I bend, my mouth over the top of her bra, and her back arches into me. I’m careful, but then I’m not—my hands drag her forward, closer to the edge, closer to me, and she hooks her ankles behind my thighs without being told.
Good girl.
One big hand cups her ass, and I drag her flush against me.
There’s nothing between us but two layers of fabric. I can feel how hot she is, how ready. I’m hard as steel, the thick length of me pressing exactly where she needs it. She rocks against me once, shamelessly, and I suck air through my teeth.
“Can you feel what you do to me?” My voice is wrecked. “Can you feel how much I want you?”
“Yes.” She grinds against me again, slower this time, deliberate. “Show me more.”
Christ. I press my forehead to her shoulder for a second, needing a beat to get right or I’m going to embarrass myself like a teenager.
“You wreck me, Cookie.”
Sliding a hand behind her back, I find the clasp—like muscle memory—and pop the bra off, tossing it aside. I just want to look at her all night and day, my eyes tracking over her like I’m memorizing every curve, every freckle, every imperfection she’sprobably spent years hating that I find perfect. And then my mouth is on her nipple, my tongue circling slowly before I seal my lips around it and suck hard enough to make her cry out.
“Fuck, Red?—”
“That’s it.” My voice is muffled against her breast. “Don't hold back; not with me. I want to know every sound you make when I touch you.”
She grabs the back of my head, and I groan like the sound is dragged out of me. I switch to the other nipple, and give it the same attention until she’s breathless and rocking against me.
"Red—I can't?—"
“You can,” I say, mouth against her skin. My hand is on her hip again, grip firm, guiding her in a rhythm that makes her melt. “That’s it; ride my hand. Show me what you need.”
She’s panting now, grinding against my palm while I watch her with eyes that can’t see enough. “You keep talking like that and I’m going to?—”
“Not yet.” I drag her panties to the side. My fingers press where she needs them most, testing how wet she is—and she’s soaked, dripping for me. I groan like it hurts. “Fuck, Cookie. You’re drenched.”
“It’s your fault,” she gasps.
“It’s my reward.” I circle her clit, finding her pace, learning the language of her body. “Let me make you come. I want to feel you fall apart before I’m even inside you.”
She groans, then opens for me, and I give her what she needs. The sound of her breathy voice begging for more while I give it, the wet slide of my fingers working her—is enough to make me explode.
I look up at her face—all fierce, tender, yet utterly wrecked. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread that pussy open for me and keep taking what I give you.”
“Oh my God?—”
“Tell me,” I growl softly. “I need to hear it from you.”
She gasps. “I’m so—Red, I’m going to?—”
I slide two fingers inside her, slowly, and her head drops back with a broken sound that makes my cock throb. I watch her face and curl them just right, finding that spot that makes her thighs shake. My thumb never stops circling her clit. The combination is devastating.
“Look at me,” I say, rough. She does, then she comes hard, surprise and pleasure lighting her up from the inside. It rips through her in waves, her whole body bowing into my hand, clenching around my fingers. I hold her through it—working her through every aftershock—murmuring filth that sounds likeyesandgood girlandfuck, that’s it, andI’ve got you. Whatever leaves my mouth. I have zero control when it comes to her.
When she slumps, soft and spent, I kiss her like I’m thirsty for it.
“That was—” She can barely form her words.
“Just the start.” My voice is destroyed. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Condoms?” she breathes against my mouth, and relief floods through me that we’re on the same page.
“Yeah.” I glance toward to the bed. “Bottom drawer, next to the bed.”
