“God, I wish you could see yourself like I can,” he says, then takes his hand off my chin. “I’m losing mymindover how good you look right now, with my cum tainting those wicked fucking lips of yours.”
I moan again, and press my thighs together as I lick between his fingers before sucking on them again.
“Shit,” he grunts, then brings his free hand to my neck before holding onto my throat in a vise grip. His fingers push deeper into my mouth as he chokes me, and I feel myself getting wet at how good the restraint makes me feel.
“Suck harder; show me how eager you are to take everything I give you,” he instructs.
I try to make a noise, but end up gagging instead. My eyes water, my nostrils flare, and my chest heaves as my body makes a desperate attempt at drawing a proper breath.
Dorran’s grip loosens. He lowers his hand to my collarbone, then moves it upward again before fisting the hair at the nape of my neck. He slowly pulls his fingers out of my mouth, then erases the short distance between us by fusing our lips together.
My back arches in response, and my head buzzes when he licks and kisses his cum off my tongue. I rise on my knees and push myself further against him, and hear a soft rumble in his chest as he smiles against my mouth.
Dorran has a way of holding me captive – not just physically, but mentally as well. He caresses the strings of my very being, and tunes them in ways that are beyond my comprehension. He makes me feel alive, makes me want to explore the untouched boundaries of my desires.
He kisses my chin, then grazes his teeth over it before fucking my mouth with his again. I can feel his breaths on my cheek; feel the possessive pressure of his body as he demands more from me. His fist tightens around my hair, and his lips envelope mine in bruising, dizzying kisses.
“I fuckinglovehow you taste,” I whisper before kissing him again.
Dorran groans, then breaks away from me. His eyes run up and down the length of me, and after a brief pause, he smirks, right before his gaze flicks up to mine.
“What?” I ask, a little out of breath.
He clicks his tongue. “For someone so hellbent on not wanting her makeup ruined, you sure look fucked up right now,” he remarks.
I gasp. “You assho–”
He cuts me off by crashing his lips to mine, then chuckles when I push him away.
“You know what I’m thinking right now?” he says to me.
“Nope,” I reply impassively.
His grin is wide, almost freakish. “What I’mthinking…” he starts, then gives me a wink. “…Is: because I’ve already screwed up your makeup, how about you come up here and sit on my cock until we’ve created an even bigger mess than what we’re currently dealing with.”
I put my tongue to my cheek. “Technically, it’syouwho made a mess.”
His expressive eyes crinkle around the corners. “And you helped clean it,” he counters.
“Are we stating the obvious now?”
“No. You’re avoiding answering my question, though.”
I chuckle; I can’t help it. “You’re an asshole,” I tell him.
“For wanting to fuck you?”
“For assuming that I want to.”
“And you don’t?”
I place my hands on the bed and rise, making him look up. Lifting my dress, I continue to hold his gaze as I straddle his thighs, then settle down, only to hiss when his hard length brushes against my thong.
“Of course I do,” I state. “But I’ve got a condition.”
He leans back and assesses me. “Do you, now?”
“Uh-huh.” I rock my hips, relishing the way his cock twitches under me. His face strains as he stifles a groan, while his chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm.
