I dared a look down, jaw quivering at the sight of him. Both his hands grabbed onto the waist of my jeans, his forearms against my ass. I thought he might pull my jeans down, was prepared to wake up and maybe slap him for doing so—knowing he would have delighted in that fight and perhaps stopped this tease to take me fully.
But he leaned in, his nose grazing my stomach, teeth tugging at my lace panties. “Fuck,” I felt him say against me.
Fuckwas right.
I couldn’t breathe.
My hips pushed forward and back despite the nagging voice in the back of my head that this wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t have been touching me like this, kissing me like this. That this was wrong.
Then why did it feel so fucking right?
He nudged lower and lower, his mouth brushing my throbbing cunt through the thick seam on my jeans. A moan left me, and I grasped the edges of the boxes I was nearly sitting on.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Dammit, I missed that little moan of yours.”
He wasn’t even touching me and somehow I could feel my orgasm cresting. I needed that friction so fucking badly, my hips moving up and down as if I were grinding against his face, imagining his tongue teasing my clit and gliding in and out of my soaking cunt.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I said as I closed my eyes.
“I shouldn’t say a lot of things,” he said. “Except, I don’t hear you stopping me.”
Because I didn’t want him to stop. I was too close to the first orgasm that hadn’t come from a vibrator in five years.
And he didn’t even have my pants down.
“Fuck you,” I managed.
His chuckle vibrated between my thighs. “I love you like this,” he said. “Angry at how much you’re enjoying it. I bet that rage gets you soaked, doesn’t it?”
“No,” I practically whimpered.
“More lies,” he said. His mouth pressed to the fabric over my clit, and I jerked, unprepared for that touch. His breath brushed against my abdomen again, face buried there as he tortured me.
“I can still taste you,” he said, his forearms pushing my hips closer and trapping me in his embrace. “I can still feel my tongue inside you. In and out. Sucking your clit into my mouth as you begged my name and pulled my hair.”
The fantasy spun me. My hips bucked against his face, the pressure of him nuzzling between my thighs making me squirm.
“Gavin…”
“That’s it,” he whispered. “I want to taste you so badly,” he muttered, his teeth biting on that seam again. “The things I would do if I could have you…Fuck, baby.”
His tone was of yearning and greed, and I needed to know what he meant.
“Tell me,” I said against my better judgment. “Tell me what you would do.”
He hesitated, and I felt him lean forward again. “I would rip these pants apart just to taste you,” he said, kissing at the very edge of my zipper. “I would suck your clit until you couldn’t breathe, plunge my fingers in and out of your greedy pussy and spread you wide. You would scream, beg, plead for me to end you. And just when you spilled over, I would bend you back over these boxes and spread your thighs, make you hold your hands behind your back while I pulled your hair and fucked you until you couldn’t see anything except the stars. Your pussy would make those beautiful little noises around my cock, too.”
He licked my abdomen, bit my jeans, and seemed to pull me tighter after every sentence. My hips were erratic as I envisioned everything he promised. I could feel his mouth on my clit, his cock inside me, his hands in my hair and yanking me backward. Shit, all I needed was for him to touch me and I would collapse in his arms.
I let go of one of the boxes and began to squeeze my tit, grinding my hips on him and laying my head fully back. I succumbed to that fantasy, my eyes rolling.
I barely realized my other hand was in his hair until I felt the softness around my fingers.
“Gods, baby, you’re soaking,” he hissed. “I can feel you through these jeans. Do you like the idea of me licking you until you cry?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Squeeze that tit as I would,” he said. “That’s it. Fuck, baby, yes. You are my good girl, aren’t you?”
