between parted lips and arch my back so my breasts fill my palms. He squeezes my nipples between our thumbs, pulling gently so that they elongate further. I watch in fascination at the wanton creature writhing in front of me. Oh this feels good. I groan and close my eyes, no longer wanting to see that libidinous woman in the mirror falling apart under her own hands… his hands… feeling my skin as he would, experiencing how arousing it is – just his touch, and his calm, soft, commands.
“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs.
He guides my hands down the sides of my body, past my waist to my hips, and across to my pubic hair. He slides his leg in between mine, pushing my feet further apart, widening my stance, and runs my hands over my sex, one hand at a time in turn, setting up a rhythm. It is so erotic. Truly I am a marionette and he is the master puppeteer.
“Look at you glow, Anastasia,” he whispers as he trails kisses and soft bites along my shoulder. I groan. Suddenly he lets go.
“Carry on,” he orders, and stands back watching me.
I rub myself. No. I want him, him to do it. It doesn’t feel the same. I’m lost without him. He pulls his shirt over his head and quickly takes off his jeans.
“You’d rather I do this?” His gray gaze scorches mine in the mirror.
“Oh yes… please,” I breathe.
He wraps his arms around me again and takes my hands once more, continuing the sensual caress across my sex, over my clitoris. His chest hair scrapes against me, his erection presses against me. Oh soon… please. He bites the nape of my neck, and I close my eyes, enjoying the myriad of sensations; my neck, my groin… the feel of him behind me. He stops abruptly and spins me around, circling my wrists with one hand, imprisoning my hands behind me, and pulling at my ponytail with the other. I am flush against him, and he kisses me wildly, ra一vaging my mouth with his. Holding, h me in place.
His breathing is ragged, matching mine.
“When did you start your period, Anastasia?” he asks out of the blu
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