A soft shift on my lap told me Cassy's arousal was fading with each passing second, a stark contrast to the lingering, insistent throb within me. The confines of the boutique's changing room suddenly felt suffocating, a stark reminder of where we were and where I desperately wished we could be – back in the sanctuary of our hotel room. Our first time together wouldn't happen here. It deserved a proper setting, a soft bed, where I could begin with a gentle touch, promising to savor the experience and make it last for as long as humanly possible.
Cassy seemed to sense my distress, her gaze meeting mine. "Derick?" she asked softly. I could only shake my head, pulling her closer, breathing in the familiar comfort of her scent. A wave of frustration surged through our bond, and she pushed back gently, her face creasing into an adorable pout.
"I'm okay," I murmured, already sensing her frustration. This time, she simply shook her head, a determined glint in her eyes. "No, Derick," Cassy said firmly, her voice unwavering. "I want to help you. You're my mate." She met my gaze, her plea soft but insistent. "Please, let me?" she asked. I sighed, knowing I couldn't possibly refuse her.
"Okay," I managed, my cock pressing insistently against my pants. She started to slide off my lap, kneeling down, but I held her there. A pout bloomed on her face, and I had to stifle a laugh. She was just too adorable; another time, I'd have to tease her a lot more. "As much as I'd love to have your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I've actually got a better idea." She tilted her head, a question in her eyes.
I leaned in, my lips finding the sensitive skin of her neck, right where my claim mark rested. A soft moan escaped her, a clear sign that her arousal was returning. I traced the path upward, my teeth a gentle tease against her ear before I whispered my command. "I want you to stand, Cassy. Bend over, hands flat against the bench, your thighs pressed firmly together." Her body tensed for a moment. "Can you do that for me?" She nodded, a silent agreement. "I'm not going to take you," I assured her softly, feeling a subtle easing of her apprehension. "I just want to press my cock between your wet thighs."
With fluid, graceful movements, she rose, her back now turned to me. I observed her place her hands flat against the cool surface of the wooden bench, her thighs pressing together as I had instructed. Her vulnerable posture ignited a fresh surge of possessive desire, a powerful urge to claim her. But I resisted, that was for another time.
I shifted behind her, the zip of my pants a soft release as they pooled around my ankles, along with my boxers. The air between us thickened, a palpable current of unspoken anticipation. I pressed my hard length gently against the slick, welcoming warmth of her thighs. Her breath caught, a soft, thrilled sound escaping her lips. I felt her body respond, a subtle tremor rippling through her as the exquisite pressure of my arousal met the wetness between her thighs. "There," I murmured, my voice a low rumble against her ear. "Just like that. Feel that, Cassy?" I shifted slightly, deepening the contact, enjoying the way her body tensed as my cock passed over her slit the wetness coming from her was heaven. It wasn't the wild, consuming pleasure I wanted to give her, not yet. But it was a taste, a promise of what was to come.
With a fluid shift, I closed the distance, my hands finding the elegant sweep of her hips. In the reflective expanse of the mirror, she became a study in desire, her gaze mirroring mine as my hand, guided by an unspoken instinct, moved lower. It glided, a silken exploration between her thighs, until my fingertips brushed the exquisitely sensitive bud of her clitoris. My arm was a firm, yet gentle, presence around her waist, a silent promise of support as I anchored her, my own reflection a captivated witness to our intimacy. The tender, teasing pressure of my touch, a delicate dance against her clitoris, ignited a visible transformation. I watched her face, the exquisite bloom of her arousal unfurling, the exquisite moisture that slicked her inner thighs, a testament to the growing heat. The sensory tide that rose within me was overwhelming, a powerful undertow already dragging me towards the exhilarating brink.
"Fuck Cassy," I whispered, the words a rough caress against her ear, my rhythm deepening, my body a familiar, insistent pressure against hers. Her thighs, strong and smooth, clenched with a desperate, involuntary tightening, and a low moan, a sound torn from the very core of her, escaped her lips once more. I wanted to pull her with me, to climb that dizzying precipice, to share the exquisite, shattering release that was building between us. Her legs, those beautiful, trembling limbs, began to quiver, a tell-tale sign as my thumb, stroked her clit, coaxing her closer. Her fingers, white-knuckled and raw, dug into the weathered, unforgiving grain of the wooden bench, finding a desperate anchor in the rising tide of sensation.
My own groan joined hers as the friction intensified, my hips mirroring her movements, seeking that sweet, raw contact. Her head fell back against her arms, her breath coming in ragged gasps. My own release was a desperate, burning thing, a tide threatening to pull me under, but I held back, forcing myself to focus on her, on the sounds she made, the way her body arched into mine. This was a dance of control and surrender, a prelude to the true storm, and I was determined to savor every single, exquisite moment.
"Almost there, Cassy," I breathed, my voice thick with my own rising pleasure. I pressed closer, feeling the exquisite pressure build, the friction singing a song of shared desire. Her fingers tightened on the bench, her nails scraping faintly against the wood. Her back arched further, and I knew, with a certainty that vibrated through our bond, that she was moments away from her own shattering climax. And then, as if a dam had finally broken, her body convulsed, a choked cry escaping her lips as she fell against the bench, tremors wracking her frame.
Seeing her succumb, her release igniting a fresh wave of desperate need within me, I finally let go. My own pleasure surged, a hot, blinding rush that pushed me over the edge. My hips bucked against her, and with a raw, guttural groan, I found my own release, my body shuddering as the wave crashed over me, a potent echo of her own ecstatic surrender.
I sighed and pulled her to me again, feeling a surge of protectiveness. As the last flutter of hers and my climax subsided, my immediate thought was to tend to her. I reached for one of the many soft cloths she'd brought in the changing room, my touch feather-light as I wiped away the evidence of our intimacy between her thighs. It was more than just cleaning; it was about ensuring she felt completely looked after, completely at ease. When she was clean, I retrieved her underwear and pants, my hands sure and steady as I helped her ease them back on.
Then my eyes scanned the room, seeking something, anything, to cover Cassy's upper body. My gaze landed on a button-up shirt. I remembered Cassy had forgone a bra, a practical measure to avoid irritating the fresh ink blooming on her skin. The t-shirt she'd been wearing, however, was proving far too rough against her newly sensitive back. This shirt, I observed, looked to be made of a soft cotton, a texture I knew would be a gentle balm, a welcome contrast to the irritating fabric, helping her to heal more comfortably.
I ripped off the tag and set it aside, my mind already a whirlwind of how to best care for Cassy, to make sure she was completely comfortable and looked her best. I gently guided her into the shirt, my fingers instinctively adjusting the fabric, ensuring it settled just right against her skin. When she offered a soft thanks, a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest. Sitting her back on the bench, I fussed with her shoes, not just tying them, but making sure they were snug and secure, a small but significant detail to prevent any discomfort. She looked down at me then, a blush coloring her cheeks, and in that moment, her vulnerability and that captivating blush ignited a powerful, almost overwhelming urge within me. I wanted to scoop her up, to shield her from any potential worry, to ensure her every single need, big or small, was met before she even realized it herself.
Only after I knew she was completely secure and settled, did I turn and pull up my own boxers and pants, a necessary formality before I could fully focus on her. Then, offering my hand, I asked, "Ready?" The simple nod and the way she shakily took my hand, trusting me, solidified my resolve to always be her constant, dependable support.