saw him shirtless.
I want to stare at his body, but I can’t break away from his eyes. I could lose myself in them, in him.
He reaches up, pulls something down: a gleaming black rope. It undulates like a snake as he tethers the end to the looping bow on my wrists. Now I can’t pull my hands down more than a couple of inches.
A little shudder runs through me.
Porter kneels between my legs again. His hands slide up my legs, then higher until his fingers brush my pussy.
He leans forward, and before I can protest, he kisses my stomach, just under my navel.
I squirm, but Porter holds my hips to the sheets. Maybe, I think, he’ll stop there. Surely he’s noticed I’m sweaty, too wet.
He licks a trail lower, and his intentions become undeniably clear.
“You don’t have to,” I say. The words sound funny spoken around the square foil packet.
“I want to.” His licking tongue is close to my clit, tracing a teasing pattern that I know will be very effective. But I can’t let him.
“Porter, please don’t,” I say. It comes out in a desperate cry, and Porter abruptly sits up.
“Why?” His expression is concerned as he moves over me, then next to me. He pulls the condom from my mouth. We’re side by side, and it’s so intimate that all the thoughts rush out of my head.
“Emily?” Porter’s voice is gentle, but there’s tension in his body as he asks, “Did something happen to you?”
It takes me a moment to understand what he’s asking. “No, no, nothing like that,” I say. “I’m… I feel like I need a shower. You know, dirty.”
He looks a little surprised. “There’s nothing dirty about an aroused woman,” he says. “Listen, Emily. I’m going to push you, stretch you. Do you understand that?” His words make the breath stutter in my chest.
“Yes.”
“But you should know that a man burying his face in your pussy shouldn’t be a limit. Not for you or any other woman.”
Oh, God. He thinks I’m some kind of prude. “Normally, I’m not shy…” I decide to try another approach. “You’ve already gotten me off twice.”
His eyebrows dip together in a frown. “So?”
“So it’s your turn.” My face heats.
“I don’t keep score.”
The skin on my cheeks is so hot that I think I might burst into flames. I wish my arms were free so I could cross them over my chest, comfort myself. Porter opens a drawer in the bedside table and takes out another black sash. “This,” he says, “is your freedom.”
“My freedom?”
“Freedom to enjoy yourself.” He twists the sash. “If you need to get my attention for an urgent matter”—he slides the cloth into my mouth—“then snap your fingers.” He quickly ties the gag, and he’s careful not to catch my hair in the knot.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my lips and tongue. The cloth tastes like nothing but smells faintly of roses.
Moving slowly, Porter slides between my legs again. He braces himself on my upper thighs. I can move my fingers but not much else.
Porter nips at my inner thighs. I hate that his face is so close to my pussy. I’ve been wet for… hours, actually.
“I love the way you smell,” he says, and as if to underscore his point, he covers my pussy with his mouth. His tongue traces between my folds, then thrusts into my slit.
This is the last thing I want him to do, but I can’t move away, not with his weight on my legs, holding me immobile. I moan, the sound strange with the gag in my mouth.
Porter reaches up and squeezes my breast as his tongue swirls to my clit. His fingers lightly flick and pluck at my nipples, and my entire body goes taut, not from fear or embarrassment but from pleasure.
Each squeeze of his fingers is reflected and magnified in the way he teases my clit. I’ve never felt anything like it. The pleasure isn’t only between my legs—it’s everywhere.
I don’t even realize I’m about to orgasm. It takes me by surprise, a violent clenching mixed with sharp jabs of
I want to stare at his body, but I can’t break away from his eyes. I could lose myself in them, in him.
He reaches up, pulls something down: a gleaming black rope. It undulates like a snake as he tethers the end to the looping bow on my wrists. Now I can’t pull my hands down more than a couple of inches.
A little shudder runs through me.
Porter kneels between my legs again. His hands slide up my legs, then higher until his fingers brush my pussy.
He leans forward, and before I can protest, he kisses my stomach, just under my navel.
I squirm, but Porter holds my hips to the sheets. Maybe, I think, he’ll stop there. Surely he’s noticed I’m sweaty, too wet.
He licks a trail lower, and his intentions become undeniably clear.
“You don’t have to,” I say. The words sound funny spoken around the square foil packet.
“I want to.” His licking tongue is close to my clit, tracing a teasing pattern that I know will be very effective. But I can’t let him.
“Porter, please don’t,” I say. It comes out in a desperate cry, and Porter abruptly sits up.
“Why?” His expression is concerned as he moves over me, then next to me. He pulls the condom from my mouth. We’re side by side, and it’s so intimate that all the thoughts rush out of my head.
“Emily?” Porter’s voice is gentle, but there’s tension in his body as he asks, “Did something happen to you?”
It takes me a moment to understand what he’s asking. “No, no, nothing like that,” I say. “I’m… I feel like I need a shower. You know, dirty.”
He looks a little surprised. “There’s nothing dirty about an aroused woman,” he says. “Listen, Emily. I’m going to push you, stretch you. Do you understand that?” His words make the breath stutter in my chest.
“Yes.”
“But you should know that a man burying his face in your pussy shouldn’t be a limit. Not for you or any other woman.”
Oh, God. He thinks I’m some kind of prude. “Normally, I’m not shy…” I decide to try another approach. “You’ve already gotten me off twice.”
His eyebrows dip together in a frown. “So?”
“So it’s your turn.” My face heats.
“I don’t keep score.”
The skin on my cheeks is so hot that I think I might burst into flames. I wish my arms were free so I could cross them over my chest, comfort myself. Porter opens a drawer in the bedside table and takes out another black sash. “This,” he says, “is your freedom.”
“My freedom?”
“Freedom to enjoy yourself.” He twists the sash. “If you need to get my attention for an urgent matter”—he slides the cloth into my mouth—“then snap your fingers.” He quickly ties the gag, and he’s careful not to catch my hair in the knot.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my lips and tongue. The cloth tastes like nothing but smells faintly of roses.
Moving slowly, Porter slides between my legs again. He braces himself on my upper thighs. I can move my fingers but not much else.
Porter nips at my inner thighs. I hate that his face is so close to my pussy. I’ve been wet for… hours, actually.
“I love the way you smell,” he says, and as if to underscore his point, he covers my pussy with his mouth. His tongue traces between my folds, then thrusts into my slit.
This is the last thing I want him to do, but I can’t move away, not with his weight on my legs, holding me immobile. I moan, the sound strange with the gag in my mouth.
Porter reaches up and squeezes my breast as his tongue swirls to my clit. His fingers lightly flick and pluck at my nipples, and my entire body goes taut, not from fear or embarrassment but from pleasure.
Each squeeze of his fingers is reflected and magnified in the way he teases my clit. I’ve never felt anything like it. The pleasure isn’t only between my legs—it’s everywhere.
I don’t even realize I’m about to orgasm. It takes me by surprise, a violent clenching mixed with sharp jabs of
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