Page 20 of Dance Dirty With Me

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t have time to change them after the dance.”

Johnny takes hold of my wrists and pulls my hands away from my groin. I still squirm a little, ashamed he can still see me.

“Do you mean to tell me that when we were dancing earlier, you were wearing these?” The richness to his voice is back, and it sounds like black velvet.

“Yes.” It comes out as a strangled whisper.

“I’m glad I didn’t know. I might not have been able to dance properly with a boner.”

“Y-You like them?”

He lets go of my wrists and traces his fingers over the lace patterning.

“You in lace knickers is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His touch is feather light as he runs his hands over them. I already like how they feel against my skin, but with his hands on them as well, it’s divine. It feels special, and I stretch a little and push into his touch.

“Turn over,” he says, and I twist until I’m lying on my front. He takes hold of my hips and guides me into kneeling on all fours. He runs his hands over my arse, smoothing over the lace. His hot breath heats my skin beneath the material as he slowly starts kissing me, working his way across my arse cheeks, alternating between grazing them with his lips and tonguing at them. The hot dampness of the knickers feels deliciously wicked, and I wiggle a little, craving more. I’m so caught up with need, whilst a part of my brain is delightfully scandalised by the very idea of being on my knees waving my behind in another man’s face and loving it, that when he strokes my cock the surprise makes me jerk backwards and push myself further into his face. His tongue runs along my crack and I’ve never felt anything like it. I push back again, desperate for him to do it again. The sensation disappears.

“These are going to have to come off,” he growls, and tugs the knickers down to my knees. Then his tongue is back, licking down my crease and tracing round my hole. It’s exquisite, and my brain turns to liquid as I can’t focus on anything but the sensation of the warm and wet pressure at my entrance.

My cock, now freed from the confines of the knickers, aches to be touched. I support myself on one arm and reach for it, sighing as the pressure from my hand gives a slight amount of relief.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Johnny says, sitting back and batting my hand away. “Lean forward.” His hand on my back pushes me down, and I lower myself onto my forearms. I’m vaguely aware of the music changing again, and I recognise Soloman Burke’s “Cry to Me.”

I hear the sound of the pot opening, and then a few seconds later feel a light cold touch near my hole. I flinch involuntarily.

“Just relax,” Johnny whispers, and I try. This isn’t like it was with his tongue—it’s harder, his finger—and after circling my entrance a few times he slowly pushes in. Discomfort blooms round my hole.

“Oh,” I squeak and he stops.

“Too much?”

“No, no. It was just a surprise.” I take a deep breath and release it slowly. The discomfort is still there but it’s peripheral to the wonderful sensation of being filled. I want more of that. “More, please,” I say, and I hear a chuckle as he slides his finger further inside me. It feels so good and I relax into it as he glides in and out. All the while his other hand is soothing up and down my back.

“Can you take more?”

“Yeah,” I hum softly. Right now I’d try and take a rocket if he asked it of me. I want it all. I don’t want this gloriously full feeling to end. He adds another finger and works them in and out of me, then it changes again so I think he adds a third. It’s so divine that I start to move myself, pushing back on his hand, wanting to feel him deeper.

“Please, please, more.” It sounds like a whine but I don’t think I’m above begging at this point.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Almost ready,” he croons, his dark velvet voice traveling straight to my balls, and I hope I don’t come before I get a chance to feel him inside me. After a couple more minutes he slides his fingers out completely, and I almost mourn their loss as I feel my hole wanting to grip thin air. It only takes a minute for him to tear open the packet,and then I feel him position behind me. He nudges at my hole and I impatiently push backwards as he breaches me. I gasp in a breath and he stops. I breathe out slowly.

“Francis?” His use of my proper name sounds like more than a casual query. It wraps around my heart, enveloping it in reverence.

“I’m okay,” I reply and he pushes forward slowly. I keep breathing, focussing on staying relaxed. Once he’s bottomed out he pauses for a minute, and then slowly starts rolling his hips. It’s both wonderful and stings slightly, and one is very much worth the other.

He moans deeply and picks up the pace, and I drop my head onto the bed, unable to do anything except enjoy him slamming into me. I can hear the soulful music still, as a backdrop to his breathy grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin. I start to see stars, and his fingers digging into my hips are the only things keeping me grounded. Tingling starts in my lower spine, building, and I know I’m close. I reach for my cock again and this time he whispers encouragement.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me. You feel so good. I want to feel you come.”

His words do the trick and I spill all over my hand, the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had. It doesn’t seem to stop, and I keep on coming, and all the while he’s ramming into me. Then he jerks, his hips snapping forward, and I feel him come too. When he shudders to a stop he leans forward, almost plastering himself to my back, and kisses between my shoulders.

I wince slightly as he withdraws from me, and I hear a whispered sorry, but I chuckle slightly as he has nothing to be sorry for. All I can do is collapse bonelessly onto the bed. He lies down next to me and his gorgeous face slowly comesinto focus. I grin in what must be an inane way, deliriously high from my orgasm.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Just don’t ask me to dance,” I reply. “I wouldn’t even be able to walk right now.” I drift off to the sound of him laughing softly.

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