by Alexis Angel
"I could never get enough of you," he whispers in my ear and I felt my heart skip a beat.
Who says things like that? I may not have the experience level of Lisa, but I know romance, and I know New York men, or American men in general, are lacking in that department altogether and Thomas isn’t at all. He is kind, he showers me with gifts and attention, the man pays more attention to my body and what it likes than I do, and he says things that leave me speechless, before doing things that leave my breathless.
"You’re such a romantic," I beam, turning around to drape my arms over his shoulders, holding my chin up to off him my lips, which he takes slowly and gently, to my surprise.
I never know what I’m going to get with Thomas; he has such a repertoire with sex. Sometimes he’s soft and smooth, really sensual and slow. Other times, he’s rough and aggressive, just tearing me apart. While I like them both, I enjoy the versatility more than anything. With just one of those options I imagine I would be bored by now.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, pulling on a wooden cabinet that turns out to be his refrigerator.
"I’ll just have some water, if you have a glass," I motion towards his kitchen sink and he furrows his brows together before reaching into the refrigerator, returning with a clear bottle of Fiji water.
"Oh, you’re fancy," I purse my lips together in a mocking way and thank him for the water.
"So you think I’m romantic?" he quips, opening a bottle of water for himself.
"Yep, a regular prince charming," I smirk, taking a hug gulp of water.
Thomas almost spits out his water and looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. Shit! I forgot not to say that to him, after his warning not to treat him any different, I don’t want him to think it has anything to do with his apartment.
"It isn’t because of your apartment, Thomas. I honestly think it’s fabulous," I glance around the chef’s kitchen before continuing, "but I don’t really care, baby."
Holding my hands in the air, I shrug my shoulders before taking another sip of my water and watching him closely. He seems to relax, but I know that something about that bothered him so I’ve got to try to never call him that again.
Turning slowly, he opens the refrigerator again and then turns back to me with a conspiratorial look in his eye, and a mischievous grin on his face.
"Close your eyes," he says while squinting his eyes devilishly.
Without hesitation or seeking an explanation I do as I’m told. I can hear him moving around, the sound of glasses clinking together, and different containers touching the countertop beside me. Then he’s right in front of me, I can sense him although he’s silent, and my legs spread, hoping he comes closer.
"How’d you know I was in front of you? You’re peeking!" he shrieks like child before moving away quickly.
"No, I didn’t I could sense you." I try to explain through giggles.
Before I can say anything more he’s back, and this time he steps between my legs before wrapping a soft fabric around my head, covering my eyes.
"Ooh, this is soft," I reach up and touch the smooth fabric.
"Like you," he says so low I’m sure he was only speaking to himself.
"Am I allowed to touch, I reach my hands out to my sides and he quickly clasps them in a tight grip.
"No! You can only do what I tell you," he places my hands on his shoulders, and I interlock my fingers on the nape of his neck while wrapping my legs around his midsection.
"Can I have a kiss?" I ask, poking my lip out.
"You can always have a kiss, baby," he kisses my lips softly and tugs on my bottom lip. I love when he does that.
"You could sense me in front of you?" he asks. I guess he did hear me through the giggles.
"Yep! I always sense you before I see you. When you have me meet you somewhere, I can feel you watching me, or I just get a pull, like I’m supposed to be near you," I’m a little embarrassed by my admission. Without my vision its difficult to remember I’m speaking to someone else, and I’ve basically admitted my private thoughts.
"You’re always blushing," he whispers before kissing my cheeks.
"You have an effect on me, Mister," I bite my bottom lip to halt my grin from spreading.
"I can feel when you walk in the room. I swear it. Earlier at dinner you left to use the ladies room, and when you returned from behind me I could just feel it," he says as if my saying it makes it makes sense for him.
"What do you think that means?" I whisper, his face is close to mine, I can sense it and smell his aroma.
"I think it means that I’m crazy about you," he whispers on my lips, the sensation gives me chills.
"I think I like you crazy about me," I smirk.
"Oh yeah? Why is that?" He asks.
"That way I’m not out here on the island by myself," I say, again being more revealing, but still without regrets.
We sit in silence for an awkward long time, so long that I begin to worry I should be regretting what I’ve said. Not being able to read his body language has me at a serious disadvantage, but this is his game and I want to have an open mind about playing whatever it is he has in store.
"You don’t have to worry about being anywhere alone, Nicole," he begins and without seeing his eyes or facial expression, I know he’s serious because of his tone and the fact that he used my real name. "We’re in this together, okay?" he adds while placing his hands on top of mine.
"Okay," I whisper, overwhelmed with emotion, making it hard to speak clearly, so I’m more than relieved when I hear him messing around with containers as he moves about beside me, presumably preparing his game.
"Are there rules to this game?" I wonder aloud.
"Uh… Yes. The first rule is you have to do what I say," he says curtly.
"Well, that’s the regular," I sass and I can hear him smiling.
"The second rule is you have to taste things and tell me what it is," he explains excitedly.
"Okay, and then what’s my prize?" I ask.
"Prize?" he asks confused.
"Yeah, if I guess correctly, what do I win?" I clarify.
"Me," he says flatly like that should have been obvious.
Before I can begin to argue that I would’ve gotten him regardless, I decide that’s the best prize I could get, so I smile and prepare myself, ready for his game.
"Is that sufficient enough of a prize?" he asks, his lips close to mine, and then he tugs at my lip.
"I love when you do that," I breathe.
"Do you?" he asks before again tugging my lip.
"You know I do," I lean forward, over-estimated how far away he was and our lips crash together.
"What makes you so sure I knew that?" he asks after laying three soft kisses on my lips.
"Because I know that you know what I like," I bite my bottom lip as a grin threatens to spread.
"And how do you know that?" he asks.
"Because you’re the one that taught me what I like," I whisper.
I can hear the breath escape him, and although I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, I can sense that he’s staring at me. Knowing that I’m under his glare makes me blush, of course. And then I feel his legs on mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, but there’s something in his mouth. My tongue explores, tasting the creamy flavor, and he pulls away.
"What is it?" he asks excitedly.
"Hmm…" I lick my lips, savoring the flavor.
"Peanut butter?" I guess.
"Good job!" he kisses my lips.
Although I’m not technically seeing him, I’ve never seen him be so giddy and childlike. It's such a privilege to have him relax around me and show me a different side of himself, even if I am banned from watching it unfold.
I hear what sounds like a plastic container beside me, and then the sound of a drawer opening and closing.
"When did you put that peanut butter in your mouth?" I question. I was not expecting that when he leaned in to kiss me.
"I’m
an excellent multi-tasker. Now, open up," he move on to the next item and I hold my mouth open until cold metal touches my tongue. Closing around the intrusion, I slide the contents off the fork and swirl my tongue in my mouth to taste the flavors.
It’s definitely chocolate, and airy, yet creamy. It’s actually quite divine.
"Can I have another bite?" I twist my lips and feel a swift kiss from him.
"Umm … No. That’s against the rules," he answers and I giggle softly.
"Baby, are you making up these rules as you go?" I challenge.
"Umm… Yes," he admits, and we both laugh. I can feel him between my legs, his hands rested on my thighs as he leans in to kiss my neck, his tongue moving in circles, as his hand lifts to massage my breast.
"Mmm…" I hum, lifting my hand to rest on the back of his head.
"I know what you like, huh?" he asks.
"Wouldn’t you say you know what I like?" I turn to his voice.
"Yeah, I would say that," he answers after a pause.
"You own my pleasure, Thomas," the words fall out of my mouth.
"What did you say?" he asks, I can hear that his throat is dry.
"Did you mishear or me or do you want to hear me say it again?" I ask, leaning forward seductively.
We sit there in silence, and I refuse to break the awkwardness, so I wait him out, knowing he's only inches from my face.
"I want to hear it again," he says lowly.
"You own, my pleasure, Thomas." I repeat, this time slowly and definitively.
"The way you just made my cock jump, I’d have to say you have the same power over me," he leans in and kisses me, but I could never say I have the same power as he does, and I don’t think he actually believes that either. Before I came along Thomas had experienced sex; he’d been pleasured by other women.
I, on the other hand, have a limited experience, only knowing sexual pleasure from Thomas, which is much different. I know he’s thought of it before, the power he has over me being the only person that’s ever felt the insides of me. I love what Thomas does to me, and in some ways I’m grateful to his girlfriends that came before me, because they’ve taught him all he knows, and he knows a lot. But it is much different to know that he’s done some of these things with other women, never knowing what is unique to the two of us.
"What was it?" he asks, returning his attention to his impromptu game.
"Chocolate mousse." I smile, knowing I’m right and he kisses me, slowly and deeply. The remnants of peanut butter are still on his tongue as he slides throughout my mouth.
"We’ll do one more, okay?" he says before moving a few jars beside me.
Something cold touches the skin behind my ear, and I flinch, instantly reaching out to Thomas, wrapping my limbs around him.
"Relax, baby," he whispers in my ear. Rubbing my thigh with one hand, he whispers in my ear while dragging the rough cold object down my neck.
"I got you, baby," he says softly before kissing my ear and continuing, "I’ll never let anything happen to you, Nicole."
"Do you promise?" I perk up, and he pauses he trail of coldness.
"Of course," he answers without hesitating.
Running my fingernails down his hairline and over his back, I feel his mouth on the opposite side of the cold object. He’s kissing me in that tongue and teeth way that feels so good, but often leaves bruises. I think he does them on person some times, marking me like I’m his territory.
"Oh, baby," I sigh.
"I like this," he places his hand over fingers, my nails tracing designs on the back of his neck. With my fingers in his grasp he brings his hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.
"I like you," he whispers on my fingers and I melt at his words.
"I’m going to start keeping track of all of these things you say, and write a book to teach American men romance.
"You keep saying I’m romantic," he says as if he doesn’t agree.
"You are. Now, what’s my last taste test?" I like my lips in anticipation.
"Are you in a rush? Got somewhere to be?" he jokes and I nod my head.
"Oh yeah, where to?" he teases.
"On top of you," I lean forward, whispering the words softly.
"Here," he holds the no longer cold item to my mouth and I slowly open. Biting down, my teeth cut through the flesh like texture quite easy. I begin chewing and my nose picks up the scent before I can identify the taste.
"Strawberry!" I throw my hands in the air and Thomas wraps his arms around me, lifting me from the counter and carrying me a few steps across the room.
"That’s what I mean about being romantic. What guy goes and gets strawberries because a girl is coming over?" I quip and he’s silent for a pregnant pause before stuttering.
"Well, I didn’t… Umm," He stumbles through his words and I feel like an idiot. Of course he didn’t get them for me. He probably always has strawberries in case a girl stumbles by. And this is what I mean; he could very well play this game with everyone.
"Oh, right. You’re a bachelor, of course you have strawberries and stuff," I begin, trying to rationalize this not being just for me, but he cuts me off with his actions as he sets me on another counter and roughly pulls what I now see is a silk scarf from around my eyes.
"Look at me," he says seriously, and I do, although I feel a bit mortified. "What I was struggling to admit is that I didn’t buy the strawberries. I simply put them on a list and had my housekeeper get them," he grasps my chin between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, forcing me to look at him.
"Okay," I breathe the word, unsure of what he wants me to understand.
"But this is for you and only you, Nicole." He looks deep into my eyes like he can see the insecurities buried deep there. "I’ve never done this with anyone else, or anything remotely this intimate. I’m not a romantic person; I just like to do special things with you. Do you get the difference?" He asks bluntly.
"Yes, of course," I answer, and I do. He is doing special things for me, and although they’re not the same, he is having firsts with me, for me.
Leaning into him, I rub the tip of my nose back and forth against his, as he does to me sometimes. My mom calls them Eskimo kisses, and they’re so sensual and intimate I’ve loved them from the very first time he did it.
"Can I take this off?" He pulls at the hem of my dress and I nod.
Without a word, he lifts my dress over my head, my bare ass feeling the cold marble beneath me. Thomas has the remnants of my lace panties stuffed in his pocket somewhere after ripping them in the elevator. Reaching behind me, he unclasps my bra, my heavy breasts falling into his hands.
His mouth automatically begins to arouse his favorite part of me, massaging one breast with his tongue and the other with his hand as my nipples harden beneath my eyes. His hand cups the nape of my neck as his mouth pushing me down until my back is flat against the marble of the large kitchen island, my legs extended. His hand softly releases my breast as feel his fingers glide down my stomach. As his tongue delicately tickles my nipple, his finger slides into my wet pussy.
"Ooh," I moan, appreciating the small bit of pressure, my body arching.
Moving his lips down my belly, he teases me with that expert tongue of his while slowly sliding his finger in and out of me, my body heating to his touch. My muscles tense and instantly crave more. With every step he takes me further, and yet I want to race along. Thomas is constantly forcing me to slow down, savor every inch of him, but my appetite is unquenchable when he’s concerned.
There’s not enough to end my desires, which are constantly multiplying as my thirst for him exceeds anything I could have imagined or am able to comprehend. My behavior shocks even me when he’s involved, the way I move and bend for him, full of desperation and lacking any self-control.
Nothing matter at this point, nothing but my pleasure, and he dangles it in front of my face until he decides I can have it, a game of both danger and torture, but one I
enjoy playing so much. Glancing up, I can see in his eyes that he too enjoys the game, debatably even more than me. I love watching him change, his eyes grow darker and he always clenches his teeth together, his jaw line overly defined, like he’s biting back something.
Lying on my back, completely at his will as he works over my body before standing tall to look over my panting chest, I somehow feel extremely powerful. He is so concerned with my pleasure it’s almost like he’s a slave to it, and I know he wants to pay me back for how I behaved in the elevator. He’s definitely going to make me beg and cum all over the place, that I’m sure of.