Vanilla. Megan Hart
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but it was one we’d worked on carefully to be sure it suited us both. Realistic, maybe to a fault.
This was not a love affair.
It was, however, the first time I’d ever used an object on him instead of only fingers or tongue. Esteban had told me his fantasies about being taken that way, and though on the surface what we had together might appear to be all about what I wanted, it was truly about satisfaction for both of us. He wanted to please me; I got off on being pleased. But more than that, I reveled in the way the smallest things I did to him got him hard. Made him ache. I loved making him come for me, his orgasms like a tribute. Something he owed me and I deserved.
I warmed the toy’s chilly glass against my hot flesh while I ran my nails, scratching, up the insides of his thighs. Tickling over his balls and the shaft of his cock. I dripped lube on his prick and stroked him, though when he began to move into my closed fist, I laughed and stopped.
Esteban’s laugh broke with a gasp. “Please.”
“Not please.” I pinched his nipple, not hard enough to hurt but definitely hard enough. “You know I shamelessly fetishize you speaking Spanish to me.”
His hips had bucked when I pinched him, and he gasped again. “Compláceme, por favor.”
Spread open for me, unbound but not moving because I hadn’t given him permission, Esteban nevertheless gave me a wicked grin. He fucked upward, getting a few thrusts in before I gripped his cock tight at the base to keep him still. His eyes twinkled as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip and said something else in Spanish. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t really have to. He could be reciting his grocery list or a poem. My Spanish was limited to ordering off the menu at a Mexican restaurant. It was the sound of him speaking his native language that worked me up, and he knew it.
In response to his naughty teasing, I pressed a slick finger to his asshole, making him gasp. “You want this?”
“Oh...yes. Please, please, please... Por favor!”
I tested the glass by pressing it to my lips. Still cool but not shockingly so. I held it up. “You want this?”
He tried to answer and only a soft and desperate noise came out. I grinned, running it along his leg, and let it rest on his belly for a moment so he could feel the weight of it. His smile grew lax, gaze distant.
I’d known women who prided themselves on making their pets cry or wail, but even as a little girl I’d never liked breaking my toys. I liked it so much better when the man beneath me writhed and begged for release not because I was hurting him, but because I was making him feel too impossibly good. Creating desire fed something inside me I’d never been able to fully explain or understand. All I knew was that I craved it and loved it, and Esteban gave it to me. Another few strokes of his cock and he would explode for me...but not until I let him.
That was power. That was control. In that moment, I owned him.
And really, what woman would not love being made a goddess?
Again the throb of desire pulsed between my legs, easing as I coated the toy in lube and pressed it slowly against him. He hissed in a breath, tensing, and I soothed a hand along his cock.
“Open,” I whispered.
The plug was so perfectly designed that it practically seated itself, the curve pointing upward toward his belly so that it could press on his prostate. The flared base had a ring to keep it from slipping too deep inside, and also for gripping, so I could rock it back and forth. Esteban cried out when I did that, a low and guttural noise that mimicked pain. I knew him and all his sounds well enough, though. It might be a little uncomfortable, but he liked it more than he didn’t.
I let go of the toy and ran my hands once more up the insides of his thighs. I didn’t touch his cock, but I did draw a finger through the thick clear liquid that had puddled on his belly. I moved up his body to drag my fingertip over his lower lip then tucked it again into my own mouth and relished the taste of him.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmured in his ear.
He turned his face toward me, his breath hot. “To please you.”
I was already working my panties over my hips and thighs to kick them off. I inched my skirt up to show him my bareness and the stockings and garters framing it. His cock leaped, tapping his belly—if you’d told me even a few years before that erections did move on their own, that it wasn’t something made up for sexy novels, I’d have laughed. But I knew very well now how a man’s cock, aroused to the point of spilling without so much as another stroke, could throb and jerk.
“I want your mouth on me, Esteban.”
He moaned, his hips rocking so that his cock thrust upward into empty air. His ass would be clenching on that toy, too, I knew. A long string of precome clung to his prick, and I paused again to admire it. Then, facing his cock, I straddled his face so he could get his talented tongue and lips on my hard clit.
It was my turn to gasp and moan when Esteban’s mouth moved on me. I ground onto his tongue, my hands braced on his hips as I leaned forward. I let my tongue swipe the head of his cock, but didn’t take it in my mouth. I wanted to tease him, but also myself, and I knew the second I let myself take him inside my mouth, I’d be lost and out of control.
He put his hands on my hips, and I didn’t deny him. I liked them there, gripping. He might leave a mark or two of his own.
Lower, I reached to curl a finger in the plug’s handle. As I moved on his face, letting his lips and tongue urge me toward climax, I steadily rocked the plug—not thrusting in and out, like I was fucking him, but instead a gentle, steady pressure, on and off that internal pleasure spot. He pushed his cock upward, and I nuzzled the tip for a moment until he gave a muffled cry against me. Then I stopped. I slowed. I rolled my hips to push my clit against him in time to the steady pressure I was giving his prostate.
“Feel it,” I said with a hitch in my breath. Words were hard to form, my voice nothing close to steady or stern. But I wanted him to hear me that way, breaking, so he knew how much he was pleasing me. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” he said. “Oh...”
I pushed up with a hand on his hip, the bone hard beneath my palm. His dear cock was thick, straining for release, the color shading darker the harder it got. He was uncut, something that had been new to me with him, and I let my fingers tease the velvety foreskin that had retracted from his erection.
“I love your cock,” I told him matter-of-factly. I raised myself just far enough that he’d have to strain to reach my flesh, but my body was clenching and pulsing, so close to the edge that I wanted to hold off for a moment longer. “This thick, beautiful cock.”
“It’s yours,” he told me, and I let him lie to me because we both wanted to pretend that was true. “I’m yours. I belong... Oh...”
Another string of muttered Spanish, a few words I did recognize, eased out of him on a desperate, gasping sigh. The sound of it, his words, the edge of hungry, mindless pleasure in his voice, was at last enough. I gave him my pussy again and let him feast on me as I sat up, hands on his chest, to ride his mouth until I came.
My body shook with it, hard spasms of pleasure. Esteban’s hands gripped me hard, fingers digging. His cock leaped. He cried out against me, and as my vision went blurry from the pleasure, I watched thick come jet out of him to splatter his belly. He came without me even touching his cock, and I went mindless myself at the sight. I came again, hard enough to feel faint, and as the surge of orgasm eased away, I rolled onto my back next to him and splayed, boneless and content, on the king-size bed.
We both lay still for a moment or so, the sound of our breathing the only noise—though the pounding of my heart had been loud in my ears, it was fading. His hand had moved to rest on my shin. My head was close enough to his leg that I could turn my face to kiss the side of his knee. I sat up, moving on numb legs to grab one of the hand towels he’d taken earlier from the bathroom and put on the bed.
“Slow,”