Then my panties are dragging down my legs until I feel Ted’s hot breath over my lower lips, making me buck and moan. I need it. I need him so very badly.
“Ted,” I moan.
“Cream puff,” he growls back.
Something about the sound jerks me out of my sleepy haze. I open my eyes, instantly recognizing my neighbor’s bedroom and the man crouched by my bent knees. The sky lightens with the dawn, diffusing the room with soft, low light.
Am I sorry I ended up here? Or was I hoping for it? And does that mean I’m learning to control my powers?
When I start to sit up, I’m pushed back down. Ted is there, hovering over me with his shirt off again. His hair is tousled, and his pupils are blown with desire.
“You asked me why I called you that,” he says in that same sleep roughened voice from yesterday.
What? Oh, he called me cream puff.
I start to bristle at the nickname, remembering how he studied me eating yesterday. Now I’m starting to worry he’s been suppressing some kind of heavy girl fetish that’s going to creep me out.
“It’s because you're elegant and sweet as a puff pastry, but I also know you have an even sweeter center I want to get to.”
Before I can register if I care for his analogy, his finger slips between my folds and it’s like being zapped by an electric shock. I gasp for air, unable to find any oxygen as he rubs me from the inside.
“Oh yeah,” he croons. “That’s the sweetness I’m talking about.”
Maybe if anyone else called me cream puff I’d dislike it, but something about Ted saying it makes it scalding hot. Or maybe he’s reprogrammed my mind by rubbing out a hypnotic rhythm inside me until I associate the feeling with whatever words he deigns to pair with the motion.
Ted's tone turns brusque. “Blondie, I need more. Please let me have more.”
Another pump of his finger has me throwing my head back with a curse. “Yes,” I gasp.
I can’t fight being in his bed, his touch. I don’t want to.
A tongue swipes up my center once before his mouth covers me. With little preamble, he licks and sucks at me like a starving man.
“Gah,” I cry out, my fingers digging into his hair as my torso jerks up. I may be lying on my back, but I feel like I'm on a ride. My hips roll, chasing the rhythm of pleasure he is spelling out with his tongue. When his fingers join the party, my breath turns to pants.
“That’s it, cream puff. You have all those boys at your beck and call, but I bet none of them wanted your cum as bad as I do.”
What. The. Fuck?
Some part of me feels like this is wrong. I should be proving myself to him by sucking him off. In fact, I find I really enjoy focusing on my partner and amazing them with my enthusiasm. But I don’t have even a sliver of a chance to do that.
“You know I want that cream filling, blondie,” he says before growling directly into my clit as he sucks it.
“Wh-what?” I stutter. Again, how am I not weirded out more by what he says right now?
He lifts his head, lips and beard glistening with my desire.
“I need you to squirt for daddy.”
I couldn’t be more shocked if he slapped me in the face and called me a rabid mongoose.
My stutter worsened as my nerves ratcheted up, dullening my desire. “I can’t do that.”
Heat prickles beneath the surface as his eyes sweep up and down my body, leaving a trail of scorched skin. Licking his lips with deliberate enjoyment, he says, “Oh, I know you can. This body was made to cum hard and often.”
A twisting coil jerks tighter in the base of my stomach.
As if to prove a point, he slaps my pussy. Not so hard it’s painful, just enough to send a jolt of hot sensation spiraling through me.
