"Hm?" I hum absentmindedly, pressing my tip to her clit and rubbing it there. It wouldn't take much to slide inside her now. She's wet and warm, and so fucking ready for me.
"You said they were lucky."
"Ah," I rub her harder, loving the way her hips keep tempo with my cock. "That would mean telling you the truth."
She laughs gently and I lean in, kissing her again—gentler now, slower—and when her body arches into mine, when she moans my name and starts to shake, reaching her orgasm from just another messy, dry hump, I feel her whole body come againstme. Just like that. Who knew it could be that easy with the right person?
Her eyes snap open, dazed, almost afraid of how simply it happened. Her chest rises fast, flushed pink down to her collarbones like she suddenly feels too exposed.
“Should I…” she starts, breathless. “Should I close the blinds? Turn off the lights?”
I growl low in my throat when she moves to shut her legs, and push her knees apart again, forcing her open.
“No. We’re not doing that. I want to see you. I need to see you.”
Because her confidence, is the sexiest fucking thing about her.
I slide lower, settling between her thighs, my hands braced on them as I put my mouth on her pussy. I suck, taste, claim. Her hands drop into my hair, and she lets out a soft, wrecked, “Fuck, Cain.”
“That was one,” I murmur against her skin, dragging my tongue across her clit, savoring the slick warmth of her. “Let’s see how many more you’ve got in you.”
I stay there, sucking, kissing, nipping, devouring her, until her legs start to tremble again, until she’s clenching around my fingers, her body shuddering as she comes on my tongue.
I keep going through it, easing her down slow, licking her through every pulse of it until she’s gasping, fingers tangled in my hair like she’s trying to hold on to something real.
“Cain,” she moans, voice shaking. “I need you. Come here.”
I drag myself up the bed, chest still slick from sweat, breath rough. She shifts higher on the sheets, eyes dark and glassy.
“Are you sore?” I ask, brushing her hip, half afraid she’ll say yes.
She shakes her head, lips parting. Then she grips her tits in both hands, squeezing them together, offering them up to me like a gift.
“Fuck them,” she says.
I don’t need to be told twice. I slide my aching cock between them, the heat of her soft skin wrapping around me.
“Fuck them,” she pleads again, and I do.
Each thrust drags through soft flesh, slick and hot, the friction shooting straight up my spine. I reach down between her thighs and dip two fingers inside her, using her slickness to wet my cock like lube, to make it glide smoother between those perfect curves.
“Yes,” she hisses, arching beneath me.
My pace quickens, the muscles in my abdomen drawing tight. Every pass through those breasts, every drag of her skin against me, has me getting too damn attached to someone that I shouldn't be seeing again.
My balls ache, my spine tingles, my body straining against the edge. When her tongue flicks out and her lips part to take my tip as it passes through, I lose it.
“I’m gonna come,” I warn, my voice breaking.
She nods, mouth open, eyes locked on mine, and that’s it. I let go, spilling across her chin, her tongue, her chest, marking her in streaks that shine in the dim light. I’m panting, gripping the hotel’s headboard, staring at the sight of her below me, flushed, wrecked, grinning up at me like sin itself.
“Again,” she whispers.
I huff out a laugh. “Let me clean you up first.”
She shakes her head and presses a hand to my chest, easing me down and onto my back.
“No.”
