Because, Brett... [BxB]

Chapter 12: World's Best Orgasm!

WARNING! EXPLICIT CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER! (well, more explicit ;))

He resumes kissing me, his lips pushing into mine as his fingers once again work at my belt buckle. Once it's undone, he unbuttons my jeans and I let out a heavy breath as the zipper is dragged down. Moving down my body in a trail of pecks and nips, he stills just above my crotch. Rough hands land on my hips and fingers slip beneath the waistband.

Seth looks so devastatingly stunning, eyes shining in the dim lighting and he stares at me with such conviction. Many say that the eyes are the gateways to the soul, and with Seth above me now, I feel it. He takes his time, slow and seductive as he shuffles the denim further down my legs. I have to help him by lifting my ass off the bed but eventually, he slips my jeans over my feet and they join my discarded shirt, slipping off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Now the only thing acting as a barrier between him and my hardness, are my thin boxer briefs. He is still fully clothed though and despite it not bothering me since I'm used to the kind of situation that involves me being practically naked whilst others sit fully clothed with raging hard-ons. I crave his bare skin against mine like a carnal need and I'm willing to face the consequences to get what I want.

Anticipation hot and heavy, I wait until he's back on top of me. Ragged breaths escape me but I keep so perfectly still for him. Until I get a chance. The second he dives in to kiss my neck, my hands come down to his shoulders and I flip him on the bed, rolling on top of him.

"I want this off," I murmur into the shell of his ear, the same way he told me not to move. Tugging at the buttons of his shirt, he laughs. A real, genuine, barely-there laugh. But it is there.

I'm not as graceful or as in control as him as I attempt to rid him of his shirt. Buttons slip through my fingers and little curses slip through my lips, yet he doesn't stop me like I expected him to. I had thought that the second I took control, he'd have it back in an instant.

When finally his shirt hangs open at his sides, I run my hands from his abdomen up to his chest. Unlike me, he has hair, trimmed and neat, and my fingers get lost in it. I know that I would have chest hair too if I let it grow out, but my job dictates that I get it waxed from me on a fortnightly basis. His, however, feels luxurious under my touch and I wonder what the real appeal of a waxed chest is.

"You know you weren't supposed to do that," He says, mischief in his tone.

It's too late though, my eyes are already on the buckle of his belt and my fingers brush over his bulge before cupping him. He groans and I say, "I know."

I manage to get his trousers halfway down his legs before he stops me with a hand threaded through my hair. He grips it firmly in a fist, yanking my face back up to his. There is a slight sting in my scalp, but in a way I like it. With him, everything is intensified and I just feel things. There is such a fine line between pleasure and pain and although I never thought of myself to have masochistic tendencies, the lines are starting to blur and more than ever I can see the appeal to being manhandled like this.

Taking me in a demanding kiss, he rolls us back over. He's back in the driver's seat, calling the shots. He takes the time to kick his trousers the rest of the way off, but not before sliding his belt out of the loops and wrapping it around his fist.

"You remember your word?" He asks.

I nod my head, breathing out a faint, "Yes."

That's all the confirmation he needs before his vice-like grip takes my wrists again, but instead of just pushing them into place like the two times prior, he unwinds his belt from his hand. The leather is smooth against my skin as he wraps it around my right wrist twice before doing the same to my left. A single length keeps them about three inches apart before he wraps the ends around that single length to strengthen it, he then does the buckle up and I would be lying if I said I don't like the feel of the restraint. That I don't like the gentle bite against my skin.