For a moment I am still, savoring the feeling of Dorian inside of me, stretching me, filling me to capacity. I look down at him, the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. All I want to do is please him. And I do. Rocking back and forth, slowly at first, Dorian lightly moans my praises. I roll my hips, let him feel me contract around him, squeezing him. I’m careful to keep an even pace, not wanting this to end too soon. Dorian bites his bottom lip, concentrating on my languid movements. I can feel him building inside me, can feel him pulsing within my walls. He’s on the edge, just like me.
For some unknown reason, I am compelled to lean forward and let my hazel eyes burn into his blue, just he has done with me. I channel all the passion, ecstasy and bliss he gives to me and pour it all back into him. Dorian’s pupils dilate and his face reflects utter contentment when I pull away. He is high- intoxicated from the pleasure I give him. The exchange is euphoric and our moans increase with ardor. I can’t hold on much longer. The edge is so close, and I want to let myself fall. I want to fall with Dorian.
My movements grow with intensity, and Dorian grips my behind to level the rise and fall of my hips. We both know that we can’t hold on forever; we have to let go. I begin to quiver, feeling the force tugging at me, beckoning me to give into this pleasure. Dorian feels it as well and the strained look on his face is telling me that he, too, must submit. I gyrate my hips forward and feel his unbelievable growth, telling me that it’s time for our sweet surrender. And with a final cry of passion, we fall, hand in hand into our own piece of paradise.
Chapter Twenty One
“Forget about it, Dorian!”
We are at a boutique in downtown Colorado Springs after Dorian insisted he replace my torn panties. I tried to assure him that it wasn’t necessary, especially after waking up this morning and finding that my overnight bag had somehow ended up in his suite. Dorian wouldn’t take no for an answer, plus he thought it’d be a good idea to get out and explore the charming little shops together. I was happy with spending the entire day in bed, especially with these dark, cloudy skies indicating imminent rainfall.
“What? These are for me, not you!” Dorian chuckles holding up a skimpy lace thong. I shake my head at him, smiling. A sense of humor is the last thing I’d expect Dorian to possess. But I’m not even surprised; he is perfect after all.
“Sure, buddy. They’d match perfectly with your feather boa,” I laugh. Even with this dreary weather, it’s hard for me to be in a sour mood when I’m with Dorian especially when he’s being so playful.
“What about these?” I ask him, picking up a practical pair of lace-trimmed cotton boyshorts. Everything in here is so expensive; it was the first pair of underwear I spotted with a semi-reasonable price tag.
“Well, not really my color. I need something to bring out my eyes,” he winks.
“Not for you! Me, silly!”
Dorian strolls over and takes the pair of panties from me. He rubs the modest fabric between his fingers and inspects the delicate stitching. “Nope,” he shakes his head.
“Why not?” Dorian ignores my question and motions towards the sales clerk.
“Yes, Mr. Skotos?” the beautiful blonde asks, batting her eyelashes. Her blouse is unbuttoned dangerously low at the top and she is very obviously trying to poke out her perky breasts. Skanky much?
I can’t help but grow annoyed at the rising suspicions in my head. How the hell does she know his name? It’s a women’s clothing boutique for crying out loud! How often could he come in here? Does he frequently bring other women here to shop? After he’s ripped their panties? I can feel my face heat with jealous rage.
“Allison, I need you to pull some intimate pieces for Ms. Winters. Only the best. I want her to look more dazzling than she already is,” he beams down at me. When I don’t return his smile, his eyes narrow with question.
“Yes, Mr. Skotos,” Allison purrs, and she scurries to do as she’s instructed.
“What?” he asks, once she’s out of earshot.
I shake my head, trying not to feel so irrational. Who he’s dated and who he chooses to spend his money on is none of my business. But I can’t help it; the girl in me just won’t let it go.
“Just wondering how many other women’s panties you’ve had to replace. Seems like you come here a lot,” I say coolly.
“I come here enough. But only when I have to.” Dorian pauses to take in my disgusted expression. Then he has the audacity to chuckle. “I own it, Gabriella. Well, most of it.”
Once again, my size 7 foot has found its way to my big mouth. I sigh and look at Dorian’s amused face. He likes it when I embarrass myself. “Sorry. I have a habit of jumping to conclusions.”