It’s our date night in a couple of hours, and I want to look extra sexy for you. I slip outside to the pool, hoping for a golden glow — tan lines just for you — in that little blue-and-white flower bikini we bought in Turks last month. You picked it out. You loved the ruffled bottoms, tied at the hips with little bows, and the bandeau top that pulled my breasts tightly together. I even took the padding out so my nipples press through the fabric. Every brush of my arm across them makes me ache, makes me imagine your mouth on them.
I stretch out on my stomach on the chaise, soaking in the heat, lost in the way the sun warms my skin.
“Babe, I’m home from golf — we’ve got to leave in an hour. I’m jumping in the shower.”
I don’t answer.
Upstairs, you peel off your shirt, heading for the shower, when the view from the bedroom window stops you in your tracks. Your breath hitches. I’m lying there in that bikini — my sandy hair pulled into a messy bun, my back arched, hips dipped, legs slightly parted. You feel yourself harden instantly.
And then I feel it — my bottoms tug loose. Before I can react, you’re inside me. The gasp rips out of me, half scream, half moan, shock melting into raw heat. Your hand covers my mouth as your lips brush my neck, your whisper sending shivers through me.
You move slowly, deeply, deliberately. Your hand glides down my spine, unties my top, and you growl, “Look at me.” You twist me beneath you, never leaving me, until I’m on my back staring up into your eyes.
You slip out, throbbing, pressing against me as your finger circles my nipples. Then your mouth takes over — sucking, biting, licking until I’m trembling and desperate. You kiss me, then move to the other breast, teasing until I writhe beneath you.
Your hand slips lower, finding me drenched. You part me with just your tip, dragging out the ache, making me push my hips up, begging for more.
“Please…” I moan your name so loud I’m sure the neighbors can hear.
As my moan echoes out, you pause, still hovering over me, that wicked smile tugging at your lips. You lean down, kiss me hard, then pull back just enough to look me in the eye.
With that cheeky grin you whisper, “Laters, baby… we’ve got to get you ready for dinner.”
I’m left breathless, body aching for you, while you stand and head back inside — leaving me flushed, trembling, and desperate for what’s coming tonight.
I eventually managed to pull myself to get back into the house and into the shower. I let my hair fall down my back and feel the water bead down my body. My mind is racing. He drives my body crazy. I crave him touching me. Loving me. Devouring me. Fucking me.
I gently start massaging my coconut shower oil over my body. My fingers pinching my nipples so I wince in pain before sliding them down my stomach until I hit my sex. My clit is still throbbing from outside at the pool. I am so soft inside. The feeling of my finger running over my clit is making my knees weak and I have to push myself up against the wall so I don’t collapse. It takes everything I have to pull my hand away. I want to cum so badly but I know better than to do that without his permission. He wants me all to himself tonight.
Stepping out, I towel myself dry and let the fabric slip from my body, catching my reflection in the mirror across the room. Tan lines faintly stripe my chest, framing my perky, delicate nipples. I linger on my reflection, appreciating the quiet anticipation thrumming through me.
In the closet, I choose what will set his pulse racing: my favorite navy set from the little boutique, Honeys. The bra, sheer except for its embroidered floral trim, will tease him with the outline of my nipples through my dress. The matching bottoms ride just above my hips, modest only in suggestion—the embroidered flowers barely disguising the heat beneath. I leave the garters undone, wanting bare legs for him tonight.
Slipping into my black silk dress, I admire the way it glides over me, then step into my J’Adior slingbacks. A touch of mascara, a sweep of lipstick, and I’m ready.
At the top of the stairs, I pause, watching him unnoticed. He stands in the foyer, phone in hand, wearing the cream knit button-down I love—the one that hugs his arms in just the right way. My heart quickens.
As I descend, his eyes find me instantly. I give a little twirl at the bottom of the stairs before leaning in to kiss him.
Without warning, he seizes both my wrists, pinning them against the wall. The suddenness steals my breath. His voice is low, commanding, as he tells me not to move. He slips a hand into his pocket, deliberately slow, stretching my anticipation until it burns. When he finally draws out two small silver balls, my lips part instinctively.
He slides one between them. The cold metal shocks my tongue, sending a shiver through me. When he pulls it back out, his eyes lock on mine, dangerous and unrelenting. “Only I take these out of you tonight. Do you understand?”
Kneeling, he pushes my dress up, revealing the lingerie beneath. His sharp breath, the low groan that escapes him—it tells me everything. He presses the silver balls inside me. They are heavy, icy, and I clench instinctively to keep them in place. His hands grip my hips with a force that pulls me against him, his mouth finding me, his tongue tracing fire over my clit.
When he looks up, his words are a claim: “You are mine.” Then his tongue returns to me—slow, deliberate, moving in patterns I don’t recognize until I realize what he’s doing. He is spelling his name against my most sensitive flesh, each letter a spark, each stroke a brand. My body trembles as I try to hold the silver balls in place, every muscle tightening to his rhythm.
He rises, capturing my lips in a kiss so I taste myself and him together. His hand smooths my dress back into place, then delivers a sharp spank that leaves me trembling. The silver balls anchor his claim inside me as he takes my hand, leading me out the door—still his, in every sense.
