Explicit Detail
By: Scarlett FinnRushe bared his teeth in familiar frustration. Rushe gave the commands but Flick held the power; she was in control. He didn’t give her the opportunity to reach the next knot. His muscular arm came around her waist, and her body was hauled up against his.
Devouring her with an all-encompassing kiss, Flick took a few seconds to register his damp lips pressing to hers, and the touch of his tongue as it invaded her mouth.
When they’d met, Rushe hadn’t been a kisser. That had changed after they made love for the first time. Tossing her arms up around his neck, Flick prepared for their tongues to battle it out a while.
So when on the next breath Rushe thrust her body away from his, Flick again was left reeling. Rushe certainly was a subscriber to the adage that variety was the spice of life.
‘Let’s see those cans.’
Rushe loved her breasts; then again, he seemed to love every part of her.
Twisting her arms around to her back, Flick untied the top and let it flutter to the floor. Rushe said nothing. His eyes gobbled her breasts as though this was their first encounter.
Rushe didn’t have to move closer, he lifted his arms and cupped a breast in each hand, testing their weight, their texture, their responsiveness. Flick had never been a fan of the large breasts that dominated her meagre five three stature... not until Rushe laid his eyes, and his hands, on them.
‘You’ve got a body made for sin, whore,’ Rushe said, rolling her nipples then caressing their very tips in the way he knew drove her wild.
‘Rushe,’ she sighed, relaxing into his hold.
‘You talk when I tell you to.’
Flick could only nod, her eyes closed, and she anticipated his mouth. Rushe could torment her for hours playing with her breasts, with her figure, in the entitlement he had, and she wanted him to have, over her body and her pleasure.
‘Naked.’
With his one stern word, Flick untied the last knot, and she was finally bare.
‘Just my insignificant plaything.’
Flick’s eyes remained closed, but she identified the wonder in his voice. Each of them lived in awe of the other, in amazement that they would choose to love and live with each other, and it made them both grateful.
‘Can I...’ Flick opened her eyes to his and moved her hand slightly toward his fly, but Rushe shook his head.
‘On your knees.’
A shimmer of arousal drifted through her, he absorbed that subtle reaction, and Flick recognised his expression of knowing. Rushe hadn’t bothered to put his tee-shirt back on; it still hung tucked in at the back of his jeans. At this proximity to his sculpted form, Flick wanted to touch it, to taste, but he’d just given her implicit access to his most valuable asset... or the physical one she valued the most in moments like this anyway.
Taking his order, Flick lowered to her knees while keeping her attention trained on his eyes. Sometimes she was meant to retrieve him, and sometimes he took the lead. Flick awaited further instruction and after eight seconds, his hand moved to the top of her head.
‘You like to show off your stacked little body, Kitten. You like playing with me; you think you can push my buttons? Speak.’
‘No,’ Flick said, and though he appeared ready to retort he was momentarily distracted by her tongue moistening her lips.
‘You lying to me? Are you allowed to do that? Speak.’
‘No.’
‘You think you can push my buttons?’
Either her lungs had shrunk or the air in here was thinning, because Flick’s chest pulsed with the shallow breaths that were all she could muster.
‘Yes.’
Flick was right, but Rushe didn’t acknowledge it. Unbuckling his belt now, she sucked her lips in around her teeth ready to consume him. Like a starving animal, she shuffled forward a few inches and his action stalled.
‘You dirty little, skank,’ Rushe muttered, and with a tug he unfastened all of the buttons on his jeans.
Running his fingers through her hair from forehead to crown, he coiled them into a tight fist.
‘You want it?’ he asked. ‘You wanna suck on my cock? Do you? Speak.’
‘Yes.’
‘You hungry for it? You gonna suck the spunk from my balls? You want it? Speak.’
‘Yes.’
On that syllable, he parted his jeans to liberate the heavy organ. It jutted up, hard, long, and insistent. As daunting as the sight was, Flick knew not to fear it. Over the last few months, her technique had improved, and Rushe had no issue with her getting in as much practise as she wanted.
