radicalducati TOUCH ME 2
TOUCH ME 2
Callan pulled her closer, his hand encircling her waist. "What are you talking about?" He whispered, moving away from other guests who were engrossed with dancing.
"Us, Callan. Me, you..." Her voice was shaky, she could feel her inside burning with needs again. She wanted him, she was desperate for his touch.
"Be clear!" He said sternly, almost stilling her.
Orla looked up to meet his faint gaze. It was unreadable.
She didn't want to offend him, so she sighed and said. "I feel dizzy, can you take me home?" Her head was light, and her vision was bleary.
Callan knew what she was asking for, but he wanted her to say the words and maybe he might have a change of mind about not desiring her body because now, he wasn't certain what he wanted from her anymore... But out of all the things he thought of, not desiring her body wasn't one. He wanted her, to fill her, to mercilessly claim her. Since that moment he saw that bastard fondling her breasts, he wanted to dominate her and make her his.
Thinking of how her body would feel pressed against his, how he would take her to the apogee of satisfaction caused blood to compress his groin area.
He yanked her arms. "Let's go home," his blood simmered.
It was just a matter of time before he yanked the dress off her body and filled her with his hard member. He had never been that hard for a woman.
As she walked behind him, she knew it wasn't the effect of the alcohol now. She hadn't drunk much to begin with. It was her needs, her desire.
She needed Callan so badly but was scared that he didn't want her. So, it was best to act drunk and blame the nastiness on the alcohol.
-
"What were you talking about on the dancefloor?" Callan questioned when they got to their bedroom.
"I don't remember what I was saying," she said soberly, moving away from him. Her legs were heavy as she took a step after the other.
There was a lot on her mind that she wanted, needed and if only Callan would see it in her needy eyes without voicing it out.
She had planned to blame her actions tonight on the alcohol, but she threw up, almost emptying her bowel before she got back home and she was expected to be a little sober. Now, her plans had been ruined.
"I see." He watched as she absentmindedly striped herself in front of him.
She never did that. She was always conscious of his presence whenever she wanted to pull off her clothes or don them. The same pair of lingerie she wore to seduce him that night was sinfully gummed to her petite body.
He was a fool for ever saying that he won't desire her body. An inner voice taunted him. Staring at her that way was torture. And going back on his words was defeat. He wanted her, all of her.
Over the years, he had gotten any kind and type of woman he wanted at a snap of his fingers, without too much effort. And all of them were classy, most beautiful women in the world. Orla was nowhere close to them, yet her tiny body was making his body respond in an unholy way, calling to him to quench his hunger for her. No woman had ever had that grip on him.
Orla walked towards him, her smooth body bouncing alongside her straight legs. She smiled, blinking her huge eyes. Callan sighed, he had never seen anything sexier than she was now.
She closed the distance between them and glanced at Callan. "It doesn't matter what I say. Your mind is made up about me and it can't be changed. Or maybe it can." She was running wild, she knew that. She was supposed to be the calm, rejected girl, but her hormones were stronger and she felt the need to assuage the intense sexual fire that charred her.
Now that she was in front of him, he was certain of what he wanted. Her.
"What do you want, Orla?" He pulled her closer, staring into her eyes.
"I," for once in her life, she wanted to be fierce and demand what she wanted without fear. He was her husband after all, and if he wasn't acting like a jerk head, he was meant to have claimed her by now. Her heart thumped hard against her chest, the area between her legs damper than it had ever been. Images of how she felt the day he slightly teased her crammed her memories and without control, the words left her mouth. "Touch me, Callan. I want you to touch me down there."
Innocence filled her eyes as she begged for his touch. Callan's eyes ogled her face, down to her lush lips. He could easily change his mind and let go, but she bit those lips, summoning him harder.
"Fuck!" He cussed.
Orla jerked in fear, still standing on what she wanted. His touch and something more if he was willing. But for now, she knew his touch was enough if he did it well, better than last time.
Callan refused to obey her. He wanted to touch her too, but he didn't want her to have a hold of him. Touching her would mean submitting to her will.
He stepped back, struggling inside of him. His hand moved down to his front to hide his swollen bulge.
"You should know your limits before thinking of drinking alcohol." He muttered quietly.
Mortification lanced her chest. She had thought Callan would satisfy her when he fixed his soft gaze on her like he wanted her too.
An idea to protest that she wasn't drunk struck her but she shunned it.
"What makes you think that I will change my mind and desire your body?" He couldn't look into her eyes anymore. He would be damned if he did. Even without looking, he could feel the hurts that burned in those large orbs.
"I am your wife, Callan." She said quietly. Her head was spinning, the cause was unknown.
He would betray himself if he stayed longer. "You should rethink those words. I made it clear to you right from the first day that I do not want you." He turned away.
Mad he couldn't have what he wanted, no woman had ever turned him on the way Orla did.
He could turn back, grab her arms, do what she wanted and give her the best orgasm she had ever had in her life. He doubted if she had ever had one, and that eagerness to know haunted him again. But before he could dwell too much on it, and changed his mind, he walked out of the room, angrily slamming the door shut.
He was mad at himself for being so selfish, for not satisfying his wants when he could easily do that, and for being a bastard.
Orla flopped on the bed, pulling the sheets over her body to hide her lingeries. Tears formed in her eyes, but sleep swallowed her up before the tears dropped down her cheeks.