Page 73 of Sigma
“You think I’m going to stop you?” he murmurs. “I’ve dreamt of your touch since the moment I saw you in my vestibule, bound and gagged and helpless, yet still so proud, so fierce.” He’s motionless, that preternatural stillness he has. “Touch me, Corinna. I beg of you.”
His voice contains not a single false note, not a hint of sarcasm, or play. His eyes are wild, seeking mine. His chest expands and contracts rapidly, panting raggedly. His hands curl into fists on the top of the couch, and I hear the wicker creak under his grip.
“Please, Corinna,” he breathes. “Have mercy on me. Touch me.”
I push his underwear down until his cock bobs free, swaying with his breathing. His brow furrows, his eyes on my hands as I graze them up his thighs. I hear his jaw grinding. His breathing is ragged, rasping in his throat, nearly growling with every breath.
My hands shake with equal parts need and nerves as they carve up over his hips, to his belly.
“You tease me,” he whispers.
“No,” I whisper back. “I would never.”
And I fill my hands with him, wrapping both greedy fists around his cock. He lets out a slow hissing sigh, and his abs brace, go taut. He’s thick and rigid, hard as steel in my hands yet soft as silk and so warm, nearly hot to the touch. I bring my fists down, and veins stutter under my fingers.
He huffs at the movement of my hands on his flesh, and now our eyes lock. I reach up with one hand and knot my fingers in his hair and pull him down to me and demand his mouth for a searing kiss. He groans into the kiss, and his hips push forward, jutting his cock through my fist. I stroke my fist down his length, and a growl morphs into a moan.
His other knee now lifts to press against the couch so Apollo is kneeling astride me, towering over me, still gripping the back of the wicker couch and hunched over me. I sit upright beneath him, gaze up at him as I learn what pleases him through slow exploration. With one hand, I caress his length in unhurried gliding strokes, top to bottom, a light touch. With both hands, simply plunging up and down. Up to the top, and then down with a twist. He watches, brow furrowed, jaw clenched, his breathing slow but rough.
His hips begin to lift in time with my touch, and I recognize that desperate, helpless movement as the first tremors of a pending climax. I want to know what his release looks like. What his loss of control means. I want to know. I want to feel it. I want to know what it feels like to make this man detonate beyond all lucidity.
I find a rhythm, then, and one that seems to make him grow the wildest: I cup the heavy taut balls in one hand, cradling their soft weight in one hand, and with the other I caress his length. Slowly, twisting now and then, sometimes pausing to caress the top, other times plunging a few short strokes at the bottom. His breathing is a long, continuous growl, now, and his hips are moving on their own. Thrusting his cock into my touch.
He’s close.
He jerks himself away from me, throwing himself to his feet with a stomping twist to keep his balance, facing away from me. His back is rigid, his buttocks taut. His shoulders are bowed, hunched as if to ward off a blow, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
I find my feet and pad up behind him. I don’t dare touch him, now, for reasons I cannot fathom, only some instinct inside me warning me not to. “Apollo?”
He shakes his head. “Not here. Not like this.”
“Why?”
All I get is another shake of his head.
“Apollo, I don’t understand.” I dare—I touch his shoulder. “I…I wanted to.”
He growls, and I yank my hand away. “You shouldn’t.”
“I know.” I laugh. “Fucking trust me, I know I shouldn’t. But dammit, I do.”
“Here, in the orangery, like…” a bitter laugh. “No, Corinna. Not here, not like this.”
I stomp around him, irritated now. “Why not? How is it different?”
He holds my eyes, and I can see him trying to find that distant coldness—he’s failing. “It just is.”
“So once again, you can get me naked and do what you want with me. Touch me, make me crazy. Seduce me into insanity until I’m writhing on top of you in broad daylight. You can do all that to me, here, in the orangery. But the moment I want something for myself, the momentIwant to touchyou…oh no, not here. Not like this.” At that last, my voice is a gruff imitation of his. “You don’t play fair, Apollo.”
“It’s different,” he murmurs. “I didn’t stop because it’s not good enough forme. I stopped because it’s not good enough foryou.”
“I don’t understand.”
His eyes search me. “I know. Can’t you just…believe me?”
“Believe you, like…trust you?” I cackle. “Youdosee the irony in that, right?” I push at his chest. “So no, Apollo. I won’t just believe you. Explain it to me.”
He seems to grow, his presence swelling, darkening, his aura and energy growing dominant and predatory. “You want to know?” He steps closer to me, his hard cock jutting upright between us. “Fine, I’ll tell you.”