He Touches Me

by Cynthia Sax

  By working this second job, I should be able to manage financially. It will require a slight adjustment for Blaine and me, the shifts ending at midnight.

  Tonight I can make our standing date. I strip, cover my naked body with the white cotton robe, slip on my flip-flops, and return to Blaine’s backyard, using my key to open the gate.

  A small brown moth navigates the night breeze, her wings fluttering. She’s not as brightly colored or as flashy as the butterflies I see in the daytime. Her beauty is subtle, refined.

  The tang of cigar smoke teases my nostrils and my heart skips a beat. Blaine is here, waiting, watching. I walk faster, moving toward the pool, struggling to contain my excitement. The water ripples, lapping against the pool’s stone sides.

  A click sounds and a light turns on, illuminating Blaine. He reclines on a lounge chair, dressed in his usual black suit and white shirt, paired tonight with a plain green tie. His face is too angular to be handsome and his brilliant green eyes are hard, so very hard. He puffs on his cigar, his gaze fixed on me.

  “You didn’t take your phone, nymph,” Blaine drawls, his low deep voice warming my soul and igniting my arousal.

  “I didn’t know it was my phone.” I play with the robe’s tie, my body bare under the soft cotton. Will he touch me tonight, stroke his rough hands across my skin, over my breasts, between my thighs?

  “Ahhh . . . yes.” Blaine nods and a wayward lock of black hair falls across his forehead, freed from its confines. “That was my mistake. You’d never take what didn’t belong to you.”

  Unlike my father. He died in prison because he took what didn’t belong to him. “Did you watch me?” I slip my feet out of the flip-flops. The stone is cool against my toes.

  “I always watch you.” Blaine partially lowers his eyelids, shielding his eyes, his expression dark and sultry. My pussy moistens, my need growing.

  “I like that you watch.” I untie my robe and drop the white cotton to the ground, standing naked in front of my billionaire neighbor. The night breeze brushes my breasts, the caress gentler than fingers, and my nipples tighten.

  Blaine’s all-seeing, all-knowing gaze sweeps over my face, shoulders, breasts, and pauses at the triangle of neatly trimmed brown curls. His nostrils flare and I tremble. Can he smell how much I need him?

  His lips twitch and he continues his leisurely perusal of my body, studying every inch of my skin while he sucks on his cigar, his cheeks indenting, a warm glow cast upon his face.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and when I’m with him, I feel beautiful. He sees me, all of me. “Show me everything, Anna.”

  “I’ll show you.” I turn, giving him a view of my ass and back. The pool’s surface reflects the moon and stars, bringing them within our reach. “Only you.” I face Blaine and our gazes meet, the connection between us strong and sensual.

  He grinds the end of his cigar into the base of the ashtray. “Pull your chair closer to me,” Blaine orders, his voice firm, allowing no disobedience, and I quiver, his dominance driving my desire higher.

  My chair has a straight back, naturally toned rattan armrests, and a soft seat cushion, perfectly designed for giving him complete access to my body. As I position the chair in front of Blaine, I cast a covert glance at the tabletop. There’s a box of white tissues, my new phone, and the ashtray, but no black velvet bag. We won’t be using the marble dildo tonight.

  Will he use his fingers to pleasure me? Or will he fill me with his long thick cock? I shake as I lower myself into the seat. Am I ready for this, to take him inside me, to give up all of my control?

  “Place your legs over the armrests.” His command takes the decision away from me.

  I trust Blaine. I trust him not to hurt me, not to move faster than I’m willing to move. I hook my legs over the rattan, opening myself fully to him, the cool breeze skimming over my hot flesh.

  I show Blaine everything, my dark curls, my pink pussy lips, my virgin entrance, and I wait, trembling, vulnerable and exposed. He gazes at me, his expression almost frighteningly intense, his black dress pants tented around his impressively large erection.

  “You’re so responsive.” Blaine leans forward, looking more closely at my pussy, lowering his head between my legs, his warm breath wafting on my inner thighs. “Wet and tight.”

  “I’m wet for you, Blaine.” My voice grows husky. I need his touch. I need him. “Feel how much I want you.”

  He looks up at me and his gaze meets mine, his eyes as dark as the sky above us. “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I spread my thighs wider, lifting my ass, giving him more access to me, trusting him with my body. “Touch me.”

  Blaine pauses and I stiffen, bracing for rejection, certain he’ll deny me yet again. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

  He extends his index finger of his right hand and drifts the rough tip over my knee. I quiver, the brush of skin against skin exquisite. Blaine grazes his finger along my inner thigh, following the flare of my hip, avoiding my pussy, where I need his touch the most.

  “Blaine.” I wiggle. His mouth curls upward and he strokes my side up and down, up and down, close but not close enough to my left breast.

  I grip my ankles, determined to survive his teasing. Blaine traces my collarbone, playing with the black ribbon, the golden key dangling between my breasts. He moves up my neck, pressing his fingertips into my jugular vein.

  “You’re breathtaking, Anna.” He explores my countenance with his fingers, lifting my chin, sweeping his thumb across my bottom lip, his skin coarse and callused.

  I tilt my body forward and brush my lips against his. He captures my face between his big hands, his fingers splaying over my cheekbones, and he deepens the kiss, spearing his tongue into the seam of my lips. I open to him and he fills my mouth, tasting of cigar and cognac and Blaine.

  Our tongues tumble and twist, our breaths entwine. Neither of us closes our eyes. Blaine likes to watch, and my soul has been too battered to trust anyone, even my honorable billionaire, blindly.

  I grasp his shoulders and his muscles ripple under the layers of fabric, his suit fitting him like a second skin. Blaine threads his fingers through my hair, holding me to him. He has me. He won’t allow me to fall into passion’s abyss alone, not tonight.

  Blaine drags his hot mouth over my chin and I arch, offering him more skin for him to feast upon. He sucks, the tug and pull delectable, and I moan, my pussy pulsating to the same rhythm.

  “Blaine.” I pluck at his lapels, wanting, needing, his skin against mine.

  “Not tonight, Anna.” He flattens my palms against his chest. “Tonight is about you.”

  I frown. Every night has been about me. I’ve never seen Blaine without his jacket, without his pants, without his shoes. Doesn’t he trust me with his body?

  “Let me touch you, savor you,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath tantalizingly hot. “And then I’ll show you.”

  He’ll show me. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. He’ll show me how he pleasures himself, how he strokes his cock, how he brings himself to release. “Yes, please.”

  “Yes.” Blaine gives me one of his rare smiles, his teeth flashing white in his tanned face, his eyes glittering as brightly as the stars above us. “I will please you.”

  He circles my breasts with his fingertips, teasing me, his touch too slow, too far away from my taut nipples. I allow my head to drop back, panting as he caresses me round and round and round, spiraling into my core.

  Blaine brushes his thumbs over my nipples and I cry out, the sound torn from my throat, surprising me, the pleasure too raw, too intense.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll suck on them,” he promises, his voice deep.

  I wiggle, swishing my ass over the seat cushion, struggling to control myself, as Blaine lavishes attention on my small breasts, cherishing every curve. He toys with the key, rubbing the ribbon along my neck and the gold over my nipples
, this first gift symbolizing the bond between us, his backyard serving as a safe haven.

  Blaine lowers his left hand, gliding his palm over my stomach, spearing his fingers through my short curls, dipping his fingertips into my moist heat. “You’re ready for me, nymph.”

  “Always.” I squirm, having never had a man touch my pussy, the sensation too stimulating, his callused fingers shredding my control, leaving me vulnerable.

  Blaine doesn’t take advantage of my weakness. He strums my wet folds gently, reverently, treating me as though I’m priceless and fragile, and I bask in his open admiration, my body burning.

  Blaine pushes one of his fingers inside me, skimming his rough skin along my inner walls, burying himself up to the joint, and my pussy clenches around him, protesting his invasion.

  “You’re so small, so tight.” Despair edges Blaine’s voice.

  I loosen, my body adjusting to him, accepting him. “I can take you.” I gaze pointedly at the large ridge in his dress pants. “All of you.”

  “Not tonight.” Blaine pumps me, sliding his finger in and out, in and out, rubbing his thumb against my clit, and my rational thoughts stop, the animal side of my nature taking over, my focus on my pussy, my need. I dig my nails into his cloth-covered shoulders and undulate, moving into his hand.

  “That’s it, Anna,” Blaine coaxes, his breath streaming over my neck. “Fuck my hand.” He adds one more finger, stretching me open, and I whimper, the fullness, the friction, stripping my restraint, leaving me bare.

  Blaine works me with both of his hands, ravishing my pussy while squeezing and releasing my left breast, the dual sensation pushing me ruthlessly toward fulfillment. With each thrust of his fingers, his grip on my curves intensifies, the pain sharpening my pleasure.

  I struggle for breath, an unrelenting band of emotion coiling around my chest. Beads of sweat form on Blaine’s forehead, my billionaire as affected by the encounter. My pussy juices speckle his pristine white cuff. My musk scents the air.

  “Can’t . . . last,” I pant, desperately holding onto him, my constant in a harsh unreliable world. “Blaine?”

  “Come for me.” He gives me the order I need, stripping this last barrier. “Come now.” He taps my clit hard and I break, my soul splintering into a million pieces, each of them sharp and bright.

  I scream, driving my hips upward, taking his fingers deep inside me. Blaine surges forward and covers my mouth, muffling the sound, his fabric-covered chest flattening my bare breasts. I writhe and twist and shake against him, torn between needing to be free and wanting to be closer.

  He holds me with his free hand, his fingers remaining in my pussy, and I sob and shudder into his chest, my breathing gradually leveling and my heartbeat slowing, returning to normal.

  Not that being finger fucked in my neighbor’s backyard is normal. Water rushes over rock. Insects buzz. Blaine pulls away, withdrawing his fingers from my pussy.

  “You’re so wet.” He raises his fingers for me to see, moonlight glistening off his callused skin. “How do you taste?” Blaine meets my gaze and my breath hitches. He closes his lips around his fingers and slowly sucks them clean, his blissful expression warming my chest.

  “Can I taste you?” I ask, my body humming with anticipation.

  “Not tonight.” Blaine leans forward and brushes his lips across mine. I taste myself. “Don’t move. I want to look at you as I touch myself.”

  I’ll finally see him, all of him. I hold Blaine’s gaze, excited and nervous. He reclines on the lounge chair, unzips his dress pants, and pulls them down to his knees.

  My breathing quickens. I want to lower my gaze but I know our rules and I wait for his permission. The moment stretches, testing my self-control, challenging my willpower.

  “Look at me, Anna. See how much I want you.”

  I look and my mouth drops open. I’ve seen cocks before, in movies, on the Internet, in magazines, but his cock is huge, his cock head broad, his shaft thick and long.

  Blaine grips himself at his base, his skin tanned against coarse black curls, and he waits, allowing me to study him. I want to do more than study him. I yearn to touch him, to trace the vein running along his shaft, to circle his rim, to stroke over his smooth cock head.

  This isn’t allowed, not yet. I close my fingers around my key, gripping the metal tightly. “I can take you,” I declare. Even I hear the doubt in my voice.

  Blaine drops his gaze to my pussy and his eyes darken. “You’re very small.” He pumps himself slowly, up and down, his knuckles white around his shaft.

  “I can do it.” I cup my breasts, squeezing my curves to the tempo of his hands, my nipples taut, my passions rising once more. “But I’ll be tight around you, Blaine. My pussy will hug your shaft.”

  Blaine works his cock faster and faster, sliding his hands along his length. A bead of pre-cum forms on his tip. I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, hungry for a taste of him, and he groans.

  “Do you like to be sucked?” I ask, wanting to know his preferences, wishing to please him, my more worldly billionaire.

  “Yes,” Blaine rumbles, his voice deepening. “Have you ever sucked a cock?”

  “No,” I admit, woefully aware of my inexperience. I’ve never trusted a man enough to consider letting him inside me. “Will you teach me how?”

  “Not tonight.” As he strokes his cock, he grunts, the animalistic sound exciting me. He’s losing his renowned iron-clad control, a rare occurrence for Blaine.

  “I want to tongue your slit,” the devil in me adds. I tap my top lip with the tip of my tongue and his cock bobs. “Lick around your rim. Squeeze your balls.” I pinch my nipples, adding pain to the emotions swirling inside me.

  “Yes.” Blaine’s tanned skin is pulled tight over his cheekbones, his face appearing even more angular. “Will you swallow?” His balls hug his shaft.

  “Every last drop,” I reply, suspecting I will. I’m not a girl who does anything halfway. I vowed to leave Detroit and I moved to L.A., as far away as I could travel without a passport. “Will you shoot your cum down my throat?”

  “Anna,” Blaine roars, my question pushing him over the edge. He drives his hips upward, his muscles contracting, the strength in his body awe-inspiring.

  Cum spurts from his cock, arcing in the air and splattering on his hair-covered thighs. He pumps his shaft once, twice more, and collapses on the lounge chair, his face soft and his eyes glazed.

  “Nice.” I lower my legs, flattening my feet on the cool stone ground, my knees stiff from being hooked over the armrests.

  “Not nice,” Blaine grumbles, reaching for a tissue. “I usually last much longer.” Red streaks across his cheekbones. His movements are fast and jerky as he cleans himself, my billionaire adorably perturbed about losing control.

  “But you don’t last with me.” I grin, buoyed by this revelation. He wants me as much as I want him.

  “I don’t last with you,” Blaine agrees, placing the used tissue on the table. “I want you too badly.” He tugs his pants up, tucks his shirt in and zips, barring access to his bare body.

  Blaine’s now fully dressed, and, except for the key resting between my breasts, I remain naked. I don’t reach for my robe, having no wish to bar him access to my bare body. I like it when he looks at me.

  “Come here, nymph.” Blaine holds out his hands. I fly into his arms, savoring his warmth, his scent, and he folds me into his body. I slide my palm between his jacket and dress shirt, his heart beating reassuringly strong.

  Blaine hugs me close to him, resting his chin on top of my head. His breath ruffles my hair. His scent engulfs me.

  We don’t talk, silence stretching between us, our connection not requiring words. I sigh, content, our midnight rendezvous keeping me sane, grounded. “We’ll have to push these encounters back a half hour.”

  He stiffens, his muscles contracting under me. “Why?”

  I raise my head and meet his gaze. Blaine’s eyes are hard, his emotio
ns hidden behind the cold mask he wears with others. My stomach flutters with fear. Will a half hour make a difference in our relationship? Is our bond this tenuous?

  “Because all of the night shifts extend to midnight and it will take me half an hour to walk home,” I explain.

  “You’re not walking home alone in the dark.” Lines appear between Blaine’s black eyebrows, his face darkening ominously. “Why are you working night shifts?”

  “Because I need the money.” I twist my lips, irritated that he’s irritated. “Utilities on a Beverly Hills mansion are higher than I expected. It is either find another job or I don’t eat.”

  “Ahhh . . .” His face relaxes, his eyes softening. “I’ll arrange—”

  “No.” I cover his lips with my index finger, stopping his offer. “I’m not a prostitute. I won’t have you pay me for sex.” Because this is what any gift of money would be, and I won’t be kept by a man, not even Blaine.

  He bares his white teeth, revealing his elongated canines, and nips at my skin. I yank my finger away from his mouth.

  “I don’t pay for sex,” he growls, a tic pulsing in his cheek. “I’ll arrange for an interview with Fran, my assistant, tomorrow at six o’clock. She has been asking for help for years but we haven’t yet found someone suitable.” He studies me and I feel more naked than I already am, his gaze intense. “You might not be suitable. I’ll leave that decision to Fran.”

  I blink, this opportunity appearing too good to be true. “Your assistant needs an assistant?”

  “She says she does.” Blaine’s lips quirk upward, the tension easing from his body. “And I trust Fran completely.” His voice warms, his affection for his assistant palpable.

  Does Blaine trust me? Considering I’ve never met any of his friends or his family members and I’ve never stepped inside his house, I doubt it. I settle back into his chest. “Do you speak to your parents often?”

  Blaine sighs and I ride the rise and fall of his chest. “My parents are dead.” His tone severs this line of questioning. “Sleep, Anna.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “I’ll watch over you.”