I Am The Wind by Sarah Masters Page A

covers. I don’t think I can bear to see what those eyes will tell me.
    Not yet.
    Hanging the towel over a hook on the back of the door, I walk towards him, not feeling the slightest bit awkward. He’s seen me naked, touched every part of me these past four weeks, so there’s nothing to hide here. Except tonight it’s going to be different. He’s going to be taken care of. He’s going to be the one laying there while I take care of him. He has to understand relationships are give and take by both parties, not give, give, give by one.
    I stand beside the bed and look down at him, my heart fucking bursting because shitting hell, he looks so vulnerable despite his size. I see his eyes now, look into them and find a deep well of hurt, worry and need. Lifting the comforter, I peel it back, away from his body so I can see the whole of him. Taking the lead—I’ve got to do this, got to focus on what he needs—I open a bedside drawer to find some lube. There it is, a couple of tubes, and I take one out, unscrewing the lid while looking at him again.
    A tentative smile tweaks his lips—lips that shake a bit—and I return it, hoping mine makes me look like I’m full of confidence and not worrying my arse off that this is going to go wrong. I put the lube lid on the bedside and climb between his legs, settling on my haunches.
    “I’m going to show you how you make me feel, all right?”
    He nods, hands clasped across his belly.
    “So you need to relax. Get those hands behind your head or something. Let me do my thing.”
    He obeys, watching me all the way, and I busy myself squirting lube into my palm. I press my hands together and rub, warming the fluid, then spread the wetness over the tops of each leg and the skin either side of his sac. Massaging gently, I take my time before I touch his bollocks, knowing how fucking hot that feels when he does it to me. With my fingers spread, my thumbs joined, I span each thigh top and draw down, caressing his arse cleft, skimming his hole then drawing back up. I repeat this several times until his breathing changes from quick, sharp snatches to long, sucking gulps. He’s relaxing, opens his legs wider, and finally, finally he closes his eyes.
    He trusts me. Got to with his eyes closed like that. He’s at his most vulnerable now, and I can only imagine the torture he’s going through, wondering if this is the time I’m going to choose to hurt him by walking away.
    I couldn’t do it if I tried.
    It’s easy to massage the minutes away, dragging my hands up and down, sometimes circling his hole before bringing my hands back up to start the process all over again. His cock, proportioned to match the rest of him, has swollen to a size I know stretches my arsehole and brings me pleasure. I want him inside me, thrusting in and out, his thick head grazing the nub inside me, making cum spurt out of me as he jerks my cock, but that can come later. Plenty of time for that.
    “I don’t know how you’re doing this to me, how you’re making me feel like this,” he whispers. “But shit, it feels so fucking good.”
    “It’s how you make me feel. Good. So good. Wanted. Needed.”
    I continue with my touch as he opens his eyes for second to look at me and smile, closing them once again to do what I do—drown in sensation.
    He’s ready now, so on the upward stroke I take his cock in both hands, smoothing up and down his length, fucking pleased with myself when he lets out a long moan. I’ve got him, have him experiencing exactly what I wanted him to.
    His cock thickens, the vein pulsing against my palm, and I watch what I’m doing. It’s horny as fuck seeing his dick bobbing out of my hands like that. Still fondling him with one hand, I shift from between his legs and settle at his side to give me better access to his crack. Cock in my right fist, I slide my other hand over his bollocks and down, two fingers gliding over the ridge between sac and cleft until the tips brush his hole.