18. Max

Iwant it all.

My body is propelling itself towards her before she's even finished her sentence, bare feet pressing into the soft, thick tufts of the rug underfoot, hands outreached, my only coherent thoughts being that she said I could touch her and that I need to press my poor, aching cock against that sweet, warm space she has on full display for me.

Then I'm there. I come up flush behind her, sinking my fingertips into the flesh of her hips, my jersey-clad erection rutting against her cunt a couple of times of its own accord.

‘Get up here,' I grit out, and she unfolds herself easily, gracefully, a flower unfurling its soft petals against my hard body. I'm under no illusions that Darcy is an angel, but she certainly feels like one in the context of Alchemy: that untouchable celestial being who dances but doesn't engage, the rules clear:

Look but don't touch.

I've spent far too much time these past weeks suffering as this creature teases me, riles me, whether she's been backlit by a French sunset or spotlit on a London stage.

And now, every moment of agonising delectation reframes itself as foreplay. That yearning—if only in its basest, most physical form, because I don't do emotion—makes this instant where I unwrap my glittering prize all the sweeter for having been hard won.

As St. Paul, a man famously appreciative of the punch a good epiphany can pack, said, this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.

I'm not convinced the glory will be eternal—right now I'm merely hoping not to disgrace myself—but I am confident it'll be beyond all comparison.

Delayed gratification is as unfamiliar a concept to me as the self-control that must necessarily preempt it, but it's already selling itself, the pleasure of putting my hands on Darcy's body surely as welcome a relief as that surge of blood when a nipple clamp is removed.

Hmm. Nipple clamps. Now there's an idea.

Her shoulder blades hit my chest, her hair, when she shakes it out, brushing my face before she lets her head loll back against my shoulder.

‘That's it,' I croon in her ear. I nip lightly at her hoop-laden earlobe as I allow my hands to skate up over her hips, to dip in at her waist, before I drag my palms up her body, my fingers splaying over her rib cage. ‘Arms up, like a good girl.'

She floats them up, bending one so it caresses the back of my neck like she's closing the gap between us even further as she wiggles her delicious bottom against my angry cock. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth and let my hands wander over the perfect swell of her tits until I finally encounter those nipples.

Jesus, my mouth starts watering at the mere feel of them, because they are the most deliciously taut little pieces of candy, and the mesh is no barrier at all. Yep, clamps would do very well for these indeed. I roll them, pinch them between my fingers, and she gives the breathiest whimper.

So sensitive.

So responsive.

But I suspect, like me, she's on a knife-edge of arousal. I'm not the only one here whose libido has suffered weeks of torment.

I play with them for a few moments as she mewls and squirms against me, arching into me, her hands clawing at my head and gripping my hair.

‘Very, very nice,' I tell her. ‘You know you should have let me touch you before, shouldn't you?'

‘Yes,' she practically sobs, rubbing her arse against my dick again.

‘Quite right,' I say. I release one nipple and drag my hand down her front, over the soft curve of her stomach so I can cup her pussy roughly. Fuck, she's so wet and hot. ‘You wouldn't have had to wait so long to feel like this if you hadn't been such a little prick-tease, would you?'

Her no is a moan.

‘That's right. And what happens to little prick-teases?'

‘I dunno.' She slurs her words.

‘They get teased right back. And then they get fucked.'

‘Oh, God,' she says as I reach behind me, grabbing her wrists and pinning them behind her back so I can frogmarch her over to where I want her.

‘Bend over,' I order as we hit the back of the sofa. She does as I say, hinging forward. I release her wrists and lay them over her head so her hands touch the seat of the sofa. She may need to push back against me shortly, when I'm railing the living daylights out of her.

‘So obedient,' I tell her as I drop to my knees behind her, my cock painting the inside of my jogging bottoms with precum. I yield for a moment to the temptation of being at eye-level with those very holes I vowed to violate, burying my mouth and nose in her heat and inhaling hard as I run my hands up the backs of her legs. By God, she smells other-worldly good. Arousal is pumping off her. She's an animal in heat.

I pull away. ‘I hope Alchemy has more of these things,' I observe mildly before getting a grip of her bodystocking with both hands and tearing it. The pointless mesh rips right down the seam of her cunt, but I tug savagely until it's ripped the whole way up the back, too, and I can't resist a huff of satisfaction.

Because now her spectacular body is fully open to me, and I have free fucking rein. Her cunt is waxed bare underneath, and it's all glossy rose-pink gorgeousness and pretty petals that will look so perfect stretched around my cock.

And further up?

The darker, puckered skin protecting the hole so verboten as to be a fucking red rag to this twisted bull.

I yield to temptation.

I dip my head to her pussy.