His Urge (3 page)

I dropped my pants, leaving me in a pair of wet panties.  I placed my fingers into my panties, at my hips, and Jonathan growled.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his warm breath torturing my aching nipple.

The steam from the shower had filtered into most of the bathroom, and a hot cloud of fog lingered.  It felt good to be in the bathroom like this.  Safe.  Hidden.  Protected by Jonathan Black and his hands, tongue, and body.

Jonathan licked my breast and continued, climbing back up my chest, to my neck, and at my jaw, he opened his mouth, exhaling, his teeth touching my jaw.

“Touch yourself, Isabella Grace,” he said.  “You’re the only one allowed to touch you besides me.  Tell me what you feel...”

I heard the words but at first I didn’t listen to them.  The thought of self pleasuring seemed so far away.  Why would I bother touching myself when I had someone like Jonathan Black to touch me?  He was perfect and could touch places in ways I couldn’t.  He could bring me to orgasmic levels that I couldn’t, even with the use of toys.  He was all man, his sex as commanding as his face and actions.

Jonathan lowered his left hand to my hip bone.  The tender spot made me moan and thrust.  As he slid his fingers into my panties, I let my head fall back.

Yes.

This was what I wanted and what Jonathan needed.

Me.  My wet slit, my sex welcoming him with gentle throbs, reminding him of what I could do and what he could do to me.

His hand didn’t cut in or follow the lines and curves of my body, but rather he stayed at my leg.  Before I could groan and potentially get myself into more trouble with Jonathan, I realized what he was doing. 

He was pushing my panties down. 

I kept my legs closed, allowing my panties to move with ease.  When I had to spread my legs, there was some resistance as my panties were wet enough that they clung to me.  Jonathan moved down to my knee and then reversed, letting his fingers spread wide, tickling my leg the entire trip up.  I was ready to come, desperate to come.  I instinctively spread my legs wider, hoping he would touch me.

He didn’t.

His command and resistrain were impeccable and when I looked at him again, I could feel the frustration in my own face.  I suddenly didn’t feel so innocent.  It was a new feeling, a good feeling, one that I could easily embrace.

“What did I tell you?” Jonathan whispered.

“Touch,” I said.

“Then do it.”

I used my right hand, moving it from my side.  I felt the stubble growing on my mound.  It made me wonder how Jonathan preferred me to look.  He would make that decision, not me.  I continued down until my middle fingertip felt the start of my wet folds.  I curled my finger, pulling up, and it sent a sensation through my body as I touched my sensitive clitoris. 

I jumped and groaned, opening my mouth to take in a deep breath only to be flooded with the hot steam in the bathroom.  It was like taking a breath but not receiving air.  Like being lost in sex.  Really hot sex.

My finger started to move left to right, almost on its own.  I gently moved my hips, pumping my clit at my finger as it moved.  Working them together made it feel better, but nowhere near the level that Jonathan Black could bring me to.

Jonathan continued to stare right into my eyes. 

“That’s my sweet Isabella Grace,” he said.  “I’m going to watch the pleasure in your eyes.  Show me... and tell me what it’s like.”

I swallowed hard.  Never before had I been involved in any sort of ‘dirty talk’. 
Dirty talk
.  With the quick flicker of a smile, Jonathan Black had me right back where he wanted me.

I was innocent again.

My finger moved down, away from my clit.  I touched my aching spot and with a quick stroke, my fingertip moved into me.  I held there and my eyes grew wide.  I throbbed on my finger, imagining it was Jonathan Black.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“I’m wet,” I said. “And warm...”

“I like that.”

“Really warm,” I said.

I shut my eyes for a second and pressed my finger deeper.  It was halfway inside and I started to make circles, feeling my tender walls giving way.  The more they gave way, the more I throbbed, and the more pleasure I felt.

“Don’t stop,” Jonathan said.

“My finger’s inside me,” I said.

“What does it feel like?” he asked, growing annoyed.

“It’s... tight, Mr. Black.  I’m throbbing each time I push.”  I moved my finger in, then out, hearing the faint sound of wetness.  “It’s so wet too.  It’s like I haven’t been touched in days, no, weeks.”

I opened like I had never done before.  And Jonathan just stared into my eyes, letting me tell the story.

I pushed harder, my finger fully inside me.

“I’m deep,” I said, “so deep that my finger can’t reach it all.  I need something longer, something thicker.”

“Like what?” Jonathan asked.

“You,” I said without hesitation.

I placed my pointer finger to my hole.

“I have another finger there,” I said, “but it’s not going inside.  I can feel my middle finger as it slides...”

Jonathan then took a growling breath.  His lip curled and both his hands were suddenly on my hips, holding me.  Just for good measure, I continued to touch myself.  I thrust my hips at my fingers, wanting to see what Jonathan would do.

It was then Jonathan Black finally broke his stare.  He looked down but only for a second before he started to move to his knees.  My mouth fell open and I let out an orgasmic moan as the commanding billionaire put himself in a vulnerable position. 

His hands moved around to my ass, cupping both cheeks. 

My fingers were then motionless; I was frozen with need.

Jonathan licked at my clitoris, flicking once, twice, and instead of a third time, his lips came together.  As he suckled, my fingers tensed, thus curling and sending a surprising wave of pleasure up and down my body. 

I wanted Jonathan to repeat the move but he didn’t.  Instead he licked my pointer finger and then my middle finger.

“I want to taste,” he said.

I slowly slid my middle finger from my sex and tried to keep it still but I was shaking.  Jonathan reveled in it.  The tip of his tongue touched the bottom of my finger and with one very long slow lick, he consumed the wetness he caused.  I left my finger straight for his liking, but Jonathan moved on.  He took my hand and placed it to my ass, then placed his hand on my leg.  With a squeeze, he made me jump and thrust, and I called out his name.

“Yell for me again,” Jonathan said.

I opened my mouth to call his sexy name, but was cut short when his accurate tongue touched my pussy, licking with the aggression only Jonathan Black could provide.  He moved fast, like he wanted to taste all of me.  The way he moved sent chills of pleasure and chills of fear through my body.  I looked down at him, watching him move so fast, acting as though we had no time. 

Maybe we didn’t have time.

And not in the greater sense of life that, yes, we’re all going to die, but more in a reality that whatever happened outside was going to happen again.  I hated to think of Jonathan’s father at that precious moment but nothing felt right... other than the feeling between my legs.

Jonathan’s tongue seemed as though it stretched miles, reaching the back of my slit and coming forward with satisfying advances, bringing the urge to climax with each passing second.  The tip of his tongue was addicted to my hole.  It made teasing circles, sometimes flicked, and sometimes penetrated me just enough to allow my walls to throb on his tongue.

It was like Jonathan remained a step ahead of the world, looking back with his sly sexy smile and his commanding eyes knowing that he was always going to come out on top and in control.

“Fuck,” I cried out as another wave of intense pleasure attacked my insides.

The pressure mounted and my toes started to curl.  I was right there, edging along the need to climax but I couldn’t come.  Jonathan wouldn’t allow it.  Each time he licked me, bringing me there, he moved, changing speed and action, keeping the sensation but never allowing it to go forward.

When he came up to my clitoris, suckling it for what would be the last time sexual encounter, he moved to my mound and my stomach.  The wetness of his tongue intrigued me, knowing that there existed a mix between his spit and my juices. 

He suddenly moved seductively.  Each kiss on my body lingered for seconds before the next one came.  The kisses were so tender and purposeful that I felt the moisture of his kiss remain even after he was gone from that spot.  When he reached my breasts, his hands came up, touching them, holding them, and spreading them.  The perfect kissing continued between my breasts, tasting my skin, my body, my sweat, my desire.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered. 

Jonathan pressed the tip of his tongue to my chest and moved up, adding speed.  The change in pace was the last piece of the orgasmic puzzle I needed. 

My insides ached and throbbed, a hot rush started welling inside me and came down between my legs.  My body tensed and flexed tight.  My head fell back and I was lost in the steam still collecting around the bathroom.  Jonathan’s tongue touched my neck and he followed my throat up to my chin, the move felt perhaps a little threatening.

But it was perfect.

My orgasm raged without Jonathan touching me.  My pussy tightened and throbbed, for Jonathan, but I appreciated what he was doing for me.  His hands casually moved from my breasts to my hips, his thumbs massaging near my stomach.  Even that added to the orgasm, forcing me to continue to come.

When I finally managed to make a noise, it all came out at once.  An unstoppable sound of a moan, groan, sigh, and cry colliding together.  My hands grabbed for Jonathan’s arms, squeezing as I lifted to my toes.  For a second, I though I could fly, but when Jonathan looked at me, I was quickly grounded.

“Isabella Grace,” he whispered, “you taste beautiful.”

“Mr. Black...”

“No, no,” he said, “now it’s time to get clean.”

And just like that, he stepped away, folding his arms, like nothing happened between us.  I couldn’t understand how he was able to do such a thing.  My eyes looked down, wanting to see the bulge of his pants, but he cleared his throat, calling my attention back to his eyes.

“Now,” he growled, snapping his head towards the open shower door.

I nodded and began to walk, wanting to look over my shoulder but knowing better than to do such a thing.  I could feel his eyes burning against my body and I wanted to see him.  I wanted the control, for once. 

The thought made me shudder.

I couldn’t imagine having the control and power Jonathan did.  With all that had happened just since I met him...

“Leave the door open,” he said.

I stepped into the shower, the hot water pounding against my body.  It should have felt stinging hot but it didn’t.  That’s just how hot Jonathan had made me.

I turned to face the water, catching the sight of Jonathan as he stood at the door. 

He was right there, as always.

-5-

“What creates power?”

My fingers were in my hair, my arms up, the water tickling at my aching breasts.  I had become accustomed to Jonathan’s presence and his eyes staring at my wet body, but hearing Jonathan speak caught me a little off guard. 

I turned my head and saw an intense look on his face.  Not that I expected anything else from Jonathan Black, but the way he looked at me meant that he really wanted an answer.

So I gave him the truth.

“I have no power, so I wouldn’t know.”

Jonathan closed his eyes for a second then opened them.  “You have power, Isabella Grace.  There’s different kinds of power.  Financial power.  Business power.  Physical power.  Mental power.  And then there’s you.  You have the power of beauty.  Do you understand that?”

It made me shiver.  The power of beauty?  It was something I didn’t want to think about because power scared me.  I preferred to stand with Jonathan, feeling his power and command come over me again and again. 

“Isabella Grace, you have the power to control men and women with your eyes.  Your hair.  The way your body is perfect and sensual.”

“Mr. Black... I have no power...”

“Of course you do,” Jonathan barked at me.  “You have my father drunk and sleeping, regretting every decision he’s made.  Regretting that he knows more than he should.  Regretting that he stole the three billion...”  Jonathan raised an eyebrow, judging my reaction.

“In my pocket,” I said and started to point.

Jonathan grabbed my wrist and pulled.  I stumbled towards him, almost falling from the shower.  He put my warm, wet hand to his face and his hand tight against my hand.  His other hand palmed one of my breasts. 

“Shower,” he said, “because we have plans afterwards.  I need you clean before we can get dirty.”

I nodded, keeping my response internal.  My hand shook a little as I touched his face.  It was such a different move for Jonathan.  Something about being at his father’s house seemed like it wanted to change him.  Maybe he was coming to terms with his murderous decision.