by Abby Angel
"Here I cum, baby… Oh shit…" I feel it coming, but it’s slow, powerful, not a quick fast nut like I anticipated. She’s going to have to work this one out of me, my hips are grinding as she jerks me tightly.
"Squeeze it baby," I instruct her and she does as I say.
"Slow, baby, slow…" I coach her and she watches me intently to see how her actions affect me, my hips barely moving now.
"Ah… Nicole, baby… Oh, fuck… Here it comes, baby… This is for you… Oh fuck," my eyes clench shut and I grit my teeth as the climax falls over me like my waterfall showerhead.
Nicole’s gulping, swallowing everything I’ve dumped in her mouth when I finally open my eyes. Strangely, I’m even more starved for her because now I owe her. I want to make her cream like crazy and scream my name until they send for the fire department to save us. Pulling her to her feet, I grip her hair and kiss her deeply.
I still can’t believe I kiss her after she swallows my nut, but I’ve always done it with her. I don’t want her to ever be ashamed with me, or self-conscience. Again, everything we do is so intimate, it’s not degrading at all, and she makes me feel like a fucking king. I get the irony there; trust me.
I pull away from the kiss, leaving her panting, and with a fistful of her hair, I turn her around and push her head so that she bends over.
"Grab that handrail," I tell her and before her hands can grip the metal, I’ve ripped her lace panties and shoved myself in her sex.
"Yes!" she screams, which makes me smile.
A few weeks ago she would’ve just been shocked, but now she loves getting fucked. I’m glad she’s stretched to fit me so comfortable now. I thought it was amazing at first, but it only gets better because she stretches out to fit me easier, and now I can move around without hurting her.
She’s so wet, I’m sliding in and out fast, he ass lunging back at me every time I pull out. With one hand on her hip and another fisting her hair, I pull her into my fast and hard as my hips slam forward, I’m pounding her, fucking her greedy little pussy hard.
"Yes! Thomas! Oh baby! Yes!" She’s begging for me. Fuck, I love when I get her like this. Sucking me off makes her so fucking horny. She told me one time after too many glasses of wine that whenever I cum in her mouth it makes her so wet and hungry for me. Well, she’s getting all she can handle now, and I’m loving it.
The pressure is just beginning in the pit of my stomach, but I tell myself to calm down. I’m not cumming again in here. I’ll fuck her more in the apartment and give her some more. This is about her, and she seems to know it the way she’s throwing her ass back, glancing over her shoulder biting her lip.
"You’re so fucking sexy," I growl, fucking her rough.
"That’s you," she reaches back, lifting my shirt so she can see my washboard abs. I don’t think anyone’s every loved my body more than me until she came along. She worships me. Whenever we’re fucking she has to touch me, see me, taste me, everything.
"We’re not leaving this elevator until you cum for me," I growl, looking deep into her eyes.
"I know, baby. You just feel so good," she moans, and I know exactly how she feels trying to extend it as long as possible. Our sex is just off the charts. We both just like getting the other off so much, it becomes this competition of sorts.
Pulling her dress up, I press down on the small of her back so that I hit an angle I know drives her crazy, and she instantly reacts, her body bucking like an animal.
"I know what you like, baby," I growl, my hand raising in the air and then falling harshly on her ass cheek.
"Ahh!" she shrieks. "Again! Please!" she yells and I slap the other cheek. This is the most erotic session we’ve had. She’s going to make me cum again with all of this. My body is growing tense, and I want to rip her dress off.
The elevators will open to my apartment, so its not like anyone will be up there anyway. I’m just about to tear the fabric of her dress when she lifts her leg into the air, bent at the knee. I grab it and give her three long, hard strokes of twelve inches that make her moan deeply. Then, out of nowhere, she extends her leg so it’s straight in the air.
She’s balancing herself on one high heel, as she basically does her splits vertically. Her leg is against my chest, her foot at my mouth. Without thinking, I’m kissing her foot, my hips surging, and now she’s yelling as I dig deep in her.
Abruptly, I slow my rhythm and stop fucking her; instead I slide slow, and deep inside her. She screams when I’m as deep as I can go, but I want her to have all of me.
"Take it, baby. Take all of me," I rock my hips forward and my balls swing, tapping against her clit. She moans loudly, and I drop my hand to massage her sensitive spot.
With my fingertips rubbing back and forth on her clit, and my cock balls deep inside of her, I feel her pussy begin to clench as she moans uncontrollably. Gone is the powerful in control, Nicole. All that’s left is my baby, she’s crying out for me and begging for more. Her orgasm is building and I’m deep dicking her all she can handle.
"Relax, baby," I warn her, knowing this will be an explosion for her.
"Thomas! Oh, Thomas," she first yells my name and then moans in slowly in that weak tone. My balls draw up. Fuck, she’s making me lose it again.
"Feel me, baby!" I wind my hips waving my length down her sweet pussy.
"I feel you, baby! I do! Right there!" She yells and I slowly rock, my eyes closed as I rub her foot against my cheek, our bodies dancing in slow motion until my release takes off, my cock spasming inside her. I don’t even announce it or say anything but, she cums immediately after me, milking me with her clenching pussy muscles.
"I’m cumming for you, Thomas!" She calls out, and I have to grab the wall with my hand to stop from tipping over, I’m cumming so hard.
"Oh fuck… Good girl," I groan.
We stay in this awkward gymnastics pose until we’ve both stopped twitching, and then I lower her leg to the ground slowly before turning her to face me. After a brisk kiss, I fix her dress, thankful I didn’t rip it in the heat of the moment. Brushing the stray hairs from her face, I then fix the top of her dress as she tucks my sensitive member away, buckling my pants and belt.
She turns to press the emergency button and then snuggles back against me. I drape my arms around her, inhaling deeply along her neck before sprinkling soft fast kisses as the elevator rises to the top floor. We’re both speechless after such an intense, extremely intimate and passionate experience.
Usually I would tell her it was amazing, or how incredible she is, but words don’t even do this justice. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud whenever I’m around this girl, my feelings are so deep and although the sex intensifies it, it’s way more than lust, that I’m sure of.
"Mmm…" I hum against her skin, nuzzling her neck, and she drapes her hand over my head, tugging my hair so that she can offer me her lips. I kiss her three slow times, looking into those deep gray eyes.
The bell dings for the apartment to open and I feel like I don’t even want to leave. I never want to go anywhere but where we are when I’m with Nicole. Everything is special; everything is perfect when we’re together. At this moment I’m ecstatic I brought her to my house. I want to share everything with her.
Nicole
When I read stories about people having sex in elevators, it always feels so tacky. I’ve always thought that people who do it in public have something they're trying to prove.
Turns out, doing it in an elevator is fantastic. It isn't just the thrill of doing it in a different place than the straightforward bedroom scene, but being in a position that could possibly get you caught is something else entirely.
When we finally step out of the elevator, I'm reeling. My body feels numb and buzzing, all at the same time. My legs are weak, and I'm breathing hard, like we’ve run the stairs, rather than taking the elevator. Thomas looks calm and collected as always. Sex is still new to me, and I feel like a child with a new toy. Thomas is used to playing i
t cool afterward, apparently, but when we were in the middle of things, he seemed just as excited as I was.
When he unlocks his front door, though, he looks at me, and for the first time since we’ve met, he looks nervous.
"You can’t judge me by what you see inside, okay?" he asks.
I nod. "I don’t really know if there’s anything to judge you on, already. You seem pretty perfect, to be honest."
"That’s the type of thing I’m talking about," he says.
I blink, not understanding. "Okay."
He pushes the front door open and lets me walk in first.
As soon as I walk through the doors, I realize what he's trying to say to me. The apartment is bigger than anything I’ve ever been in, and everything practically drips with luxury. I walk into an entrance hall with a chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. All the rooms are tiled with large, marble tiles, and the walls are painted a coffee color to match. The dining room is through the next door with a glass table and suede chairs. Full-length windows look out over Manhattan.
To the left, I see a living room with leather couches facing the windows with a monster television to the side. I can just imagine what the rest of the place looks like.
"What do you think?" Thomas asks, coming up behind me. I spin around.
"I don’t even know what to think," I say, honestly. "This is nothing like what I expected. I mean, I knew you had money. The restaurants and the carriage ride and everything told me that. But this?"
I look around again, unable to find the words. When I look at Thomas again his eyes are on me. They're deep and dark and full of mischief.
"Do you want me to show you the rest of the apartment?" he asks. "I can give you the exclusive tour."
"An exclusive tour?" I ask. "Sounds serious."
He steps closer to me and puts his hand behind my neck. His forehead presses against mine, and he looks down at my lips.
"It is," he says. I know exactly what he wants, and in a snap, my body reacts as if the elevator had never happened. Whatever Thomas had done to me, it was good. I'm now insatiable.
I knew there was no way he was going to let me get away with bringing him to the brink like that in the elevator. In some ways I think he likes when I take control, but he also hates it, because it makes him feel weak. I absolutely love making him love control; it turns me on so much because I’ve always looked at him as a powerful man.
Being in his apartment I'm certain that he’s even more powerful than I anticipated. This is like something you see on television. I’ve lived in New York my entire life and never seen an apartment that looks anything as extravagant as this. I was worried he lived in a slum when he was so apprehensive about showing me his place.
Talking to Lisa made me worry a bit, thinking he might be hiding some things from me, but more important, he might be hiding them for a reason. I assumed he had money because of his car and the restaurants, but this is New York City, sometimes people rent a shack in the Bronx to look rich in Manhattan.
Either way, I figured he wasn’t poor, but I had no idea he was dripping in wealth. I don’t think I’ve seen him as nervous as he was walking in here since he was constantly on edge before I gave him my virginity, always afraid I was going to kick him out.
He still makes fun of me for that, but I didn’t know how to tell him. I guess we both have our secrets a bit, and I doubt his can be much bigger than mine. At the end of the day, I trust Thomas, so I can’t imagine him keeping something from me that would make me view him in a whole different light.
I feel a way that he thought I might change the way I felt about him because he had money. I’m not a gold digger or after his money, but then again, like I said, this is New York City, so his apprehensions are definitely warranted. I bet women all over this country would throw themselves at his feet – he’s handsome, rich, sexy, confident, and hung.
I’ve been shocked that I could keep his attention for so long, but he’s assured me that I’m all he can handle, and from the elevator I guess I can see why. He’s turned me into this super freak, doing and saying things I could’ve never imagined, but turning him on is my vice and I’m completely hooked on him.
Lisa calls it sprung, the way I talk about him all the time, but I don’t care. He’s special to me and so I want to treat him that way. I like talking about him all the time, missing him the moment he leaves, and pining over him whenever we’re in the same space. Besides, it isn’t like I’m alone in this obsession; he can’t keep his hands off of me either. It’s most definitely a two-way street.
We’ve never talked much about his past. I guess I’m just getting around to asking him questions tonight. While I’m sure he has had women before me, I don’t think it's been many, because if that was the case I doubt he would put them all on hold for little ole me. He’s my perfect man, although he seemed a little uncomfortable when I said that earlier. I can imagine not wanting the bar set that high, but I can’t help myself.
My feelings for Thomas seem to grow by the second, and regardless of what Lisa thinks I know it's deeper than some physical attraction or infatuation. The sex is merely icing on the cake; I was sprung before I ever felt his glorious cock.
Walking through his apartment, as he leads me through the immaculately decorated home that looks like it could be right out of an interior design magazine, I feel like I’m in a dream. Thomas may not like me calling him perfect, but he’s been nothing short of a fairy tale since he came into my life. I’ll be sure not to tell him, but he’s undoubtedly my prince charming.
"How can I miss you when you’re right in front of me?" He wraps his arms around my from behind. I know exactly how he feels, because I do the same thing often.
We’ll be at dinner together and I’ll dread going home before our appetizers have even arrived. Trying to focus on the present, I’ve forced myself to limit the amount of time I focus on the future and what’s to come or what I want to come from us.
Thomas is obviously a busy and successful man, he’s got a lot going on and the fact that he wants to spend so much of his time together with me should be enough, at least that’s what I try to tell myself. There’s never been a time when I wanted him and he rejected me or told me he was too busy, so I think I’m as high of a priority to him as he is to me.
"You’re talking to the girl who asks you for more while you’re still inside of me," I remind him and his eyes grow dark, as I glance at him over my shoulder.
"I could never get enough of you," he whispers in my ear and I felt my heart skip a beat.
Who says things like that? I may not have the experience level of Lisa, but I know romance, and I know New York men, or American men in general, are lacking in that department altogether and Thomas isn’t at all. He is kind, he showers me with gifts and attention, the man pays more attention to my body and what it likes than I do, and he says things that leave me speechless, before doing things that leave my breathless.
"You’re such a romantic," I beam, turning around to drape my arms over his shoulders, holding my chin up to off him my lips, which he takes slowly and gently, to my surprise.
I never know what I’m going to get with Thomas; he has such a repertoire with sex. Sometimes he’s soft and smooth, really sensual and slow. Other times, he’s rough and aggressive, just tearing me apart. While I like them both, I enjoy the versatility more than anything. With just one of those options I imagine I would be bored by now.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, pulling on a wooden cabinet that turns out to be his refrigerator.
"I’ll just have some water, if you have a glass," I motion towards his kitchen sink and he furrows his brows together before reaching into the refrigerator, returning with a clear bottle of Fiji water.
"Oh, you’re fancy," I purse my lips together in a mocking way and thank him for the water.
"So you think I’m romantic?" he quips, opening a bottle of water for himself.
"Yep, a regular prince charming," I
smirk, taking a hug gulp of water.
Thomas almost spits out his water and looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. Shit! I forgot not to say that to him, after his warning not to treat him any different, I don’t want him to think it has anything to do with his apartment.
"It isn’t because of your apartment, Thomas. I honestly think it’s fabulous," I glance around the chef’s kitchen before continuing, "but I don’t really care, baby."
Holding my hands in the air, I shrug my shoulders before taking another sip of my water and watching him closely. He seems to relax, but I know that something about that bothered him so I’ve got to try to never call him that again.
Turning slowly, he opens the refrigerator again and then turns back to me with a conspiratorial look in his eye, and a mischievous grin on his face.
"Close your eyes," he says while squinting his eyes devilishly.
Without hesitation or seeking an explanation I do as I’m told. I can hear him moving around, the sound of glasses clinking together, and different containers touching the countertop beside me. Then he’s right in front of me, I can sense him although he’s silent, and my legs spread, hoping he comes closer.
