And I didn’t want her making that choice.
“Tell me what you want.”
Confusion flashed through her eyes before her head lolled back on a throaty wail. “Matthew,” she moaned. “Get your cock and fuck me with itnow.”
If there were better words to hear, I didn’t know them.
I snagged a condom from the bedside drawer and knelt between Lauren’s shaking legs as I rolled it down. Her deep hum of agreement and self-satisfied smile when she saw my cock pointed directly at her sent tingles through my body. I pushed into her on a rough grunt, and her incredible tightness was unlike anything. Urgent, eager sensations bit at the base of my spine and I traced the pulse hammering in her wrists, inhaling and exhaling to slow it all down.
“Is this what you wanted, filthy girl?”
She wrapped her legs around me in response, and my arm cradled her hips. I lifted her to me, angling her body to receive me, take me deeper, take all of me. She clenched, and the constricting pressure was divine. Prickles of release shot along my spine again, and my next thrust pushed us to the other side of the bed.
I held her hands down, my mouth sucking hard at her taut nipple as thin spasms rolled through her core. She arched against my mouth, clawing at my hands, whispering stuttered pleas into my ear. “Tell me how you want me, Matthew.”
The droplet of tequila clinging to her lip forced its way into my mind, followed by the greatest hits of every scrap of porn I’d ever seen.
“Fuck, sweetness. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
And I didn’t think she was. The things I wanted were wild and hedonistic. It didn’t matter how many taboos we crushed; I was essentially having a threesome with Lauren and her naïveté right now, and I wasn’t about to ask if I could come on her tits. I wasn’t going to be the asshole who took it too far when this was already fucking phenomenal.
“Maybe I am,” she said. “Maybe I want you to fuck me like I’m your dirty little slut.”
Looking up from between her breasts, I stared at Lauren, uncertainty and discomfort ticking away and multiplying between us as her words spread over me, sinking into my skin and claiming space in my vocabulary. They were wrong—so much of this was wrong—and the opposite of my expectations, yet exactly what I needed, and the slight smirk pulling at her lips told me it was what she needed, too.
“You’re all mine.” I growled against her neck and rocked into her hard, quietly begging her to utter that raw request over and over.
“Is that what you want?” she whispered.
I groaned into her mouth, kissing and biting and murmuring that it was exactly what I wanted, that she was what I wanted. Pumping frantically as I neared the end, I laced Lauren’s fingers with mine, our eyes locked, and she whispered those words again, soft and low, and nothing like the bomb she dropped earlier.
One hard thrust and we were falling from the bed, tumbling to the floor with a thud, a heap of sheets and pillows and blankets cushioning our fall. That didn’t stop the lightning zipping through me, or the explosion leaving my brain blank and muscles numb, or the rolling, pulsing spasm in her center.
Breathless, I collapsed on top of her, my face buried in the crook of her neck. Everything about Lauren was orders of magnitude better than I imagined when she walked into my office earlier today, and now I knew the taste of her skin, the scent of her hair, and the beautiful obscenity of her mind. “Are you all right?”
Lauren nodded, and I estimated how long she’d let me stay this way. It was a funny thought, actually; staying rarely crossed my mind. I was usually concerned with getting off, getting up, getting out.
I pressed my lips to her pulse and rolled, slipping free from the vise grip of her heat. “Stay here. Don’t move a muscle,” I said.
The short trip to the bathroom was grueling. My legs barely propelled me forward, a gelatinous feeling taking up residence in my muscles. Discarding the condom and running a damp washcloth over my dick bordered on torture. The orgasm wrung me out, and I needed some down time in the form of my head on Lauren’s soft belly and my fingers tracing the lines of her body, and with any luck, her hands in my hair. Boobs were also excellent pillows—hers in particular.
I found her standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing into the harbor. It was the type of image photographers and painters waited entire careers to capture, and it was here, for me. She looked over her shoulder, licked her lips, and beckoned me closer. Heat spread through me like a fever, and I was stirring to life at the sight of her lush curves bracketed by the night sky.
Maybe I didn’t need that snugglenap as much as I originally thought.
“When did you start on your long,” her eyes dropped to my crotch as I approached, “list of dirty things?”
“When you opened the door to the church hall. Your ass. In that skirt.”
“That skirt makes me look short and boxy.”
“I respectfully disagree, Miss Halsted.” I swatted her ass and pressed myself against her back, bringing my arms around her waist.
Even shorter without the ass-kicking heels, Lauren’s head rested low on my chest and my cock made itself comfortable against her back. Reaching between us, she gripped me, caressing lazily. “So tell me: what went on the list first?”
“An ass as fine as yours should be worshipped by taking you from behind.”
“What did you have in mind?”
