Page 106 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“Did you just beg, Getty?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know!” I’m breathless. Worked up. Desperate. And his laugh is not what I need right now.
“Do you want to know what happens when you beg?” My eyes flash back to his and the mewl falls from my mouth as his fingers find me, part me, and begin to work in and out of me. He watches my reaction for a few seconds until my head falls back as the sensations he’s evoking prove to be too much.
And then when he adds his tongue to the mix, it’s me bucking my hips into his hand and my voice begging for more, because if this is his type of punishment, then I’ll take it.
“Zander.” His name on my lips as my body climbs higher and higher. His fingers stroke. My nerves react. His tongue is godlike. “Oh God.” My hands tense in his hair. “Yes.”
And then nothing.
My head whips up as he leans back, uses his fingers to coat his cock in my wetness, and begins to stroke himself. Slowly. Adeptly. Thoroughly. Thumb sliding over the precum on his head before the palm of his hand slides all the way down until it hits the base. And then repeats the process all over.
This. This is the repercussion of my begging. He’s withholding my orgasm while making me watch him chase his.
And holy hell, I’m not sure if it’s much of a punishment, because I am so turned on by the sight of him, by what I do to him, by seeing my arousal on him, that I’m afraid to look away for a single second.
But when I force myself to take my eyes from his hand as it begins to pick up the pace on his cock, his eyes burn into mine. And that single look alone is almost as arousing as watching him jack himself off. Almost.
Especially as our gazes hold and the unmistakable sound of him working himself harder begins to fill the room. His teeth dig into his lower lip. His breathing speeds up. His head falls back and a guttural groan overshadows all other sound.
And I can’t help myself. I’ve never seen something so damn sexy or been so aroused in my life as I am from watching him. My hand goes between my thighs without thought. My fingers slip into my wetness before sliding back up and circling over my clit, already swollen and sensitized from his touch.
I fight my own need to close my eyes and fall under the haze of pleasure, because I know watching Zander is enough to help me get there. The sense of voyeurism has brought me to new heights of arousal.
The thought of getting off watching your lover get off does something incredible to me.
The visual before me and the emotions within me create a potent combination that has my breath growing shallow, my body aching, as I watch the strain of Zander’s forearm, the swell of his dick, his crest disappear between his thumb and forefinger before coming back out to his visceral groans. I falter momentarily and close my eyes under the ecstasy of the moment.
And when I open my eyes, Zander’s blue gaze looks back at me with absolutely no barriers between us. In an instant, every single boundary between us is erased.
Because letting someone see you pleasure yourself is almost more intimate than pleasuring each other. The veil is dropped. You’re completely exposed in a primal intimacy.
The moment he shoves up, I scoot my ass off the edge of the bench. The jingle of his belt as he picks his jeans up off the floor and digs in the pocket. My hand still circling my clit gently. The rip of foil.
“Getty . . .” The groan of my name is part Are you ready? and part warning he’s not going to last long. And it’s okay, because I’m so primed, neither will I.
“God, yes . . .”
I catch the quick flash of his grin, followed by a moaned, “Fuck,” as he parts my folds and slides into me without stopping, from root to tip. His fingers dig into the sides of my hips as he tries to hold on to some restraint.
But I can’t. Mine’s gone. I rub my finger over my clit, my hips lifting out of necessity to drag the crest of his cock over the sensitive bundle of nerves that are burning for him. And once he hits where I need him to, I begin to buck my hips against his to urge him on, to tell him what I need.
Restraint has snapped. Control lost. In an instant we’re a mass of hips thrusting and voices crying out and hands grasping and fingers digging. The room fills with a symphony of noises but ends with our both calling each other’s name moments apart as we succumb to the moment, to the challeng
e, and to each other.
Chapter 32
GETTY
“Getty.”
The room is still dark, the clock on the nightstand reading three fifty-five a.m. My mind tries to clear away the haze of sleep as Zander’s hand runs up and down the length of my back.
“Mmm?”
“I’ve gotta go, sleepyhead.”
