Crossing The Line. Kierney Scott

his own controlled desire. He held her wrists hard against the mattress.

      She could not verbalize it. The words didn’t make sense, even to her, but she was in a hurry. She was always in a hurry with Torres, desperate to have every moment with him, before it ended.

      She pulled against him, trying to free her hands so she could reach him. She needed to feel him.

      Torres lifted himself off her. His dark eyes hooded with desire. “Stop fighting me, or I’ll tie you up,” he warned. His tone was neutral but there was no doubt that he was deadly serious. Torres had the control here, he always did, and she willingly gave it.

      Another wave of desire crashed against her. She gave her head a terse shake. She didn’t want to be tied up, not tonight. Most nights there was nothing she liked better than being tied to the bed so he could fuck her in any manner he deemed fit. Nothing was off limits with Torres; she had soon learned that. She had come into the relationship naïve. She had had her fair share of partners, but once she slept with Torres she realized she was far from experienced.

      He used her body any way he wanted. Sometimes she was reticent, but in the end she always begged for more. Between them, words like dirty or taboo had no meaning. All her inhibitions had been stripped away. Torres didn’t allow them. He wanted all of her body, all of her. There was never a question, no room to protest, he took and she gave. There was nothing more erotic or liberating than being tied down and fucked hard.

      Torres kissed her neck, his tongue darting into the delicate hollow of her neck. With agonising deliberateness he slowly undid each button of her blouse, rewarding each exposed area of flesh with a lick. She moaned when he reached her belly, so close to the centre of all her sensation. She licked her lips again. Her mouth was so dry. She needed him inside her now. Her hands fisted the sheets to keep from clawing at his jeans. He had told her to stop, and Torres didn’t ask twice. The warning was purely a courtesy; if Torres wanted her tied up, she would be bound to the bedframe before she had time to protest.

      She needed her hands tonight to run along the scarred surface of his skin, and pull him closer. Torres undid the front fastening hook of her bra. He didn’t move, he just studied her breasts, his eyes drinking them in. They were too small, she knew that, but he said they were perfect. The way he was looking at her now, gave her no doubt that he was telling the truth. Gently his hand brushed her breast, his calloused thumb circling her nipple. Blood rushed to the dusky peaks, the sensitive skin strained to meet his touch. It was so gentle now, she could barely feel it, but her body responded just the same, demanding more, but he wouldn’t, not yet. He wanted to watch her; that was what he wanted. The lights were on, and he had every intention of watching.

      For reasons that escaped her, Torres was mesmerized by her body, every response, each moan, he took it all in, transfixed, especially her orgasms. He loved to watch her come; that more than anything had taking some getting used to. Before Torres, she had never had an orgasm with a partner. She thought she couldn’t, she was far too inhibited; that is what she had told herself. Turns out, she just hadn’t been doing it right or, more to the point, she hadn’t been doing it with the right person.

      Torres had once told her that people weren’t good or bad in bed, it was their chemistry that mattered. She still didn’t believe him; some people were just good, like him. He was even good enough in bed to overcome all of her shortcomings. Her body would never respond to anyone else the way she did to him.

      His touch became stronger, still soft but now she knew she was not imagining each stroke. Gently he pulled on her nipple, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. Her breath came in small pants. She could come like this, with nothing but the scrape of his calloused skin against her nipples, but he wouldn’t let her, not yet. She bit back a moan so Torres wouldn’t know how turned on she was. If he knew, he would stop and then move to another part of her body and kiss and lick her until she was near breaking point before moving on to start again. It was torture pure and simple, and she hated it as much as she craved it with every fiber of her being.

      “Don’t close your eyes, Gatita.”

      She immediately obeyed, not wanting him to stop.

      “Torres,” she moaned. “Please… Please” She could not formulate a sentence. She didn’t even know what she was asking for. She pulled down her pants and threw them in the corner along with her shirt and underwear. “Torres, I need to feel you.”

      “Oh, you will,” he said, half his mouth rising in a crooked smile. Her heart momentarily forgot to beat. She loved his smile, his lopsided grin, always smirking, and his straight white teeth. “You’ll feel me here,” he said lowering his head to her breast. Beth’s breath caught. He flicked her nipple with his tongue before he took it in his mouth. When he sucked, another wave of sensation rocked her, taking her to another level. “And here,” he said as he took her other nipple between his teeth. He pressed down with just enough force to blur the lines of pain and pleasure. It took all her energy not to moan again. Her lips rocked against his, seeking relief, it would only take a few strokes and she would be coming, hard and fast, but Torres prevented her from moving. He was in control. She forced herself to take a deep breath and focus on each sensation, the heat of his breath, the sharp graze of his teeth, the rush of blood, the scratch of his stubble. With another deep breath, she relaxed into it. There was no need to rush with this. With her body, she trusted him completely. No matter what he did, it would feel good. He would push and tease and make her scream with frustration and desire, but he would always make her come. Beth didn’t trust most people, but she trusted Torres to make her feel good.

      Torres licked his way down the valley between her breasts and over the plain of her stomach and then to the thatch of curls at the top of her thighs. He pushed her legs open until her knees rested against the white duvet. “And here, Gatita. You’re going to feel me here,” he promised.

      She sucked in a sharp breath as his finger slid up her, parting her folds, exposing the throbbing point at her centre. Slowly he ran his finger up and down, admiring her. She didn’t dare try to shut her legs. She belonged to him, all of her. “Do you want me to kiss you here?” he asked.

      There was no question, he was going to do it; the only uncertainty was if he would make her beg for it. She would, she was shameless when it came to Torres. There was no room for pride where he was concerned. But she wouldn’t need to beg tonight, because he wanted it as much as her. Torres had reached his point of no return too. She could tell because he had slipped into Spanish. The switch in language was involuntary; she doubted he even knew he did. When they had sex he always spoke Spanish to her, whether he was whispering praise or telling her all the ways he was going to defile her, it was always in Spanish. She would never tell him he did it, because he might stop, and it was one of her favorite things about going to bed with Torres, that and the full body orgasms that made her legs shake and her toes curl, those were nice too.

      “Que linda,” he murmured. How beautiful. Beth wasn’t beautiful, she knew, she had a mirror, but to Torres she was and she feared for the safety of anyone who said differently.

      The light above them was too bright. There was nowhere to hide, no dim lighting to soften her edges. It was just her spread open for him. She could close her eyes now, he wasn’t looking at her face, but she wouldn’t because she wanted to watch as his head lowered and his tongue found her clit. There was nothing as erotic as watching Torres lick her pussy, his dark head nestled between her pale thighs, the muscles of his broad shoulders contracting under tan skin, as his mouth worked to bring her to climax, the sight alone was enough to make her come.

      His head lowered. Gently he licked her thighs, and then the delicate folds, and then the wet opening of her body. Her hips bucked as he made intimate contact. The sensation was almost too much and it was made greater by the feeling that he shouldn’t be doing it, it was too intimate, too personal. She would never consider doing it with anyone else, but nothing was off limits with Torres, there were no rules. His tongue darted in and out of her, making love to her with his mouth.

      Her hands fisted in his hair. Higher, she needed him higher. She needed him to suck on her clit, just one stroke of his tongue. That is all she needed.