“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk, malyshka, and you’re going to come for me over and over until I say enough. Do you understand?” He whispered the declaration in her ear. Thought about taking her, right over the couch by the window with the sun shining on the sea below and sending rays to turn her red hair into pure fire. “Say you understand.” His hands kept moving, kneading and tugging, sending tiny pinpoints of pain to sharpen the pleasure sweeping through her.
“This is for me. Right now. Here. Then it will be all you, golubushka, I promise, but when you give your man a raging hard-on, then you take care of it.”
He felt the shiver go through her body. Her nipples hardened even more and she squirmed, her hips pushing into him. Deep. Needy. Hungry. He used his tongue to ease the sting on her earlobe. “Right now,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her sensitive ear, “in this beautiful gown, I want you to turn around and open my trousers, take out my cock and wrap your lips around it.”
His heart pounded hard in his chest. The moment his anger had surfaced, the moment hers had risen to meet his, their passion colliding, he could barely think of anything else. Her, in that exquisite gown, looking like a princess, so beautiful she took his breath away, the hint of her breasts tempting him. Every movement of her body in that figure-hugging jeweled sheath fed the fire in him. The red of her full lips – hell, he had to see them wrapped around his cock. Feel her hot mouth surrounding him.
She turned to him, right there in front of the bank of windows, the turquoise sea surrounding them, tilting her face up to his. She was so beautiful his heart actually ached. Her tongue touched her lips and then she sank to her knees on the Persian rug right in front of him, her hands reaching for his zipper. Fingers brushed his cock so that he felt it jerk. Hard. So much anticipation. He took a breath. Let it out.
“Giacinta, first, push the material of that gown off your breasts. I want to see them while you suck me off.” Deliberately he kept giving orders. Stark. Raw. Watching her face. Watching her hunger grow.
Her lashes fluttered. She swallowed. Her breasts heaved. Her hands left his trousers and settled on the bodice of her dress.
“Look at me, malyshka. I want to see your eyes while you take your breasts from where they’re hiding from me. Ease them out.”
She obeyed him, going slow, her small hands filled with her lush, soft, very white breasts. The sight of her breasts in her palms, her fingers curled around the mounds, sent more fire pounding through his cock. Her nipples were hard little pebbles and his mouth watered, wanted to feast. Still, there were other things he needed more.
“Now my zipper.”
She let her breasts go and the material of her gown pushed them closer, deepening the cleavage, her breasts jutting toward him, even more of an enticement. “You look so beautiful,” he said, his voice going rough. “Gorgeous. That gown open for me. Your breasts straining toward me. You’re hungry, aren’t you, malyshka?”
Her fingers fumbled with the zipper, but then she had the trousers parted and she pushed open the slit in his silk underwear so that his heavy cock sprang free.
“Answer me, Giacinta. You’re hungry for me, aren’t you?” He needed to know he wasn’t alone in the fire raging through his body. She looked flushed, her eyes dark with lust, her lips glistening with moisture, making him want to groan and thrust deep.
“So hungry, Casimir,” she admitted. “I’m already damp for you. My little lace panties are going to be wet.”
He groaned aloud. “You’re killing me.” He needed his balls free. They were aching and sore, pressed tight against the material. He started to reach down but she was there before him, taking care of her man, freeing him, her fingers drifting over the heavy sac. Her touch sent streaks of fire spearing straight up his groin to his pulsing cock and radiating outward like a burst of fireworks.
He stilled, watching her face. Her blue eyes. Her red lips. That silken red head slowly, inch by inch bent toward him. He felt her breath. Warm. Silky. Her hands cupped his balls, fingers stroking caresses. He felt each touch searing through skin to stir that seething mass of pure magma waiting to explode. Her lips parted. His breath caught in his throat. Burned in his lungs.
Looking straight into his eyes, she caught at his hip with one hand, the other still cupping his sac, and her tongue slid up his shaft, from root to the underside of the crown. His entire body shuddered. The muscles in his thighs tightened. The fire in his belly burned hotter, sending more liquid flames racing through his bloodstream. It wasn’t just the exquisite feeling of her tongue and hands, it was the sight of her, the dress, her hair, the look of hunger on her face as she parted her lips and drew the broad flat head of his cock into the heat of her mouth.