His lips curve in a wicked half-smile. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“But . . . but you can’t . . .” The sentence devolves into a moan as his fingers boldly push into my underwear and cup my sex, his middle finger slipping between my wet folds to massage my throbbing clit. The heat that blasts through my nerve endings feels almost like an electric spark, every hair on my body standing up in response to the zing of pleasure. I gasp, feeling the tension gathering inside me, but before I can reach my peak, Julian’s fingers withdraw, leaving me hovering on the edge.
“Take off your clothes, then climb on top,” he orders hoarsely, pulling back the blanket to reveal a hospital gown tented with a massive erection. “I need to fuck you. Now.”
I hesitate for a moment, worried about his injuries, and Julian’s jaw tightens in displeasure.
“I mean it, Nora. Take those clothes off.”
Gulping, I jump off the bed, unable to believe that I feel the compulsion to obey him even now. His left arm is in a cast, he can barely move without pain, and yet my instinctive response is to fear him—to want him and fear him at the same time.
“And lock the door,” he commands as I begin to pull my shirt up. “I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“Okay.”
Leaving my shirt on, I hurry over to the door to turn the lock that gives us privacy. Every step I take reminds me of the pulsing heat between my legs, my tight jeans rubbing against my sensitized clit and adding to my arousal.
When I return, Julian is in a semi-reclining position on the bed, his gown untied at the front and his hand stroking his erect cock. There is a stiff bandage around his ribs, but it does nothing to detract from the raw power of his muscular body. Even wounded, he manages to dominate the room, his appeal as magnetic as ever.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, watching me with a heavy-lidded stare. “Now strip for me, baby. I want to see your sexy little ass wriggling out of those jeans.”
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, the heat in his gaze turning me on even more. “All right,” I whisper, and turning my back to him, I bend forward and slowly pull down my jeans, making sure to sway my hips from side to side as I expose my thong-clad ass to his eyes.
When the jeans are all the way down to my ankles, I turn back to face him and kick off my shoes, then step out of my jeans, leaving them lying on the floor. Julian watches my movements with undisguised lust, his breathing becoming heavy as the tip of his cock starts to glisten with moisture. He’s no longer touching himself, his hands clutching the sheets instead, and I know it’s because he’s close to coming, the hard column of his sex jutting up in defiance of gravity.
Keeping my eyes trained on him, I proceed to take off my shirt, pulling it up over my head in a slow, teasing motion. Underneath, I’m wearing a silky white bra that matches my thong. I bought several outfits online earlier in the week, and I’m glad I decided to get a few nicer underwear sets. I love to see that look of uncontrollable hunger on Julian’s face—the expression that says he would move mountains to have me at that moment.
As the shirt falls to the floor, he says roughly, “Come here, Nora.” His gaze devours me, consumes me. “I need to touch you.”
I inhale, my sex flooding with wetness as I take a couple of steps toward the bed, pausing in front of him. He reaches for me, smoothing his palm over my ribcage, and then moves his hand higher, toward my bra. His fingers close around my left breast, kneading it through the silky material, and I gasp as he pinches my nipple, causing it to stiffen further.
“Take the rest of your clothes off.” His hand leaves my body, making me feel bereft for a moment, and I hurriedly unclasp my bra and push the thong down my legs before stepping out of it.
“Good. Now straddle me.”
Biting my lip, I climb onto the bed, straddling Julian’s hips. His cock brushes against the inside of my thighs, and I grasp it in my right hand, guiding it toward my aching entrance.
“Yes, that’s it,” he mutters, reaching out to grip my hip as I begin to lower myself onto his shaft. Releasing his cock, I use my palms to brace myself on the bed, and he groans, “Yes, take me in, my pet . . . All the way . . .” Using his grip on my hip, he pushes me lower, forcing his cock deeper into me, and I moan at the exquisite stretching sensation, my body adjusting to being filled and penetrated by his thick length.
It feels like the sweetest of reliefs, the pleasure-pain of his possession acute and achingly familiar all at once. As I watch him, drinking in the look of tormented pleasure on his face, it suddenly dawns on me that this could just as easily not be happening—that instead of lying underneath me, Julian could be six feet underground, his powerful body mangled and destroyed.
I am not cognizant of having made any sounds, but I must have, because Julian’s eye narrows, his hand tightening on my hip. “What is it, baby?” he asks sharply, and I realize that I’ve begun to shake, chills wracking my body at the image of him lying there cold and broken. My desire evaporates, replaced by remembered terror and dread. It’s as if I’ve been doused with ice water, the horror of what we’ve been through bubbling up and choking me from within.
“Nora, what is it?” Julian’s hand slides up to my throat, gripping the nape of my neck to bring my face closer to his. His eye bores into me as my hands clutch convulsively at the sheets on each side of his chest. “What is it? Tell me!”
I want to explain, but I can’t speak, my throat closing up as my heartbeat spikes, cold sweat drenching my body. All of a sudden, I can’t breathe, toxic panic clawing at my chest and constricting my lungs, and I begin to hyperventilate as black dots encroach on the edges of my vision.
“But . . . but you can’t . . .” The sentence devolves into a moan as his fingers boldly push into my underwear and cup my sex, his middle finger slipping between my wet folds to massage my throbbing clit. The heat that blasts through my nerve endings feels almost like an electric spark, every hair on my body standing up in response to the zing of pleasure. I gasp, feeling the tension gathering inside me, but before I can reach my peak, Julian’s fingers withdraw, leaving me hovering on the edge.
“Take off your clothes, then climb on top,” he orders hoarsely, pulling back the blanket to reveal a hospital gown tented with a massive erection. “I need to fuck you. Now.”
I hesitate for a moment, worried about his injuries, and Julian’s jaw tightens in displeasure.
“I mean it, Nora. Take those clothes off.”
Gulping, I jump off the bed, unable to believe that I feel the compulsion to obey him even now. His left arm is in a cast, he can barely move without pain, and yet my instinctive response is to fear him—to want him and fear him at the same time.
“And lock the door,” he commands as I begin to pull my shirt up. “I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“Okay.”
Leaving my shirt on, I hurry over to the door to turn the lock that gives us privacy. Every step I take reminds me of the pulsing heat between my legs, my tight jeans rubbing against my sensitized clit and adding to my arousal.
When I return, Julian is in a semi-reclining position on the bed, his gown untied at the front and his hand stroking his erect cock. There is a stiff bandage around his ribs, but it does nothing to detract from the raw power of his muscular body. Even wounded, he manages to dominate the room, his appeal as magnetic as ever.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, watching me with a heavy-lidded stare. “Now strip for me, baby. I want to see your sexy little ass wriggling out of those jeans.”
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, the heat in his gaze turning me on even more. “All right,” I whisper, and turning my back to him, I bend forward and slowly pull down my jeans, making sure to sway my hips from side to side as I expose my thong-clad ass to his eyes.
When the jeans are all the way down to my ankles, I turn back to face him and kick off my shoes, then step out of my jeans, leaving them lying on the floor. Julian watches my movements with undisguised lust, his breathing becoming heavy as the tip of his cock starts to glisten with moisture. He’s no longer touching himself, his hands clutching the sheets instead, and I know it’s because he’s close to coming, the hard column of his sex jutting up in defiance of gravity.
Keeping my eyes trained on him, I proceed to take off my shirt, pulling it up over my head in a slow, teasing motion. Underneath, I’m wearing a silky white bra that matches my thong. I bought several outfits online earlier in the week, and I’m glad I decided to get a few nicer underwear sets. I love to see that look of uncontrollable hunger on Julian’s face—the expression that says he would move mountains to have me at that moment.
As the shirt falls to the floor, he says roughly, “Come here, Nora.” His gaze devours me, consumes me. “I need to touch you.”
I inhale, my sex flooding with wetness as I take a couple of steps toward the bed, pausing in front of him. He reaches for me, smoothing his palm over my ribcage, and then moves his hand higher, toward my bra. His fingers close around my left breast, kneading it through the silky material, and I gasp as he pinches my nipple, causing it to stiffen further.
“Take the rest of your clothes off.” His hand leaves my body, making me feel bereft for a moment, and I hurriedly unclasp my bra and push the thong down my legs before stepping out of it.
“Good. Now straddle me.”
Biting my lip, I climb onto the bed, straddling Julian’s hips. His cock brushes against the inside of my thighs, and I grasp it in my right hand, guiding it toward my aching entrance.
“Yes, that’s it,” he mutters, reaching out to grip my hip as I begin to lower myself onto his shaft. Releasing his cock, I use my palms to brace myself on the bed, and he groans, “Yes, take me in, my pet . . . All the way . . .” Using his grip on my hip, he pushes me lower, forcing his cock deeper into me, and I moan at the exquisite stretching sensation, my body adjusting to being filled and penetrated by his thick length.
It feels like the sweetest of reliefs, the pleasure-pain of his possession acute and achingly familiar all at once. As I watch him, drinking in the look of tormented pleasure on his face, it suddenly dawns on me that this could just as easily not be happening—that instead of lying underneath me, Julian could be six feet underground, his powerful body mangled and destroyed.
I am not cognizant of having made any sounds, but I must have, because Julian’s eye narrows, his hand tightening on my hip. “What is it, baby?” he asks sharply, and I realize that I’ve begun to shake, chills wracking my body at the image of him lying there cold and broken. My desire evaporates, replaced by remembered terror and dread. It’s as if I’ve been doused with ice water, the horror of what we’ve been through bubbling up and choking me from within.
“Nora, what is it?” Julian’s hand slides up to my throat, gripping the nape of my neck to bring my face closer to his. His eye bores into me as my hands clutch convulsively at the sheets on each side of his chest. “What is it? Tell me!”
I want to explain, but I can’t speak, my throat closing up as my heartbeat spikes, cold sweat drenching my body. All of a sudden, I can’t breathe, toxic panic clawing at my chest and constricting my lungs, and I begin to hyperventilate as black dots encroach on the edges of my vision.
