Fantasy Flirt - Episode 5

She reached for him slowly, fingers sliding along his chest until her palm rested flat. Her hand drifted lower, exploring every ridge of muscle, every breath he took beneath her touch. His skin felt hot, alive, the faint tremor in him matching the quickening in her own pulse. When her hand closed around him, hard and already slick at the tip, she gave a gentle stroke that drew a low sound from his throat. His cock throbbed once, heavy against her fingers, and she smiled at the power she held in her grip. She leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Look at you,” she whispered, voice thick with heat. Each slow pump of her hand made him swell harder, the blunt head glossy now, brushing the inside of her wrist. She kept the rhythm teasing, not enough to finish him, just enough to make him ache. His hips shifted forward despite himself, seeking more, and she gave it in measured degrees—fingers tightening, wrist twisting, thumb circling that sensitive crown until his breathing fractured into short, needy gasps. She watched his face the whole time, eyes locked on his as she worked him, savoring the way his composure frayed. A bead of pre-cum slipped down over her knuckles. She caught it with her thumb and spread it around, slicking him further until the glide grew obscene. When his thighs tensed and his hand rose as if to stop her, she simply shook her head, the faintest smile playing at her lips. “Not yet,” she said, voice velvet and command wrapped together. Her strokes lengthened, deliberate, each one dragging a soft, broken sound from him that went straight between her own legs. She felt herself grow wetter, the ache building low and insistent, but she stayed focused on him—on the way his cock pulsed in her fist, on the flush climbing his neck, on the way his eyes darkened when she sped up just enough to make his knees weaken. The air between them grew thick, charged, every breath shared, every heartbeat loud in the quiet room. She leaned back slightly, studying the length of him, thick and flushed, veins standing out along the shaft, the head deep pink and glistening. Another slow stroke, root to tip, and another, until his hands clenched at his sides and his hips rocked into her fist without shame. She paused at the crown, fingers circling, squeezing, until a fresh bead welled up and spilled over. Then she began again, steady, relentless, the wet sound of her hand working him the only thing that existed between them.