"Like this," he says gently, okay with the fact that you're flushed and nervous before him. He takes your hand and places it on your chest, your fingers close to your nipples. "Slowly. Drag them down. Close your eyes; think of me touching you. Imagine my fingers are yours." Your nails drag lowly down and across your chest, creating faint red lines that heat your skin and make you hiss through your teeth. Your hand goes father and farther down, and his breathing becomes deeper, his own head and eyes lolling back lightly at your motions, as you begin to touch yourself and swirl your fingers around the heat. "Just like that," he murmurs, his chest hot and heavy, "Fuck, you're so hot. Keep doing that."
"Fuck yourself for me," he whispers in your ear, his blonde hairs and stubble tickling your skin as he leans in so close to you, "Use your fingers. Moan loudly for me, baby. I want to see you." He lets go of the back of your neck but continues to sit close to you, swallowing back a lump in his throat when you shimmy out of your pants and lay before him, watching him with unsure eyes. "Go on," he tells you gently, cradling your fingers with his own before letting your hand drop neatly onto your inner thigh, "Tease yourself for a little while. Get wet first." You do as he says and let him guide you with words -- heated, hot words, dirtiness that is hissed through his teeth as he wraps a hand around himself.
"You're not going to come until I say," he growls, forehead leveled near yours as he watches you with dark eyes, "I don't care how close you are. You aren't coming, not on your own hands, and I'll finish you up myself when I'm ready." He leans back and spreads his hands out, motioning you to continue. You let your legs carry out their small spasms before trying again, though immediately turned on beyond words and want to let yourself go once more. "No," he says boldly, though smirking slightly by the corner of his mouth, "Did I say you could come yet?" And you whimper... a low pitched, pleading and begging whimper that fuels something deep inside of him. His hand replaces yours.
"How do you touch yourself when you're thinking about me? I want to see." His words are blunt, straightforward, and it sends shocks of waves down to your toes. He watches you with serious eyes -- so brown, so wide, so sexy, such the opposite of innocent -- as he leans back, nodding his head at your underwear and telling you to get rid of them, so he can see all of you. You close your eyes and you feel, picturing your fingers and hands as his own as he spreads you down across the bed and touches you deep to the core. "Yes," he breathes out when you moan a little, lips parted in a Heavenly 'O', "Keep going. Keep thinking of me fucking you with my mouth, my fingers, my hands."
"Do you think of me at night?" And when you nod at his answer, he breathes right into your face and responds, "Show me how." He gently pushes you down with his hands on your shoulders, threading his thumbs through your belt loops before pulling your pants down, exposing you to his mercy, his watering tongue, his devouring eyes. Something gets caught up in his throat when you get straight to the point, dipping your hand lower and lower until you can feel the sweetness, smell the sweetness, imagine his hands and mouth all over you, even in the most forbidden places. He breathes out a curse word and stumbles back onto his palms, watching you with 'fuck me' eyes.