stands there until we unwind our bodies and our breaths slow as one.
Finally, he sighs and lowers my legs to the ground.
Picking up my purse, he rifles inside for the club’s keys and leads me to the back door of the club and inside.
“Come with me.”
So few words. So unlike him.
I follow him inside and he lifts me onto a bar stool. Eyes never leaving mine, he takes off his and shirt and then, gently, dabs the shirt between my legs. It takes me a moment to realize he’s cleaning me up, thoughtful, unprecedented.
When he’s done, he leans down and presses a kiss to my inner thigh and lays his head on my lap.
He’s so tall, he’s almost at a 90-degree angle, but it’s the most intimate moment of my life.
“I’m sorry if I got carried away,” he says quietly.
My hand lies on his head, stroking his hair, tucking it behind his ears making him let out a happy sigh. “You didn’t. I didn’t want you to stop. Not for a moment.”
He nods against my leg. “Okay. You’ll always tell me?”
“I promise.”
H stands up, leans in and kisses my bruised mouth, and then goes behind the bar. I watch him make himself at home in my club, pouring a glass of Remy Martin XO.
“Take a sip,” he says, holding it up to my lips. I open my mouth and let him tip some into my mouth, my eyes never leaving his face.
He pulls the glass away from my mouth and then pours some into his. I watch, mesmerized by him, his eyes, his lipstick-stained lips, the way he holds the glass, the way his eyes never leave mine, as if it would kill him to look away.
He pulls the glass away from his mouth and suddenly his mouth is on mine, his lips and tongue gently prying my lips apart as he lets the cognac from his mouth drip into mine. We share it back and forth in a moment that is the most sensual experience of my life. Two “mosts” in a matter of minutes. He’s going to ruin me, not the other way around.
Ending the kiss, he falls to his knees and pulls me to the edge of the bar stool, my ass almost hanging over the edge as he drapes my legs around his shoulder, his mouth on my clit.
“Lean back on the bar, darling. Let me worship you.”
Without thinking, my shoulders roll back, my elbows come up to prop myself on the bar as he drags his tongue along the opening of my pussy.
With one hand, he holds me open and he licks me for what feels like hours, bringing me to within an inch of my life before he pulls off.
“So sweet. The only thing I ever want to taste again for the rest of my life. God, you have no idea how delectable you are, do you? You have no idea.”
All I say comes out in moans and soft whimpers as he tortures me.
Pleasure builds both in the pit of my stomach and the small of my back. A little knot that grows and grows. He presses the tip of his tongue against my clit, barely moving, pulling away whenever I try to press against him, needing more.
“Patience, darling. Patience,” he teases, before returning his tongue to my aching clit.
I feel like a goddess, worshipped, adored. Like his whole life exists to pleasure me, like my whole life exists to let him.
Finally, his tongue moves against me, my breath stills, anticipating.
Waiting, wanting, silently begging.
“Yes, Clarissa?” he murmurs against my labia.
“I need to come. Please.”
He pulls back, looking up at me, his face glistening with my arousal. “Do you want to come on my face or my cock, darling?”
I don’t hesitate when I gasp, “Your mouth. God, make me come with your tongue,”
“Your wish is my command, darling.”
He pushes my legs as far apart as they will go and buries his face into me, driving a finger inside my cunt as he laps at my clit.
“Fuck… fuck…” I groan, my whole body splitting apart on his tongue.
“More, darling, more…” Lips wrap around my trembling clit, sucking hard, urging me to another climax. And all it takes is another finger inside me to make me fall.
Hands in his hair, I grind against him, making him growl with approval as I burst at the seams, groaning his name.