I clamp my hands onto her waist, thrusting up as she strokes down. “Almost as much as you do, cookie.”
Her eyes flare, her rhythm falters, her pussy flutters around me.
Close.
But not close enough.
And I don’t have time to continue fucking around, don’t have time to learn all the little things that make her moan, that slowly undo her.
I’m too close to the edge.
So, I ask, “What do you need?”
Green eyes filled with questions.
I hold her tighter, keep driving up into her relentlessly. “What do you need to come apart?”
Molten emeralds. A convulsing pussy.
Then she takes my hand and draws it in across her stomach, down between her legs, pressing my fingers to her clit. “Here,” she murmurs, rubbing it in a tight circle. “Right here. And don’t stop.”
I circle that hard bud of nerves, rubbing like she showed me.
Not stopping like she told me.
“Oh, God,” she whispers, her head falling back. “Oh, my God.Yes.”
“Come for me gorgeous,” I order, taking advantage of her swaying toward me to capture one hard nipple in my mouth and suck deep.
She gasps, rhythm faltering.
But only for a moment.
Because then she’s grinding faster, grinding harder.
Fingers and flesh. Tongues and bouncing tits. A tight pussy. Rounded hips. Slender waist. A flash of blazing green eyes before her head drops back, a moan filling the air, her pelvis bucking, taking me deeper, so deep that I bump against her womb. But she doesn’t freeze in pain, doesn’t stop fucking me.
So I don’t either.
I work her clit.
I suck at her nipples.
I thrust up into her.
And—
She cries out, clamping around me, and I’m able to get a glimpse of her orgasm sliding across her face before mine is on top of me.
It explodes inside of me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
My vision goes black on the edges, and every nerve in my body is on fire for one long moment.
Then everything melts. My limbs go lax. My brain goes hazy and I’m only distantly aware of us continuing to move together as we seek out the dredges of our orgasms.
It may be minutes or hours later before I’m able to open my eyes.
But it’s longer still before I’m able to lift an arm, to lightly stroke my hand down her back. “Christ, cookie,” I mutter, gathering my strength to get us out of this chair, knowing that I’m never going to look at it the same way again.
