Pushing Her Buttons

by Sabrina York

  “Did you fuck her last night?” Gads. I hated how I sounded. But I couldn’t help it. I was a woman possessed. By a nasty little green imp with sharp claws.

  “No.”

  I blinked. I had convinced myself he had. I’d convinced myself they’d spent the whole night fucking and laughing about me. “Wh-why not?”

  He stepped closer. His voice was soft, intent. His gaze held mine in a tender embrace. “Don’t you know?”

  I shook my head, blinking at the tear stinging the corner of my eye.

  He nudged a lock of hair behind my ear and smiled crookedly. “Because I didn’t want her. I wanted you.”

  I stormed back into the living room, enraged. A fury fomented by hours of frustration. “You could have had me,” I hissed. “You sent me away.” God, how that rankled.

  “I had to.”

  “What?”

  “I had to send you away.”

  “Why?”

  He walked toward the wall of windows with a magnificent city view. I watched in the reflection as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Because I had to.”

  “But…don’t you want me?” I cringed even as the words slipped out.

  He spun around, nostrils flaring. “Jesus. Of course I want you.” He laughed, a crazed trickle. “Baby, you have no idea how bad I want you. But there’s something I want even more.”

  At my quizzical glance, he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer. The ridge of his arousal nudged my belly. I fisted the soft cotton of his sweats. Oh, how I loved sweats on a man.

  “I want our first time to be right. To be perfect. I don’t want someone else between us. I don’t want anyone else in the bed. I want your focus on me and mine on you. I want this to be right.”

  My lips parted but no sound came out. A trill of excitement danced through my cunt. How amazing it would be, if it could be. How wonderful. But I’d been burned. I was leery.

  He must have seen that in my expression because he said, “We need to take this slow. One step at a time. I want you to be comfortable. I want to go at your speed.” He swallowed a snort. “And if going slow drives us crazy then at least we’ll go there together. Okay?”

  He was so close. So warm. So sincere. My resistance melted. I nodded. “Okay.”

  “All right.” He grinned and blew out a breath. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” For what?

  “Lift up your skirt. I want to see it on you.”

  Oh shit. My hands instinctively dropped to cover my privates. Because I hadn’t put it on.

  He was going to be annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. I tried not to fixate on how his muscles bulged with the action.

  He tipped his head to the side and studied me. Why oh why did he look wounded? “You did wear it. Didn’t you?”

  I made a face and shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  I mirrored his position, crossing my arms as well. I noted with great satisfaction that his eyes glassed over a bit when my cleavage leapt to the fore. “I was mad at you.”

  “Mad at me?”

  “Because of her.”

  “There’s no more her. But that is beside the point. You deliberately disobeyed.”

  His tone was so soft, so smooth, but a thread of steel ran through it. And despite my determination to be an aggressive, powerful woman, that weeping submissive deep inside me wriggled to get out. It was a wet and slippery slope; she’d find her way, and quickly.

  He paced around the room, circling me, viewing me from all sides, making me turn this way and that to keep him within my sights. We were playing a game and we both knew it. But my reservations were very real.

  “You do realize you’ll have to be punished.” This he murmured in a raspy bass. It rumbled through my being.

  My clit began to throb. A slick dampness dribbled out. I softened. Punishment. I had always craved a firm hand. Especially on my ass.

  Yet I resisted. Because he’d like that.

  “I don’t think I deserve a punishment.” I sounded like a petulant pouter. But that was kind of the point.

  “Did you disobey an order?”

  I put out a lip.

  “Sweetheart.” He cupped my cheek with a big bearlike paw. “You have to play by the rules.”

  I turned my back on him but he just stepped behind me and pulled my body against his, spooning me.

  It felt amazing but I couldn’t let him see that. So I tried to wrench away. “I don’t want to play.”

  His hold tightened. “Yes, you do,” he said into the shell of my ear.

  His palm skated across my belly and lower, to the hem of my skirt. Then it trailed back up under my slip, creating tantalizing waves on my hypersensitive skin. He found my core, slipped deeper into my slit and rubbed.

  He made that sound, that sound that had me weeping with lust. A guttural groan that said nothing and everything at the same time. He stroked and delight—sweet excruciating delight—rocked me. I whimpered. It was so good. So damn good.

  It had been a long time since I’d felt this kind of heat. From a man. From myself.

  Together, we were incendiary.

  His lips teased their way over my cheek to my earlobe then found that spot on my neck. He sucked. Sensation scalded me, rioted over my jangled nerves. My knees buckled.

  “You like that, do you?” he whispered. “You want more.” He drew tiny circles around my aching button, ruthlessly teasing me, challenging my sanity.

  When I didn’t answer, he stopped. He pulled out from beneath my skirt, letting the dampness trail along my thighs. To remind me of my hunger.

  “Take it off.”

  I jerked in his arms as the command registered. I hesitated for a second. But that was about all I had in me. Trembling, I fumbled for the hook, the zipper. As I drew it down, I came into contact with something hot and hard and throbbing. I had wondered about this, about him, for weeks. His length. His girth. His rigidity. I allowed myself a surreptitious caress.

  Maybe not so surreptitious. He growled and nipped at my earlobe. “No teasing.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  He silenced me by jerking at my unfastened skirt. It fluttered to the floor. “Turn around.”

  As though he didn’t trust me to do so of my own volition, he directed me with gentle hands on my shoulders. I stood there in my blouse, panties and heels, suffering his inspection. I desperately wanted to cover my nether regions but knew better. Besides, this was nothing. I knew what was coming.

  It made me quiver.

  “Unbutton your blouse.”

  I did. As soon as it fell open, he reached for me, caressing my belly and hips with broad, flat palms.

  “You feel wonderful. Warm and soft.” He felt wonderful too. Just the touch of his skin on mine electrified me.

  Heat surged in me. If he touched me just right, I would probably come right there on the spot. He would probably punish me for that too.

  He tipped up my chin until our eyes met. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you ready to continue?” His tone was unsteady, intense.

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Take it off.”

  From the tone of his voice, he was as beleaguered as I. As hungry as I. I took advantage of that and slowly slipped my blouse from my shoulders, catching it around the bosom for a heartbeat before letting it go.

  Quaking, I stood there before him in matching black lace. Nearly naked.

  His Adam’s apple worked as he studied me at length. Then he stepped closer, thumbed a nipple through the rough material of my bra. Lightly. Gently. The ghost of a touch.

  I threw back my head and groaned. Hot sizzling energy sliced through me from tits to ass. Cream dampened my inner thighs. I pressed my legs together and a shudder racked me.

  He smiled and took my hand in his. “I think it’s time. I think you’re ready.” He led me to an overstuffed ottoman in front of the overstuffed couch. He sat and looked up at me, patting hi
s lap. “You know what to do.”

  Dear God. I did. I didn’t want to assume the position.

  But I did. Slowly, carefully and with great trepidation, I draped myself over his thighs. They were so firm. I scooted up a little higher and rocked my clit against them. Pleasure and anticipation trickled through me.

  He didn’t begin immediately, damn him. Instead he tantalized my ass with that palm, around and around until I wanted to scream with frustration. His fingers, those disquieting digits, traced the band of my panties until I thought for certain I would go mad. In the end, I settled for squirming.

  He liked that. He rewarded me with a swift pass over my pussy.

  “You’re so wet.” His voice was harsh, hungry.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  His chuckle resonated to my bones. “Don’t you know?”

  I glared at him over my shoulder. He allowed it. For a moment. Then he firmly guided me back into position. He resumed the agonizing stroking until I was a wild thing.

  When I snarled at him, he just laughed. “Don’t you know what I’m waiting for?”

  “No. No I don’t. Tell me. Please—”

  The first stoke was fast and harsh and hard. I think I came a little right then.

  “Yes. That’s what I wanted.” Another. Heat, the exact size and shape of his palm, sliced through me. “I wanted you to beg for it.” He smacked me again.

  “Oh yes. Yes. Please.”

  And again. His hand rained down in a torrent of heaven and hell again and again and again. The smacks echoed through the room, along with my moans and groans and his labored breathing. My ass jiggled with each blow.

  They came quicker. More fervent. More frenzied. I writhed, struggled against him, riding him almost, seeking the bliss I needed.

  “More,” I gasped. “Harder.”

  He complied. Five. Six. Seven more slaps.

  And then just as I was about to crest, just as I was about to explode in ecstasy, he stopped. I barely had time to cry out my denial, when he ripped my panties off. Without pause he shoved three fingers into my weeping cavern, deep, unyielding and urgent.

  And I came. Like an erupting volcano. A volcano gushing furious lava that had been held captive beneath a ton of cold granite for an eternity. Finally—finally—released in a glorious flood. I came and came, clutching at him with an intensity I had not experienced for ages.

  It seemed like I came forever.

  When I finished, when I was sane and within my skin once more, he lifted me up and kissed me sweetly. Then he lowered me to the carpet, a thick, rich bed. He settled beside me and edged closer. I thought he meant to kiss me again, perhaps hop on top and begin riding right away, but he didn’t. He took my nipple in his mouth and, through the lace, sucked. I came again. But it was just a little one. An aftershock.

  He grinned. “Wait here.” He levered himself up and before I could respond, bounded off to the bedroom.

  Wait here? As though I could move. I was a bowl of quivering Jell-O. A flan.

  He was back in a flash with a foil packet.

  Ah hell. That thought had never even crossed my mind. Thank God he was prepared.

  He sat on the sofa and gestured to me. “Come here.”

  I disliked being commanded so but he had something I wanted. I saw it there, thrusting against gray flannel, a fat insistent cock. Even its ridge was pronounced.

  I wanted it. I wanted it a lot. So I rolled over onto my knees and crawled the short distance to the couch. I wedged myself between his legs. I wanted to give him what he’d given me. I wanted to give as good as I’d gotten.

  He watched me with feral eyes. Passion blazed there but it was banked. His fingers were tightly fisted. He was holding back. He wanted me to make the first move in this, our next sortie.

  So I knelt between his thick thighs with his warmth surrounding me, his strength infusing me, and met his gaze. “Take it off.”

  “What?” He blinked innocently.

  Oh. So he wanted to play? I’d show him. I’d show him I could play. “The sweatshirt. Take it off.”

  He responded so quickly I almost laughed. But I didn’t. Because what he revealed stole all reason. A broad, ridged expanse of tanned muscle sprinkled with a light dusting of sable hair. Oh. My mouth watered. I ached to touch him.

  So I did. I explored his chest with my mouth and cheek. I rubbed against him like a cat until he arched his hips instinctively and nudged me with that rigid cock. I let my lips trail to a nipple and sucked. He hissed through his teeth. Then I lapped and nipped my way down his chest to his belly.

  When I diddled his bellybutton, he groaned. I followed the waistband of his sweats from one side to the other with my tongue then covered the encased head of his cock with my mouth and blew out a hot breath.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus! What are you waiting for?”

  I caught his gaze and grinned. “Don’t you know?”

  He stared at me, befuddled and flustered and horny as hell. Then he lifted his hips and yanked off his sweats. His cock, delicious and demanding, bobbled free. “Please. Dear God. Please.”

  My mouth was on him before the words were out. And my heavens, he was exquisite. Soft as silk and smooth as satin. Hard as stone and throbbing and fragrant. I wanted to gobble him up. So I did. I nibbled and sucked at the tip of his cock, delighting in that sweet single drop of cum that, more than anything, stated his readiness.

  But I didn’t let him come. Not yet. I wanted to explore that pole, as long and steely and firm as it was. I stroked him and teased him and made him plead.

  And then when I was ready, when he was nearly mad with wanting, I crawled up onto his lap, astride him, and rubbed my wet cunt against his cock. His heat against my clit made me shiver. As I undulated against his hardness, I found the crook of his neck—my favorite place on a man—and I feasted.

  I found a spot that made him clench and hiss. A raw, desperate sound came from his throat.

  “Now.” His fingers trembled as he fumbled for the condom, ripped it out of the pouch and unrolled it onto his length. “Oh. Now. Now.” He pinned me with a desperate look. “Are you ready? Please tell me you’re ready.”

  In response, I lifted up, positioned him against the simmering mouth of my cunt and impaled myself. On him.

  And oh.

  Oh.

  He felt so perfect, sliding into me. I was wet and slick and he was thick and hot and long. I didn’t stop until we were belly to belly. Until he filled me. Completely.

  I had to pause then, to savor the sensations. He stretched me, stuffed me, massaged every nerve. My cunt danced around him, sucking at him, quivering, quaking.

  He surged inside me and my body clenched.

  Slowly, I rose and fell again. And again. And again.

  The wet slurping sound of a void being filled over and over rocked the room, playing counterpoint to his grunts and gasps, my cries.

  But I couldn’t go fast enough. For either of us. So he took over.

  He pulled out of me—much to my chagrin—and arranged me, ass up, over the ottoman. He spread my legs far apart, perched behind me and plunged in. Deep.

  Bliss flooded me. Insanity consumed me. I rocked back into him, trying to make him go faster, harder. I spread my legs farther, aching for the brush of his balls on my clit. He must have sensed my urgency. He fondled, pinched, slapped that screaming button, all the while plowing into me with a raging passion.

  The thrusts became short and fast. His body tightened. His cock swelled as it prepared to erupt inside me. He shifted position, entering me slightly from the side, hitting my cunt from a new angle. The ridge, that glorious steely ridge, stroked a secret place. A place that had never before been so caressed. A bundle of aching raw nerves.

  I exploded. Imploded. Collapsed. A star consumed by its own brightness. An ocean drowned in its own tears.

  He erupted in harsh, insistent jerks, shudders and throbs that resonated through my being and the
bliss took me again.

  He’d made me come. And I’d returned the favor. And yes. My ass still burned.

  It was paradise.

  Afterward we made our way to the bedroom and curled up under the covers. His bed was magnificent. Huge and firm and warm. Or maybe that was him. His sheets were so soft, they must have been eight-hundred count.

  But all I could think of was that she had slept here.

  He must have read my thoughts, noticed my restlessness, because he laughed and said, “No. She never slept here. No woman ever has.”

  I read the truth in his eyes. But still. Kinda hard to believe. He was some guy. The sort of man any woman would do anything to be with.

  “I mean it.” He kissed me. “No woman. But I would like it if you would stay.”

  I nuzzled closer. “I’ll think about it.”

  His chuckle rumbled through me.

  We lay there for a while in silence, enjoying the afterglow of fantastic sex. And then he went and ruined everything.

  “Tell me about him.”

  I stiffened. “Him who?”

  “Your ex.”

  A hot flush crawled up my nape. “What makes you think I have an ex?”

  He stilled. Was quiet for a moment and then said, “Of course you have an ex. Everyone has an ex.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.” Ever.

  “Why didn’t it work out?”

  I pushed away and glared at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously.”

  He yanked me right back into his arms. He was too comfortable. I didn’t want to conform to him, melt into him, but I did.

  “Tell me.” He kissed my neck. Stroked my thigh. “I need to know why things went sour.”

  “He took things too far. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Took things too far…how?”

  “I’m hungry. Do you have any food or are you planning to starve me into submission?” Oh crap. Had I really said that?

  His body stiffened around me—and not in a good way. “Did he do that?” Harshness roughened his voice.

  “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Now I met his gaze. Mine was laced with cynicism. “Of course he hurt me.”