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Gone was the smiling, easygoing, carefree man from dinner. Striding toward me was another beast entirely, with a salacious glint in his eye, an intensity to him that was mine alone.
He pulled out his chair, turning it to face outward so he could sit in it, spreading his legs, never taking his eyes off me.
“On your knees,” he commanded.
My body jolted at the order, the rough, deep baritone of his voice, skating across every inch of my skin, squirreling its way into my pulsating core.
I surged from my chair, quickly stepping toward him and lowering myself onto my knees.
The hardwood floor was rough, cold against my knees, but not entirely uncomfortable. The sensations were welcome, helping to grip me there, forcing me to remain in the present, without my mind wandering anywhere but that current moment.
My hands settled on his thighs, the rough denim of his jeans pressing against my palms. The heat from his muscled legs seemed to radiate through the fabric into me.
I glanced up to his crotch, where his hard cock was already visibly straining against the jeans. My finger twitched with the instinct to reach there, to grab a hold of him. But I stopped, breathing rapidly.
“You’re waiting.” My eyes found Elliot’s. His were dark, hungry and approving. “For me to tell you.”
I nodded, my mouth so dry I found it hard to swallow.
He reached to my hair, which was again coiled in a tight bun at the nape of my neck.
Like he had at the bar, he pulled it from the clip, a clatter sounding when he hurled it at the floor. Unlike last time, I didn’t protest about some ridiculous designer hair clip. My lips stayed slightly parted. I was already starting to pant like a fucking dog as his fingers brushed through my strands, massaging my scalp for a handful of moments. Minutes? Lifetimes?
Elliot took care to tuck my hair behind my ears before he leaned back in his seat.
“You can move your hands now,” he said, voice a lower rasp. “Undo my belt.”
Though I itched to lunge for his cock like some sex-starved animal, I forced myself to keep my movements slow, measured, as I unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans.
I was shaking as I pulled him from his underwear, hard and long and perfect. My hands looked positively dainty wrapped around the girth of his cock.
Elliot let out a loud hiss through his teeth as I gently squeezed, not otherwise moving my hand, although the need to do so was instinctual.
My mouth tasted of copper as I realized that I’d sunk my teeth into the flesh of my lip hard enough to draw blood in my restraint, my yearning.
We were suspended in that state for what felt like hours, when in reality it was likely only a handful of seconds. Me holding on to Elliot’s hard, twitching cock, tasting blood and tense with the need to make him cum. For once, my own pleasure was miles from my mind.
“Suck my dick, Calliope.” I could’ve cried out in relief at Elliot’s soft-spoken instruction. Finally, something to do to assuage the hunger inside of me.
As I moved my head to do just that, fingers latched onto my chin, roughly, tight enough to hurt. Just a sliver of pain, though. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
My eyes lifted to Elliot’s, heart galloping, my mouth already moist, ready to take him.
“You don’t touch yourself,” he ordered. “I can tell that your cunt is already drenched, aching for attention. You’re not getting it till I say so.”
I nodded rapidly, desperate for him to release me so I could do what I was told.
Elliot eyed me intently as he pushed his fingers into my mouth. I dutifully sucked them, grazing them with my teeth, warning him of my need for his fingers to swap with his cock.
He slowly removed them, eyes hooded. “Now you can suckit.” I wanted to beam at his gravelly rasp.
My mouth swiftly found the head, lapping at the pre-cum that had already beaded at the top. I took him in slowly. He was big, so my mouth could only fit about half of him. But I continued until I couldn’t anymore, his hand finding the back of my head, exerting a gentle yet exciting pressure. Not enough to choke me on his cock, but the prospect was there. The power.
It didn’t scare me. It made my already soaked pussy quiver with need, satisfaction. He could make me gag, treat me like a tool, but he wouldn’t.
I moved up and down, my hand working in tandem with my mouth, my knees smarting against the hardwood floor.
Elliot kept his hand on the back of my head, pressure waxing and waning as he emitted soft grunts of pleasure.