Page 52 of Omega Chattel
“We’ll work up to it,” he replied in that resonant tone that sent hot blood straight to my toes, and my cock.
I wanted to cry. Like some spoiled Omega brat. But I wasn’t spoiled. I’d lived a farm life, had few possessions I could actually call my own, and a house-dad who luxuriated in punishing and threatening me.
But right now I wanted so very very badly. It made me feel like a spoiled child.
Tarin was fifty-two. He knew what he was doing. I had to trust him.
I sat up, my hands at my hips supporting me, my knees bent around Tarin’s thighs and hips. My cock pressed my tummy, straining again. Always at the ready.
I opened my eyes.
Tarin was raised up on his knees between my legs. His hands stroked down my chest.
I saw his cock and again wanted to touch it. He’d already done so much for me.
“Let me.” I reached out one hand and placed it on his hip. “Touch you.”
He let out a soft laugh.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said. “You can’t deny me this.”
His eyebrows came together. “Beautiful? I haven’t had someone say that to me in a long, long time.”
Not even Kee?
“Well, you are. It’s a fact we simply cannot deny.” I grinned up at him.
“And you’re beautiful as well.”
“Yeah yeah, and too young and a virgin, ick, I know.” I smirked at my words.
He let out a quick breath, followed by a sound like a half-moan, an exclamation of surprise.
His hand went to my mouth and traced my lips. I did the same to him, my fingers on his mouth, the tips tracing just inside his mouth, feeling his heated breaths.
“I want to touch you. I want to make you come.” I sounded like a petulant boy.
He seemed to like my words, though.
“How will you have me?” he asked.
“On your stomach first. I want to touch you all over.”
Immediately, he climbed over my legs, his cock bobbing—how I wanted to feel it, but soon, soon. He lay face down at my side and his magnificent shoulders and back were revealed to me, all muscle and sinew, all ridges of spine and rib and shoulder blade, rippled under smooth, dark honey-toned skin. His waist narrowed on to his slim hips and buttocks, which curved gracefully toward his thighs.
The ass was fleshy, but taut and firm, almost bulbous, and such a turn-on. I rubbed my palms down his back to feel him, his skin as silken as I’d imagined, and heard him groan.
I pushed down harder, giving him a brief massage, and his body seemed to sink lower into the bedclothes.
Good. He was liking this. Relaxing.
I know I moved too quickly, but I couldn’t wait. I had to touch those rounded globes. I couldn’t resist.
Skimming over his waist and lower back, finally my fingers glided over his cheeks. So soft and smooth, the curves lusciously graceful. Up and down my palms went, over and over them before I dug my fingers in—just a little.
He grunted and his hips rose up about an inch.
I lightly touched the crack, one finger exploring. He didn’t say a word about it. He let me spread him, let me look and touch the furred aperture. I did nothing more than that before moving on down to stroke his thighs, inside and out, down the backs of his knees and calves to his ankles, to his toes.
