Page 87 of Sigma
“Yet still you resist.”
He’s pumping into my hand. Grinding. Panting.
“Fuck!” he snarls, and twists away.
But instead of walking away from me, he lunges at me. His hands seize my face and his lips crush against mine, and I feel his hard, hot, throbbing cock dig into my belly. He pinions my wrists to prevent me from touching him, and then he’s walking me backward across the room, his kiss hot and furious, tongue slashing against mine. It’s rough, wild. Savage, even. I’m quick-marched backward, and I can barely keep up with the sudden onslaught of his mouth, the march backward, the assault of his tongue and the grip on my wrists. I want to touch him, to claw at him, to make him come. I fight him, fight to free my wrists, and this only makes his kiss all the rougher.
The seaman’s chest hits the back of my knees and I sit abruptly onto it. He takes no mercy on me for the hard-edged discomfort of the position, leaning me backward onto it and pinning my hands over my head. One hand pinning mine, with the other he hooks two fingers against my opening and spears them inside me, curling them in a thrust deep inside, withdrawing to tap my clit. I cry out, writhing against his hand. Alternating between thrusting his fingers inside me to mimic fucking and circling my clit, he brings me to orgasm in record time.
By the time I’m able to draw a breath after the intensity of the abrupt orgasm, he has me in his arms and he’s carrying me around to the bed. He tosses me, and I’m airborne for a moment, and then as I hit the mattress, he’s on top of me. Kissing me. Touching me. One-handed, all the while, because he still has my hands pinned over my head.
He slowly pulls away from the kiss, and I’m gasping, hips thrusting with need—he’s left me moments from another climax. He hovers over me, and then he reaches out and snags one of the lengths of gauzy white curtain at the headboard corner of the bed. In a lightning-fast movement, he wraps it around my wrist and ties it off. Before I realize what’s happened, my other hand is bound.
Kneeling over me, a predatory smile steals across his lips. “Now, Corinna—nowyou are mine.”
“Wh—what are you going to do?” There is, I have to admit, a slight glimmer of real fear that I’ve misjudged him, that I’ve just done the most foolhardy thing I could possibly do, in allowing him to bind me like this.
Yet, I’m still soaked with desire and shaking with the tremors of post-orgasmic rapture even as I clench inside with the unfinished heat of another impending climax.
The fear has me wild.
I must be really fucked up to be getting off on this.
He just smirks. “Anything I want.”
No reassurance.
He kisses my throat, and I tilt my head back to accept it—his lips descend slowly, kissing here and there in random dotting touches until he reaches my breasts. And these, he plies with a thousand hot kisses, licking and suckling, fondling and caressing, flicking my nipples and twisting them until I’m aching, gasping. And then, when I can’t stand it anymore, he kisses down my belly and over my hips. I fling my legs apart, and he delves down between them, and he licks me with a fat swipe of his tongue.
“You taste like honey,” he murmurs. “Have you ever tasted yourself?”
I shake my head, but he’s not waiting for an answer. He dips a finger inside me and puts it to my lips—I taste myself, musky and indeed almost sweet. His tongue slithers into me, slides up my seam. A finger enters me, his tongue circles me.
I writhe, pull at the bonds on my wrists, arch off the bed as he laps at me and fingers me to the peak of climax and pushes me over. He’s not content with that, though. He pushes me to another climax, and another. Uses his fingers to give his mouth a break, and then when I’m close yet again, writhing and whimpering, thrashing and thrusting, he assaults me with his tongue all over again and licks away my climax.
I come so hard, so many times it hurts.
“Stop,” I whimper. “I can’t take anymore.”
He doesn’t.
This time, instead of a rise to orgasm and a quick topple over, it’s different. It’s a slow, difficult rise to the edge and he keeps me there for a long time, reading my desperation in the way I whimper and thrash, and pulling me back from the edge again and again, until it’s akin to torture, until I’m openly weeping with the desperate need to come, to find release any way I can get it.
“Apollo, god, please…” I whimper.
He rises up from between my legs, his stubble wet and glistening black with my juices. “No, Corinna. Not yet.”
“God, you bastard!” I snap. “Stop teasing me.”
“You teased me.”
“I did not. I would have made you come. I wanted to, tried to, and you stopped me.”
“Not on my terms.”
“And everything…” I break off and whimper as he teases me toward the edge I so desperately need. “Everything has to be on your terms?”
“Yes.” He flicks me with his tongue, teasing, teasing—flick, flick, flick, then smears his tongue against my clit until I’m writhing and wailing.