Page 92 of Mario
"Stay still," he commands.
One hand is still kneading my breast, teasing my nipple through the lace that I thought didn't cover anything but now covers way too damn much.
His other hand remains pressed against my core, his palm grinding in a slow circle that is stealing the very air from my lungs.
I try to obey.
I really do.
But my body has its own agenda. My hips rock against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of him.
“Tsk, tsk,” he murmurs, and then he stops.
Both hands still.
The loss is so acute I almost cry.
“No,” I gasp.
“Did you hear me, Victoria?” he says, his voice dangerously calm. “I said, stay still.” He emphasizes the command with a light squeeze of my breast.
I bite my lip, nodding, my eyes locked on our reflection.
I will not move again.
His fingers return, but this time they slide beneath the lace of my panties.
I feel the rough calluses on his fingertips as they part my folds
The world narrows to the space between my legs, to the feel of his touch, to his complete and total take-over of my body.
His fingers find my clit.
They circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, once, twice, and a choked sob escapes my lips.
“Please,” I beg.
“Please what?” he breathes against my ear.
“Please don’t stop.”
“I have no intention of stopping,” he says. "As long as you behave."
His fingers slide lower, dipping into my slick heat. He pushes one finger inside me, and my inner walls clench around him, a greedy, involuntary spasm.
I moan.
He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me. He starts to move them in a rhythm that mimics the act I am craving. His thumb returns to my clit, pressing down, rubbing in small, tight circles.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
The pleasure is building, a wave cresting inside me, threatening to break.
My knees buckle.
His arm wraps around my waist, holding me up against him, his body a solid wall of strength behind me. He never stops the movement of his fingers. He keeps going, relentless, driving me higher and higher.
