Instagram ellopiageenos: when I am with you,there's no place I'd rather be

11/3/14

when I am with you,there's no place I'd rather be


 “You turned me on, big time. Now take me home and fuck me.”His mouth drops open then he laughs, surprised. Now he looks young and carefree. Oh, to hear him laugh. I love it because it’s so rare.“You’re a born romantic.” He takes my hand, and we head out of the building to where the valet stands by my car.“So you want sex in a car,” Christian murmurs as he switches on the ignition.

 “Quite frankly, I would have been happy with the lobby floor.”“Trust me, so would I. But I don’t fancy being arrested at this time of night, and I didn’t want to fuck you in a restroom. Well, not today.”What! “You mean there was a possibility?”“Oh yes.”“Let’s go back.”He turns to gaze at me and laughs. His laughter is infectious; soon we’re both laughing—wonderful, cathartic, head-held-back laughter. Reaching over, he places his hand on my knee, caressing it gently with long skilled fingers. I stop laughing.He pulls his lower lip with his thumb and index finger. His mouth is so distracting. I want it on me. He’s watching me intently, his eyes dark gray. My mouth goes dry. He smiles a slow sexy smile.“We will fuck in the car at a time and place of my choosing. Right now, I want to take you on every available surface of my apartment .”

 It’s like he’s addressing me below the waist . . . my inner goddess performs four arabesques and a pas de Basque.“Yes.” Jeez, I sound so breathy, desperate.He leans forward a fraction. I close my eyes, waiting for his kiss, thinking—finally. But nothing happens. After a moment, I open my eyes to find him gazing at me. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, but before I can say anything, he distracts me once more.“If I kiss you now we won’t make it into the apartment. Come.”Gah! Could this man be any more frustrating? He climbs out of the car.Once again, we  wait for the elevator, my body thrumming with anticipation. He holds my hand, running his thumb rhythmically across my knuckles, each stroke echoing through me. Oh, I want his hands on all of me . He’s tortured me long enough.

 “So, what happened to instant gratification?” I murmur while we wait.He smirks down at me.“It’s not appropriate in every situation.”“Since when?”“Since this evening.”“Why are you torturing me so?”“Tit for tat.”“How am I torturing you?”“I think you know.”I gaze up at him and his expression is difficult to read. He wants my  answer. . . that’s it.“I’m into delayed gratification, too,” I whisper, smiling shyly.He tugs my hand unexpectedly, and suddenly I am in his arms. He grabs the hair at the nape of my neck,pulling  gently so my head tips back.“What can I do to make you say yes?” he asks fervently, throwing me off balance once more. I blink at him—at his lovely, serious, desperate expression.“Give me some time? Please,” I murmur. He groans and finally he kisses me, long and hard. Then we’re in the elevator, and we’re all hands and mouths and tongues and lips and fingers and hair. Desire, thick and strong, lances through my blood, clouding all my reason. He pushes me against the wall , pinning me with his hips, one hand in my hair, the other at my chin, holding me in place.

 “You own me,” he whispers. “My fate is in your hands.”His words are intoxicating, and in my overheated state, I want to rip off his clothes. I push off his jacket, and as the elevator arrives at the apartment, we tumble out into the foyer.He pins me to the wall by the elevator, his jacket falling to the floor , and his hand travels up my leg, his lips never leaving mine. He hoists up my dress.“First surface here,” he breathes and abruptly he lifts me. “Wrap your legs around me.”I do as I’m told, and he turns and lays me down on the foyer table, so he’s standing between my legs. I’m aware that the usual vase of flowers is missing. Huh? Reaching into his jeans pocket, he fishes out a foil packet and hands it to me, undoing his fly.

 “Do you know how much you turn me on ?”“What?” I pant. “No . . . I . . .”“Well, you do,” he mutters, “all the time.” He grabs the foil packet from my hands. Oh, this is so quick, but after all his tantalizing teasing, I want him badly—right now. He gazes down at me as he rolls on the condom, then puts his hands under my thighs, spreading my legs wider.Positioning himself, he pauses. “Keep your eyes open. I want to see you,” he whispers and clasping both my hands with his, he sinks slowly into me.I try, I really do, but the feeling is so exquisite. What I’ve been waiting for after all his teasing. Oh, the fullness, this feeling . . . I groan and arch my back off the table.

 “Open!” he growls, tightening his hands on mine and thrusting sharply into me so that I cry out.I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wide-eyed. Slowly he withdraws then sinks into me once more, his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah . . . , but he says nothing. Seeing his arousal, his reaction to me—I light up inside, my blood scorching through my veins. His gray eyes burn into mine. He picks up the rhythm, and I revel in it, glory in it, watching him, watching me—his passion, his love—as we come apart, together.I call out as I explode around him, and he follows.“Yes!” he cries. He collapses on me, releasing my hands and resting his head on my chest. My legs are still wrapped around him, and under the patient , maternal eyes of the Madonna paintings, I cradle his head against me and struggle to catch my breath.















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