I feel restless and think perhaps I should review the information I have compiled for the mark or perhaps look at the routing pattern left by the caller from Neuchâtel. I do neither because as I begin to draw back from the scope her motions arrest me. Her small hand with the pink tipped nails are moving over her belly. One finger traces the tiny lace adorning the top band of her panties. My breath is suspended. Time is suspended.
I have never seen this before. She has never touched herself. Never brought a man home with her. I’d have shot him, maybe. No, I would’ve caused some disturbance. Something. I thought her maybe an innocent and fantasized about awakening her. But now her small fingers are delving beneath the cotton. I can see the bumps of her knuckles as the press against the pale pink fabric. She is moving her fingers in circles.
I imagine my own fingers, much larger, darker and more rough, pressing down upon hers. My fingers flex involuntarily at the thought of her pussy beneath my touch. I’d stroke her lightly and in circles as that is what she appears to like. I’d move my fingers lower, beyond her clit to her hot cunt. It would be wet, dripping wet. My fingers would be soaked and I would pause so that I could lick her sweet honey off each digit.
My cock is so hard I fear that it will break against the denim of my jeans. I draw a hand over my chest and pinch my own nipple hard imagining it is her tiny white teeth tugging on it. I’ve broken out in a light sweat.
Her legs tense and her hand motions become more frantic. I can see her chest rise and fall rapidly and her whole body is strained but when her release comes it is truncated. The look on her face is of frustration rather than satisfaction. She wets her plump lips and closes her eyes. She begins again but again she is unfulfilled.
My emotions war against each other. Unhappiness that she cannot find her own fulfillment but fierce possessiveness arising out of an idea I’ve tried to suppress. In my mind, only I can bring her to orgasm and release. I can teach her to touch herself in a way that will be pleasurable and satisfying.
I would not start with her pussy. No, the skin is the largest sex organ. I would stroke my hands over every inch, starting from her forehead. My lips and fingers would smooth away any furrows. My hands would encircle her neck and sweep down over her shoulders to her fine wrists.
I’d rub my body over hers so that she smelled of me. When she walked on campus, other men would stay away recognizing she was marked as my own. Belonging to Nikolai. Maybe I would tattoo it around her neck like a collar.
Chapter One posted at Natasha is a Book Junkie and can be found HERE
Chapter Two posted at Angie’s Dreamy Reads and can be found HERE
Chapter Three posted at The Rock Stars of Romance and can be found HERE
Chapter Four posted at The Rock Stars of Romance and can be found HERE
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at email@example.com.
Author Jessica Claire
This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.
After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.