by M. L. Joslyn
‘Do you trust me … Emma?’
She could only nod. The rest of her was paralysed with desire.
Emma watched Jason’s profile rise above her in the shadowy light. He reached for her arms and brought them together over her belly. With one hand he gathered her wrists together, his grip strong, controlling. His other hand moved to his belt, and in one quick motion he removed it, the emphatic whoosh of leather against cotton filling the quiet moment.
Jason had done this before – Emma knew this. This was his secret. This is what he couldn’t explain, what he feared explaining. This was his hand. And now, this hand was busy looping his belt around her wrists, securing them, disabling them.
He reached into his pants pocket and removed a long, thick shoelace. With no protest from Emma, he coiled the lace through the belt, raised her arms above her head, and then knotted the restraint around the arm of the couch. He bent down, his face close to Emma’s. He searched for any clues of confusion, or fear – or regret.
‘Are you OK with this?’
This time, a faint, blissful smile accompanied her nod.
Beginning at her navel, he strolled his way up her body with kisses – hot, sensuous nibbles of passion. He snaked around her breasts and wandered up to, and across, her neck, then drifted back down the other side – slowly, purposefully. He took the route again, and then again. Emma’s hips shifted above the leather cushion, and she whimpered from the pleasure, and from the aching desire to be filled.
Without regard for her obvious need, Jason took his time, skating his hands over her breasts and up and down her arms. Emma lifted her ass from the couch, praying he could decode the tacit plea to remove her jeans. Jason let her hover for a moment, relishing the view of her seductive body arched in such a way. She thought there would be no end to his taunting hesitation.
In time, he reached for the button of her jeans. Her torture persisted as he toyed with the button, unfastening, and then fastening it back in place. Her tethered arms struggled for freedom, and her need to touch him, grab him – pull him into her – mounted. Each time he would brush against her, she would wrestle, frustrated, against her restraints.
‘Please?’ She half-whispered, half-moaned her appeal.
‘Ah, the magic word,’ Jason murmured back. He smiled as he scanned her incarcerating pants. ‘These will just have to go.’
Within seconds, Emma was a bikini panty away from naked. Jason moved down to her calves and, holding one in each hand, drew her legs apart – just enough for him to spy his destination. He crouched to his knees, raised her legs towards the dark ceiling, and then lowered them slightly, hooking her bare heels over his sturdy shoulders. His fingers dug deep into her calves, and he massaged his way forward, inching along at a trying pace. The further he progressed, the more he leant in to her. By the time his hands had hold of her thighs, rubbing them, delighting in them, his face was alongside her. He drew an extended breath, holding in all of her that he could.
He reached for her panties, flicking a long finger over the damp fabric; Emma’s torso twisted and wriggled under his touch. Take me, please, she begged silently. Jason cupped his hand over her mound and pressed gently with one finger, the defining lines of her sex growing evident through the thin material. With his palm, he gently massaged the steamy gap between her thighs, relentlessly pursuing her ecstasy. Emma’s whimpers escalated to brash moans, and she was ready.
Jason wedged two thumbs under the narrowest slip of waistband, and then jerked her panties from their coveted spot, down her legs, and over her feet. Waves of his hair danced about her lap when his head fell between her thighs and his tongue charged to her slit. It slid with ease between her exceptionally primed folds and darted into her hole, reaching, probing, touching everything. Emma screamed alongside her orgasm, her arms twisting, begging for release as well. Pleasure overcame her, and Jason stayed with her – licking, nibbling, sucking – until she was done, until she had regained some semblance of consciousness.
He was not the shy man she thought him to be. Sweet, yes – but hot sweet. Hot, sticky, over-the-top sweet. Emma had wanted him before. But he was more than the smart, funny, well-mannered yummy boy she had lusted after. He was a man – a man of power – and she liked it. He didn’t have a little secret to keep any longer. He could look into her eyes now, and she could gaze back at him with a knowing smile – a consenting smile.
‘Move in with me.’ Jason whispered the command in her ear, his broad palm caressing her belly.
‘Untie me, and I’ll give you my answer.’ Emma’s coy smile belied her true intent – to get her hands on that ass of his; that firm, perfectly shaped ass that was within reach – or would be soon.
He could only obey her now. She could see, scribbled across his face, his thirst for her answer.
Her fettered wrists were soon freed. She pushed herself up and then pushed him back, his head dropping to the arm of the couch, his eyes never breaking from hers.
She turned and straddled him quickly, her ass in his face, her hands all over his hard abs. He had hold of her cheeks, and she knew, without looking, that his eyes were full of her. Now it was her turn. She grabbed at his jeans, tugging and yanking at them, till they had reached his ankles. She contemplated his erection as it pulsed against the fabric of his black, woven boxers. She laid a hand over it to feel it, and to gauge it. A small, wet spot sprouted where the tip of his cock pressed against the material, and she circled a finger around the area. She wasn’t about to free the caged snake – not yet – not until he had been reimbursed for his earlier efforts.
Her hands stretched hard across his shorts, pinning his cock against himself, then skidded purposely over his hips and down to his ass. She held him, squeezed him, and rubbed curious fingers all over him. She closed her eyes to envision the prize she lecherously embraced. She would see it soon enough.
Emma had enjoyed their little game, but her patience was thinner than the fabric smothering her spoils, and she was ready for more. She crawled to his feet and wrangled the crumpled jeans to the floor. His boxers followed. She backed up until she could access his long, thick cock with her hands. She toyed with it – stroking it, squeezing it, feeling it throb. It was perfectly hard and steel straight. She bent to taste it and savour it, but as her lips made contact with the silky skin, Jason grabbed her hips and lifted her up. He brought her beneath him, paused, and then reached for his jeans. The crisp sound from a bursting condom wrapper broke the silence seconds later.
‘You’re so damn pretty, Emma Green. I want you where I can look at you.’ Jason kissed her flushed cheeks, the tip of her nose, and then her soft lips. His cock pressed past her spread thighs and lunged at her folds. He inched in steadily, thoughtfully. When he was fully inside her, he paused. Emma relished the imposition of his weighty body and thick cock, and she held him in, unwilling to release him. Linked as one, they rocked against each other in rhythmic punches, her engorged clit quivering its approval. She held tight to his stony biceps, enjoying every second of the ride.
Not sure how much longer he would last, Emma requested her turn at the window seat. ‘You’re so fucking pretty too, Jason Eastman. Roll over.’
Without so much as a grumble, Jason wrapped his arms under Emma and brought her above him. She straddled his thighs, pressed her palms to his chest, and sat up. Now she could see him better, and she could … touch him, as she had in her fantasies.
Emma teased his erection, bobbing slowly over it at first, allowing just half to escape before bullying it back inside her, where she wanted it. She leant in closer to him, caressed his face and allowed her fingers to stroll through his thick, brown locks.
She picked up the pace and sat higher, her palms snaking about rigid waves of flexing abs. She bounced hard and fast, his hips lifting in tempo with the dance. Their eyes met and locked, tacit emotions and immodest sparks trading fast.
Jason squeezed Emma’s ass and she shuddered, her orgasm spanking her whole body at once
. He was with her, his muscles tensing with each surge of his sticky cream.
She fell to his chest and his arms cloaked her, secured her. They listened to each other breathe and they stared out at the dim room, wondering what came next.
Water streamed from the ceiling-mounted, sunflower-sized showerhead and rushed from the cluster of wall jets in a fury. It lapped against Emma’s skin, sending spent soap to bubbly puddles at her feet. She could linger in the glass and tile enclosure all day – if she didn’t have to catch a flight. It was almost an out-of-body experience for her – much like the last four weeks had been.
Emma lifted a thick cotton bath towel from a shelf at the far end of the shower, and wrapped it snug around her. The patter of dripping water faded, and through the heavy mist she heard music – something she couldn’t quite discern. She moved to the bathroom mirror so she could scrutinise and feud with the tangles in her just-washed hair, and the reverberations grew more insistent.
After running fingers through her shoulder-length locks to keep them from drying in a knot, she scurried out of the room to hunt down the source of the strains. She found it quick enough.
One of his feet rested on a cushion, the distressed leather of the couch crinkling beneath the weight. His other foot was on the floor, tapping to the rhythm of the song. He seemed very relaxed, spread across the couch in his boxers, singing to the ceiling. His voice was good – surprisingly good. Almost as good as he looked.
‘We’re gonna break out the hats and hooters when Emma comes home. We’re gonna rev up the motor scooters when Emma comes home to stay …’ He sang it like he meant it, like he was singing it for himself – not for her.
‘Josie, my favourite song. You know, I thought I was home, Jace.’ Emma skimmed across the room, reached for his face. ‘I’m guessing you’re good with that?’
‘You’re a good guesser, sweets.’ Jason laid the six-string acoustic on the floor and patted the cushion next to him.
‘Can’t, babe. Got a flight to catch. Besides, I love watching you – how do you put it? – finger your guitar.’
‘Something you should know, Em. Guitarists always want to play the finest instrument in the room. Hmmm … this one’s still in the case.’ Jason tugged on her towel and let it fall to the floor. He stretched for her breasts and began stroking the bottoms.
‘Jace, it’s my last week of buyer training at corporate. I can’t be late.’
‘You know, I’m thinking there’s a fresh banana cupcake hidden somewhere around here. I wonder where it could be?’ Jason patted the cushion once more.
‘I think I’m reconsidering this new job of mine. My boss is a real ass.’
‘Your boss hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. By the way, have you seen my belt?’
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