He Touches Me by Cynthia Sax Page B

question.
    â€œWe carry our pasts with us.” He places his shirt on the table, his muscles rippling as he moves. There isn’t an ounce of excess fat on his body, every inch of him hard.
    His past has made him this hard. He’s been hurt, as I have. I learned to become invisible. He shielded his body with layers of fabric.
    Blaine stands still, bare-­chested and vulnerable, trusting me not to hurt him. His shoulders are broad and his waist narrow, his skin golden tan and silver scars. A thin band of black hair trails from his navel to the waistband of his pants, drawing my gaze downward.
    â€œBeautiful.” The word escapes from my mouth, and his lips curl upward. Warmth spreads through me, a deeper level of caring. I won’t ever hurt him, this man I trust, I believe in.
    Blaine unfastens his pants, the zipper rasping, and I tremble, eager to see all of him. He pulls his pants and white boxer shorts down, and his cock springs free, his shaft long and thick, black curls covering his base, his balls hugging his body.
    I studied him closely, thoroughly, admiring his contrasts, the dips of his muscles, his firm male form. Blaine clasps his hands behind his back, the unspoken message clear. He won’t touch me or himself. His body is mine to pleasure.
    â€œI’ve never done this before.” I step hesitantly toward him and I flatten my palms against his abdomen. His stomach flutters, his reaction to my simple touch emboldening me.
    â€œWill you guide me?” I graze my short blunt fingernails up and down his sides, stroking him as in the past he has stroked me. “Tell me what you like, how to please you?”
    I lean forward and swirl my tongue around his flat nipple, tasting the salt of his skin. He juts his jaw. I nip at his flesh and he shudders. A dab of pre-­cum forms on his tip.
    â€œNo teasing, Anna,” Blaine rumbles. “Not this time.”
    â€œNot this time,” I agree. I swipe the pre-­cum over his skin with one of my thumbs, the liquid warm and glistening. “I’ll take care of you, Blaine.” I curl my fingers around his shaft and he groans. He is silk over steel, soft yet rigid, magnificently male and all mine.
    I pump him slowly, gently, not wishing to cause him pain, only pleasure. Blaine watches me, his eyelids partially lowered and his lips flat.
    I find a rhythm, growing bolder, more confident. All of his power is now mine, his control resting in my palms.
    Blaine shifts against me. “Tighter, nymph.”
    I grip him tighter, working him harder. His cock bobs, a live creature trapped by my fingers, his body a source of wonder.
    â€œYes.” Blaine sways into my hand, the muscles in his thighs flexing.
    He’s beautiful and I want to see all of him, to watch his face as I stroke his cock. I sink to my knees, the carpet soft and luxuriously thick. Blaine’s balls move as he rocks. I cup them, squeeze them gently, and he groans, the rumble rolling up his chest.
    We’re positioned in front of the windows. ­People could be standing on the sidewalk. If they glance upward, they’ll see me kneeling before my CEO’s naked body, his cock in my hand, his tip jutting inches from my mouth. I extend my tongue and lick Blaine’s flesh, tasting his musky essence.
    â€œAnna.” Pearls of perspiration form on his tanned forehead. The cords on his neck lift. His biceps flex, his hands gripped behind his back.
    I run my fingers along Blaine’s length and I trace his rim with my tongue, delve into the slit, flick over his tip. A strangled noise rises from his throat. He’s at my mercy and I have none, determined to drive him over the edge, push our relationship past the point of no return.
    I look up at Blaine, meet his gaze, and I push my lips over his cock head. He sucks in his breath and stops moving, his muscles coiling, contracting. I inhale, pulling on his tip, and Blaine’s body shakes.
    I am woman,