Home for the Summer, Chapt. 4

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Home for the Summer

Chapter 4

I barely notice the cramps in my fingers as they fly across the keyboard. Never before has writing been as effortless, as seamless as it’s been since Italy. And while the sabbatical was the excuse I’d given him for wanting to relocate for the summer, it is an added bonus that all the pieces are falling into place, as far as the manuscript is concerned.

I’ve been trying to reread the last few pages I wrote for the past ten minutes, but the words on the screen are blurry, and no amount of blinking and rubbing my eyes are bringing them back into focus. Giving up, I hit ‘Save’ and close the laptop before pushing my chair away from the desk. I find my slippers under the desk and shove my feet into them. He despises the furry frogs, which means I won’t be throwing them away for another three months. He doesn’t know about the pink piggy slippers I’ve hidden in the back of hall closet, and I giggle thinking about the look of disgust that’ll be on his face when he sees them.

My knees protest as I try to stand, and I groan against the stiff joints. I’ve been in front of the computer screen for so long it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness around me. The room comes into focus, and I frown at the deep shadows lurking. He’d come in to check on me earlier; it must have been hours ago. As I wrote, the sun had set, and now the only light in the room is the banker’s lamp on the corner of the desk. I push my fists into my lower back to ease the nagging ache, then bend and stretch to loosen the knotted muscles. I still hear my words playing and tripping over themselves in my brain like a foreign language on repeat. I need a hot shower and a cozy bed.

I shuffle across the room and open the door, and darkness greets me. The house is quiet; I wonder where he is. He’d been watching the football match earlier. Confident enough to wander around the house with the lights off, I make my way to the staircase and silently climb upstairs.

A sliver of light outlines our bedroom door. I put my hand on the cool wood and slowly push it open. He's lying on the bed with his laptop beside him, and the light from the screen spotlights his nakedness. He’s stroking his cock, just two fingers and his thumb. His eyes are hard and dark as they concentrate on the screen.

He doesn't hear or pay attention to me, and I don't know if he realizes I’m there. I’m mesmerized watching him; he has beautiful hands, wide palms and long, thick fingers. His breathing becomes labored. He thrusts into his hand, once, twice, as his fingers curl around his cock. The thick pad of his thumb grazes over the mushroom head, smearing the pearls of filmy pre-cum.

I want to go to him, lean down and taste the slick drops. I should let him know I’m here. Should I clear my throat? Climb on the bed beside him and join him, covering his hand with mine? I do neither. I do nothing but watch and bite my lip to keep my silence. I slide my hand over my breast and tease my already hard nipple. I pinch it once, twice, before lowering it to my pussy. I cup myself and rub my fingers against my throbbing clit.

I stare as his hand moves harder, faster. He grips his balls with his other hand, pressing his fingers into the smooth flesh underneath.

He comes, spurting over his thickly matted stomach. He closes his eyes and throws his head back as a long groan fills the room.

Watching him, I push and slide my fingers over my wet flesh. His eyes open as he turns his head towards me, his lips curling into a grin as he watches me and my busy hand. 

“You should have joined me instead of just watching. You always like to watch.”

Smiling, I cross the room, removing my short, cotton shift along the way, and crawl on the bed between his splayed legs. Bracing my hands alongside his thighs, I lower my head, prepared to taste and clean him.

“No.” His voice is hard and firm, like a parent denying a child a sweet before dinner.

I look up at him, watchful, looking at his face for a sign as to his mood.

“Off the bed.”

I climb off, and as my feet hit the floor, he swings his legs off the bed. His white, thick semen slowly trickles down his stomach. He ignores it, but I can't take my eyes off his wet, sticky skin.

“You want to taste me? Clean me? We’ll do it my way.” His voice is cool, in control. He jerks his head slightly towards the bed behind him and my eyes follow, looking at the laptop and the scene playing out on the screen.

I know what he wants. What I now want. I correct my posture, pushing my shoulders back so my breasts thrust forward as I clasp my hands behind my back. Gone are thoughts of a hot bath and cozy bed.

He carelessly walks over to the closet and opens the door, returning a moment later. Moving behind me, I feel silk wrapping around my wrists, binding them. It’s not uncomfortable; only snug enough to allow no freedom of movement. I try controlling my breathing while my heart beats wildly.

His lays his hands on my shoulders, balancing me as I slowly kneel on the hard wood, the only padding a woven wool carpet, then moves to stand in front of me.

“Now you may clean me.”

I do, from his abdomen to his thighs. I lick and suck and clean his flesh, tasting the salty, earthy flavor of him, breathing in the scent of his warm skin. I know to stay away from his cock until he offers it to me.

“Enough.”

I correct my posture; once again kneeling and ramrod straight — shoulders back, breasts out. He reaches out to stroke me; his fingers glide along my neck and collarbone, then move down to my breasts. He cups them in his hands, feeling their weight. My eyes are trained straight ahead, not down at his hands or up into his eyes.

He pinches my nipples before curling his fingers around them, pulling and twisting and tugging. The slight pain is nothing compared to the lighting-hot bolts of pleasure shooting straight to my clit. It throbs, needing attention, but I know better than to try and clamp my thighs together to ease the ache.

He takes a half-step back, releasing my nipples after one last, hard pinch.

He takes his cock in his hand, wrapping his fingers around the base, already semi-hard. He leans forward and brushes the soft, sticky head over my lips, my cheeks, my chin.

“Open.”

I open my mouth and push my tongue past my teeth and lips. He rests his cock there, just on the tip of my tongue for a moment, so I may feel the weight of him.

“Anticipation,” he murmurs.

He begins moving, slowly at first, sliding across my tongue. My top lip skims his velvety skin. I open wider, inviting him, challenging him to take more. He accepts. With his hands on his thighs, he doesn’t allow any part of himself to touch me except his cock. He thrusts deeper into my mouth before pulling back.

I close my mouth around his flesh, my lips trapping him snugly. I roll my tongue over him, then draw him deeper. He is in control, but I set the pace, my mouth and jaw working to take more and more until he bumps the back of my throat. I cough, but the sound is muffled by a mouthful of hard flesh. He pulls out to let me recover, but my mouth follows him. I’m greedy for the taste of him, all of him.

His control snaps; his hands clutch the back of my head, holding me still as he fucks my wet, hot mouth. My lips are shiny with wet, my eyes bright as I look up into his eyes.

He stares at my mouth as I take him, accepting each hard, fast thrust. His eyes are small and bright as he watches himself disappear in my mouth. His hand reaches for me, and he cups my cheek while his thumb grazes my bottom lip, wiping away the dripping saliva.

His fingers curl into my hair, pulling it tight to my scalp as he fucks me, and I concentrate on breathing while my mouth and tongue move over him, greedily taking more.

He pulls out so abruptly that I pitch forward slightly. He leaves me to balance myself this time as he steps back. His breathing is harsh, his chest heaving, as he takes back control. He stands with his hands on his hips, his cock rock hard and slick with spit. I need him — his hands, his mouth, his cock. On me. In me.

I try to control my unsteady breath; my nipples are hard and tight, and my pussy is wet and aching and empty. I know satisfaction is coming, but I don’t know when. I’m on edge and focused.

He reaches for me, pulling me up and into his arms. He kisses me hard and fast, his tongue plunging into my mouth, taking possession. I stand there, helpless; with my hands bound behind my back, I’m unable to hold him while my legs tremble. He lifts his head and peers down, his eyes raking my face. A satisfied smile crosses his lips.

“On the bed. Face down, ass up.” My heart leaps in my chest. We have not played this way since leaving London, not for weeks before leaving. I lean forward and quickly brush my lips across his, then step back before he admonishes me for taking liberties.

He grabs my hips and helps me onto the bed, positioning me to his liking. With my cheek resting against the mattress, his laptop is in front of my face, and on the screen, the woman is now naked and bound to an ornate, straight back chair. Her thighs quiver as the man kneeling between her outstretched legs sucks her clit. Her face and neck are flushed, and the sheen of sweat covering her glistens under the lights. She looks down at him with wild eyes as his mouth and fingers overwhelm her. Her orgasm is intense and powerful to watch.

My breath tightens in my chest. The video is ours, one we filmed while vacationing in Spain. Remembering that weekend causes my pussy to tighten. Sensing my distraction, he slaps my ass, and the small sting causes me to gasp, pulling me back in the moment.

“You are beautiful to watch, love,” he says, his voice firm, measured, and again in control. His knee spreads my thighs slightly wider while his hands stroke my ass and hips.

He presses a hand into my shoulder blades, pushing me further into the mattress while the other snakes between my legs to cup me. His fingers slide between my swollen flesh, wet and slick with need. He lifts me, moves me where he wants me before catching my clit between two fingers, squeezing and jerking gently. A guttural moan fills my ears. He alternates between petting and teasing, building heat and fire before banking them, leaving me sobbing and gasping.

“There now. What a lovely view I have,” he murmurs. I feel his cock rubbing over my wet skin, the head bumping my clit as he strokes. His thrust catches me by surprise, sharp and deep, buried impossibly high inside me. My muscles tighten instinctively, trapping him. I cannot move against him, can’t match his thrust with one of my own. With my hands bound and resting above the small of my back, each hard slap of skin on wet skin shoves me further up the bed, my shoulders sliding along the cotton sheets.

He grabs the silk between my wrists, holding them like reins as he rides, bucking against me as his free hand digs into my ass, spreading me for a better view. I sob, plead for an orgasm, but they fall on deaf ears. He changes the tempo, speed and depth as he fucks me; the rhythm is for his pleasure, not mine.

I tighten my pussy around him, loosening and clamping soft, wet walls around his cock until his breathing is shallow and harsh. With one hard tug on the silk, he buries himself deep, over and over. Slick, damp skin slaps against each other, until the orgasm tears through my body. I gasp and cry as hot waves of pleasure crash over me. Semen drips down my thighs as he slows, pumping softer now, shallow thrusts that gentle and soothe. My face is damp with sweat and tears, and I gulp air as my heart continues to race.

I don’t remember him untying my wrists or him moving on to the bed beside me, only him lifting and settling me onto his chest while his hands massage my shoulders and arms before moving down my back.

“I thought you were watching the game,” I murmur against his skin. He kisses my hair before laying his cheek against it, his fingers stroking long lines up and down my back

“I was. The match only ended a few minutes before you walked upstairs.”

I pick up my head from his shoulder and raise an eyebrow.

He smiles. “I checked in on you only a few minutes before. You were practically sleeping at your desk. I knew you’d be up soon, if the house was quiet enough.”

He kisses me again, a long, slow sweep of tongue and lips.

“Was this an attempt to wake me up or put me to bed?” I ask, unsure if he is unhappy with the schedule I’d set for myself.

“I’d say it was both.”

They are the last words I hear as I drift off to sleep.