Page 48 of Certified Pressure 2
We sat down across from each other at the long glass table, candles flickering even though it was daytime.
He fixed his plate without saying a word, then glanced at me to do the same.
The food was rich and hot, flavors seasoning the air around us.
I picked at the salmon first, sipping on the liquor he poured.
The warmth hit my chest, loosening my shoulders, but I kept my eyes on him.
“How you feeling?” I asked finally, not sure if it was the right question or if I even wanted the answer.
“Drained,” he said flat out, his voice low and certain.
I nodded, looking down at my plate for a second. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
He set his glass down and looked at me in a way that made my stomach twist. “Be real with me movin’ forward. That’s all.”
The words sat heavy, and I didn’t try to defend myself or argue. I just let the silence stretch while I chewed slowly. He wasn’t asking for much, but it felt like everything.
We finished most of our food with soft music playing in the background.
The liquor had me warm, but not enough to blur the moment.
I asked him for the address, saying I wanted to order a few things from the store.
He slid his phone out, pulled it up, and passed it over without asking questions.
That small gesture meant more than he knew.
I ordered bubble bath oils, candles, and massage oils, planning what the night would look like without telling him. I wanted him to feel cared for, and I wanted to be the one who gave it to him.
The day drifted on without pressure or rush.
We lounged by the pool for a while, him scrolling on his phone, me sipping champagne, the quiet thick but not uncomfortable.
As the sun began to dip, the sky turned shades of orange and purple over the trees, and I knew it was time to set everything in place.
I ran the bath water, pouring the oils in until the steam filled the bathroom with a calming scent.
When Pressure walked in, he didn’t question me.
He just peeled off his clothes and stepped into the tub.
He leaned back against the porcelain, his arms stretched on the sides like a king on his throne.
I knelt beside the tub with a cloth in my hand and washed him slowly, taking my time with every inch of his skin.
He closed his eyes now and then, smoke curling from the blunt I rolled and placed in his hand.
We passed it back and forth, my fingers brushing each his hand time.
The smoke lingered between us, blending with the steam, and I felt a pull in my chest that had nothing to do with the weed.
When he finally stepped out, I wrapped the towel around him, drying his shoulders, his chest, then trailing down.
He didn’t say a word, and I didn’t need him to.
I led him toward the bedroom where I had already set the candles glowing low and the oils lined on the nightstand.
The bed looked like a stage waiting for us.
“Lay down,” I said softly, and he did, his body stretched out across the sheets.
I slipped out for a moment, coming back with a glass of brown liquor on ice.
He took it from my hand, sipped slow, then set it down on the table before turning his head back to me.
I climbed onto the bed beside him and started at his back, pouring warm oil into my palms before rubbing it into his muscles.
My hands worked across his shoulders, kneading the tension out, sliding down his spine, pressing into every part of him.
He let out a deep breath but didn’t speak, and the silence felt intimate.
I moved lower, massaging his sides, his arms and his waist. Every touch was meant to loosen him, to let him know I was here for him, no one else.
“Roll over,” I whispered after a while, and he obeyed, turning onto his back.
I poured more oil into my hands and smoothed it over his chest and down his stomach, watching his eyes follow every move.
My fingers moved lower, slipping beneath the towel until I freed is dick, the weight of it heavy in my hand.
I coated it with oil, watching the way it glistened.
One thing Pressure couldn’t be denied of was having a long, thick juicy looking dick, and watching it stand up with oil dripping down it made me want to fuck.
I bit my bottom lip, my eyes locked on his as I began to stroke his dick slowly, my hand sliding up and down with a rhythm meant to tease and please at the same time. He looked back at me with a hunger that burned straight through my skin, his chest rising and his teeth catching his bottom lip.
The more I jerked and stroked his dick, the deeper the lust grew in his eyes.
My pace shifted, alternating between slow drags that made him groan and faster pumps that pulled sharp gasps from his chest. I massaged him with both hands now, one still stroking his dick while the other cradled his balls, giving him everything I had without a single word.
His body tensed, the muscles in his thighs straining, his stomach tightening as the pressure built.
The change in his breathing told me everything before it even happened.
His head tilted back for a second, then his eyes shot down to me again, wide and dark with lust. With one last twist of my wrist and squeeze of my hand, he let go, his climax crashing through him hard, his whole body jerking as I held him through it.
I squeezed my thighs together and moaned as I watched semen ooze from the head of his dick and down to his balls, the oil mixing with it.
I watched him come undone, his face shifting with raw pleasure, his body jerking beneath my hands. The release that spilled from him was warm and thick, and I wiped him gently with the towel I had waiting.
When it was done, I laid beside him, my body pressed against his, my heart beating faster than it should. He turned to me, his lips finding mine in a deep, hungry kiss. Our tongues tangled, the heat of it sending chills down my arms, and I lost myself in the way he tasted.
We didn’t say anything else after that. The moment wrapped around us as strong as the kiss had. In my heart, I believed this was it. He was going to choose me.