climax out, her pussy hot and wet and thrumming with pleasure. He didn’t stop until the last rolling waves of sensation slipped away, went quiet.
She was left shaking and weak.
“Rafael,” she whispered, not knowing what she wanted to tell him.
He scooped her up into his strong arms and carried her into the bedroom.
He laid her on the bed carefully, as though she were something precious. And even though she was still quivering with the power of her orgasm, she wanted to feel him inside her, needed him to fill her with his beautiful, hard cock.
She slid her hands over his body while he held himself over her, loving every hard ridge and plane of his muscular form, the feel of his silky dark skin beneath her searching hands. Then he was kissing her again. Yes, that was what she needed, to feel his mouth on hers, to taste her own musky sea-scent on his lips.
When she reached for his cock he pulled away.
“Not yet, querida . I want to make you come again.”
She laughed, breathless. “I don’t think I can. Not like that, anyway.”
“We shall see.” There was that wicked gleam in his eyes again. “Here, turn over, onto your belly.”
It never occurred to her to argue with him, she simply did it.
“Now, up on your hands and knees. Yes, that’s it, so you are wide open to me.”
She felt wide open, exposed, but gloriously so.
“Now close your eyes, and focus on my voice, my touch.”
She did as he asked, trembling all over already with the anticipation of what he might do to her. But wanting to do as he asked, for him to do whatever he wanted.
She felt the feather-soft touch of his fingertips first, brushing over the lips of her swollen sex. She was soaked again instantly. He continued the gentle stroking for what felt like an eternity, over her lips, over the tip of her clit. Each motion sent a thrill of desire rushing through her. She needed to come again. It was even better somehow that she couldn’t see him, didn’t know exactly what to expect.
His tongue took her by surprise. He pushed it right into her, into her tight, waiting hole. Her pussy clenched. He pulled back when she moaned aloud.
Suddenly, his face was right next to her ear, and he was whispering, “Do you ever use toys, Isabella?”
“Toys?” Her breath was a ragged pant in her ears.
“Sex toys, querida .”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to?”
“I want you to do whatever you want to me.” She could barely get the words out.
He was gone for a moment. The bed shifted beneath her as he came to sit on it again. She heard him open a drawer in the night table next to the bed, the sound of foil tearing, then a soft buzzing.
“I’ve made it safe for you. Get ready, Isabella.”
She took in a breath, waited. Her pussy was on fire, needing to be filled. She didn’t know what he was going to do.
Something touched her, something hard and unfamiliar, grazing her pussy lips. Without thinking about it she spread her legs wider.
“Ah yes, I love to see you do that, to open yourself for me.”
He moved the tip of the vibrator over her pussy, teasing her. A shiver of sensation reverberated through her. She could feel it in her limbs, in her nipples. When he moved it up a little higher, touching it to her clit, she moaned, surged toward the buzzing instrument, her hips arcing.
A small chuckle from him. “Try to hold still, Isabella. I’ll make it good for you.”
She tried. But as he teased her clit with the vibrator, pleasure shimmered through her, building moment by moment, and she couldn’t keep still. Despite her squirming he never let the toy lose contact. And he never did more than tease her with it, not letting her come. The pressure built. Her sex was soaking wet, until her juices slid like a slow teardrop down the inside of one thigh.
She felt his fingers at her hole, massaging her pussy lips, teasing at her entrance.
“Rafael…oh…”
“You are so wet, querida . So wet, and I can see your pussy, soft and
Vladimir Nabokov, John Banville