I brush across her again. “Your cunt was made for me. It’s so tight it just squeezes my cock when I’m inside of you, draining every drop from me. But you know that. You know you have a greedy cunt, don’t you? I want you to see it. I’m going to fuck you with my tongue, so you can see how fucking beautiful you are when you come.”
I run my tongue roughly over her lace thong, tasting how she’s soaked through it. So wet. So ready. “Watch, poppet.”
I want her to see me claim her with my mouth. Pushing her legs as wide open as possible, I hook her panties and yank them to the side. My tongue thrusts her open to find her clit. I’m not watching her anymore, so I hope she’s behaving. A man can’t be held accountable when his mouth is on a perfect cunt.
“I want to see your cock inside me.” Her request is tentative. She wants me. She wants contact. She wants to give me what she imagines I need. But this isn’t about me. I ignore her and continue on.
Gripping her hips, I urge her against me, stroking until her clit is so swollen, I can catch it between my teeth. Once I do, I savor it. Her body tightens, and then her climax floods my tongue.
“Had enough, poppet?”
She shakes her head, stumbling dizzily and catching herself on the vanity. My hands hover near her in case she loses her balance entirely. When she doesn’t, I stand, unable to wait any longer. My dick is so hard that it’s trying to escape my jeans.
In the mirror, I see her tongue swipe over her lower lip.
Fuck me. I fist my shaft. “Do you want this?”
She hesitates. Her answer is surprisingly shy. “No. I want your body.”
I freeze, realizing what she’s asking. She felt the scars. Now she wants to see them. How have I let this happen? Touching is one thing. Facing them is entirely different. “You don’t want that, Clara.”
“There’s no part of my body you don’t want, right?” She pauses, looking at me expectantly. I can’t believe she’s playing this card. “There’s no part of your body that I don’t want.”
If she really knew. “Clara—”
“I felt the scars. I know,” she says softly. “And I want you. All of you, X. Your body—all of it—makes me so fucking hot.”
The little minx has me, and she knows it. How can I argue with my own words? If I want to prove that I want every bit of her, I can’t keep my own body from her. Still, she doesn’t have any idea what she’s asking. I take off my trousers as she watches in the mirror. I hesitate when I reach for my black t-shirt, and Clara smiles. Slowly, I draw it over my head, revealing myself to her inch by inch. Her eyes go distant. She’s guarding herself like a woman approaching a wild animal. She must have some clue that I have a reason to hide this.
“All of you, X,” she urges.
I whip the shirt over my head, searching for any of the arrogance I usually feel in abundance and finding none. She scans over me, her face unreadable. The scars from my accident are brutal, refusing to fade with time. As I’d gotten older, they’d become worse as I filled out after years of military training and service.
Clara still says nothing, and I reach for her, grabbing her hips, needing some assurance that she can’t turn and flee from me. But when her eyes lift from my scars to my eyes, she whispers, “Take me, and don’t be gentle.”
I move my cock to her entrance and slowly breach her. She wants it rough, but I don’t trust myself. Not after she’s opened the cage that restrains me. I keep it locked for a reason. I rock into her, urging myself deeper until I’m fully inside her. Leaning down, I catch the curve of her neck, intending to kiss it. Instead, my teeth bite into her, and she gasps. I’m losing control. I try to dial it back.
Clara isn’t having it. She pulls free from my hands and folds over the sink, allowing my cock to slam deeper inside her. She moans, moving her hips to encourage me, her hands gripping the counter.
She’s giving herself to me, showing me what she thinks I need to heal. But this isn’t enough to tame me. It’s dangerous for her to think so. I