Page 61 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“I’m very OK,” I rasp out, watching the girl in the mirror nod, her pupils large and dark, while those of the man beside her blaze with promise. In that moment, seeing beyond his raw desire, the concern for me written in his tender expression, I hand over my trust to him, letting him lead the way.
“Good.” He hums the word against my neck.
He pulls me in a little closer with the one hand splayed across my breast, while the other continues to explore dangerously close to where my body has become nothing but molten desire. “You relax back here, and I’m gonna make you more than OK, sweetheart.”
He trails a fingertip along the line of my panties, from one hip to the other, teasing with a featherlight touch that provokes a low ache of wanting deep in my belly. Then his hand slides back to palm my thigh. One finger explores beneath the lace edge, then another, gliding down to the heat between my legs, and I whimper with anticipation as he lingers at my entrance. Heat flares and my body trembles with need.
“God,” he groans out. “You are so wet. So fucking wet.”
He slips a finger inside. My muscles reflexively clench around it, and I moan. He begins to move, slipping in and out, and I move with him, riding each thrust, urging him on with whimpers that spring unbidden from deep inside my throat.
Reading my expression of pure pleasure in the mirror, he whispers against my cheek. “You want one more?”
I can barely huff out the word, but a ragged “Yes” spills out in between my panting, and he thrusts a second finger into me. I can’t help but lower my hips onto his fingers, driving them deeper. Seeking the pressure and release, the rough friction of his fingers curved inside of me, my body instinctively moves with his hand, the exquisite rise and fall causing waves of pleasure to pulse through my centre.
One thumb swoops in to find that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling slowly, the two rhythms in counterpoint, the strokes of his hand and the swirling of his thumb causing me to writhe in bliss. I arch my back, thrusting my hips forward, meeting every movement of his hand, hungry for that feeling of fullness. My head lolls back against his chest, eyes closed, as I ride the waves of colour exploding behind them.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart; look in the mirror,” he breathes against my ear. “Watch what I’m doing to you. Watch me make you fall apart.”
My eyes flutter open. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his gaze meeting my pleasure-dazed reflection. “See how I know what you need?”
And he does. In the precise movements of his hand, while the other works its way under the lace of my bra, taunting a nipple, provoking ripples of intermingled pleasure and pain. He sucks at my neck, his teeth nipping and tasting, and I know I’ll need a high neck top under my scrubs tomorrow. I’m marked as his and I don’t care.
All the while, I watch as he coaxes me higher and higher with the perfect movements of his hands and murmured words of encouragement against my ear. My cheeks are a blaze of heat. He’s playing me like a familiar instrument, as if he knows this melody by heart, and can evoke it effortlessly.
He talks to me almost constantly, checking in with how I’m feeling, and I huff out answers, monosyllables, barely recognisable as words. I’ve never had a lover so attentive to my needs. Finally, he senses I’m about to tip over the edge, reading the crescendo rising in my body, knowing I’m about to hit the high note, and he urges me on.
“Come for me baby, you’re so close. I can feel it. Reach for it, sweetheart.”
And I do, my whole body stretching towards a dizzying new peak. My voice becomes an exclamation as I arch my back and shatter into a million pieces. Only then do I allow my eyes to close, soaking in the blissful warmth engulfing my body, my toes curled in one shuddering sigh.
When I open them, Christian still watches me in the mirror with a satisfied smile.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.” His low husk sends another shudder through me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever come like that before,” I whisper. And I know it’s more than the skill in his hands. There’s an invisible rope tying me to Christian, this feeling of some deep connection between us, as if he instinctively not only understands the needs of my body, but of my heart.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it because, baby, I’m only just getting started with you.” His breath against my ear is a promise I’m happy to hold him to.
I free myself from his arms and scoot around to face him, raising my legs to sit astride his lap. I slide one finger down his lips, following the curve of his chin, and trailing down, down, to rest at his waistband.
“I think I’d like to get started with you,” I say, curling my hand over the bulging denim between us. I unwrap my legs and stand, tugging him up by the waist of his jeans. Without taking my eyes from his, I unbuckle his belt and tear open the zipper. I grip at the boxer briefs, feeling the length of him hard against my hand.
“I think someone’s ready to come out to play.” I pull at his underwear, freeing his erection. “Sit down.”
He does as I say, first kicking off his jeans and boxers, his eyes locked on mine. He sits on the bed, and I kneel between his legs, then sit back on my haunches, one hand gripping him firmly.
“Now it’s your turn. To watch.”
He smiles down at me, but I wipe that smile from his face, as the first sweep of my hand from root to tip triggers a moan, his mouthfallen open. I lean forward and take the tip of him in my mouth, tasting and teasing, lapping the small bead of salty-sweet liquid away, before taking the whole length of him deep into my throat. His hands fist my hair as he arches into me.
I work at him, one hand steadying the hard length of his cock as I lick and suck, my other hand slipping beneath his balls, stroking a small soft spot behind that provokes groans. His thighs tremble and tense, his hands gripping my shoulders, fingers curled, urging me forward. He bucks his hips into me with guttural moans, his head thrown back. “Oh, fuck Haley. That feels so fucking good.” I feel so powerful, here in control of his building orgasm, and I pick up my pace.
“Stop, stop,” he gasps out. I draw my head back, wondering what I’ve done wrong. But his eyes are closed and his face is slack with pleasure. “Too good,” he mumbles, patting at my head. “You have to stop Haley, or I’m going to lose it.”
“I thought that was the objective.”
He reaches for me, sweeping his arms beneath my armpits, and scoops me up off the floor, turning me to sit beside him. He brushes a hand over my cheek.
