He was lighting me on fire again; this time with gentle strokes of his tongue against mine instead of an open palm. My body moved against his, pressing my groin against him. In our position, though, I couldn't get much contact.
Wilhelm growled against my ravished mouth. He cupped my tits, squeezing hard, and I gasped. My lips were swollen when he finally broke the kiss to tear my shirt over my head. Then his mouth was on my breast, sucking my pink and hardened nipple. The wet, hot sensation on the sensitive bud had me tingling all over. I made some sort of sound - some desperate little yelp - and he flashed a crooked grin up at me.
“I’m going to make you beg, little girl,” he said, low and dangerous. I knew he would. I was on the verge of begging already. His mouth found my other nipple and delivered a rougher treatment, sucking hard, biting. I yelped and squirmed and writhed in his lap. How did he figure out that I liked this so quickly? How had he found the right mix of pain and pleasure right away? Experience with age? Or something else?
My mind couldn’t dwell on it. I was swept away by the heat and the yearning ache he was creating in my body. It was like my pussy was howling soundlessly. It wanted the attention that my nipples were getting.
He flipped me over onto the bed and settled above me, his mouth never leaving my tits, his pelvis resting between my legs as if he belonged there. My ass was sore, but the pain was muted by the roaring need inside me. I could feel the ridge of his hard cock through the denim of his jeans and the thin cotton of my panties, and it was driving me seriously crazy. “Oh, God, Mr. Green…”
He nipped my breast hard enough to make me yelp. “You don’t beg until I tell you.”
I had to physically bite my lip to keep the words at bay. I’d never felt anything so desperate and intense. Me, Lily, who would rather be kicked out of my home than fuck a biker, wanted Nomad to fuck me hard and fast. Wilhelm, I reminded myself, Mr. Green.
Whatever his name was, he was kissing his way down my torso. He made quick work of my soaked panties, tearing them down and letting them drop to the floor. I watched his eyes as he drank in the sight of my glistening sex. He traced the wet, pink skin with a light touch. Goosebumps rose on my arms. I wanted to beg so badly.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. His eyes met mine briefly as I said it. I felt like I was glowing.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I don’t know if he heard me - my words were cut off as his mouth found my pussy and his tongue swept up through my velvet folds. I draped my legs over his shoulders, urging him closer. My fingers dug into the sheets; I tensed as he licked me from top to bottom and back again, his tongue scaldingly hot. He was methodical, lashing every inch of my pussy with abrasive wet swipes while deliberately avoiding my most sensitive places. A moan slid from my lips and didn’t seem to end.
When his tongue found my clit, my hips bucked. The touch sent a sharp bolt of pleasure through me, like an electric shock. His finger slipped inside my hot and creamy channel. I arched towards him with another yelp, silently begging for more.
With a note of warning, he said, “Don’t come.”
Oh, God. That was going to be impossible. I was on the edge already, my body a roiling storm just on the verge of breaking. “I’m close,” I whined. He slowed his finger’s movements inside me and withdrew his mouth’s attention. I moved with him still, panting, but getting a grip on my racing heart.
Just when I thought I’d regained composure, he added a second finger. I moaned as my inner walls stretched for him; he moved them in and out of me at an infuriatingly slow pace, no matter how I bucked my hips. He watched my face, his own eyes dark, cheeks flushed. He’s loving this. He was playing me like a fiddle, controlling me like a conductor. “Don’t come,” he said again, then lowered his face and sucked on my clit. His finger pumped faster, harder. I tried to think of other things, to picture calm lakes, dry deserts, blue skies and fluffy clouds, but the images dissolved and all that existed was his assault on my pussy; the deep, hard surges of his fingers, the wet lash of his tongue on my sensitive button. My climax was building again, at a pace I never thought possible. I’d never be able to stop it.
“I’m close, I’m close, Oh, God,” I chanted, squeezing my eyes shut. “I can’t, I’m so close-” He backed off again, slowing and sitting back. The loss was actually painful. Being on the knife edge of an orgasm, only to have it taken away was pure torture.
Just what was he doing? What did he want? Despite all his talk about not being like Bill, the Dust Bowl Devils were a bargaining people. Nothing was free. But what could I give him?