He uses his free hand to part my pussy, and then slides two fingers inside my opening, making the come here sign and rubbing that part I can never reach while he continues to tease my chest with the duster. Then he moves it lower, across my stomach, until it’s dancing across my clit.
My body arches, my legs shake and I’m practically falling off the bed with how good it all feels. The soft, the rough, the firmness.
“Fuck, Cain, I’m so close,” I moan.
“Not yet,” he says. He removes his fingers from me and flips the duster around again, this time sliding the smooth, cool plastic of the handle a little inside my pussy. “Is that okay?”
I nod, watching the way his eyes darken as he looks between my legs. He pumps it in and out a few times carefully, then slides it in deeper. My body clenches around the intrusion and I let out another moan. He lowers his face, flattening his tongue right across my clit with firm pressure and a satisfied hum.
“You have no idea how fucking sexy you are right now. How much I love playing with your body.”
I arch into him as he picks up pace, fucking me with the end of the duster, his fingers and mouth working against my clit in wet, sloppy sucks and kisses until it’s all too much and I’m coming.
“Yes!” I moan out, grateful that neither of my siblings are home to hear me. If they only knew I was in here getting fucked by a feather duster to the point of the most insane orgasm of my life, who knows what they’d think.
Cain continues to kiss and pump the handle inside me a few more times, working me through it until I finally come down.When I still he pulls back, his gaze locked on mine, his eyes completely heated.
“Was that too much for you?”
I shake my head, still a little breathless. “No, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at my cleaning supplies the same way again.”
He smiles and kisses my lips, softer this time. We lay like that for a few seconds, gently making out until I can feel his erection grinding against my hip. I press my palm there and squeeze through his pants, earning a loud groan from him.
“Rhiannon,” he warns.
“Lay back.”
“If you’re too drunk—"
I shake my head, stopping him. “I’m not drunk. Just lay back. Let me take care of you.”
He does as I say—leaning back against the headboard, stretching out like a man who knows exactly what’s coming. There’s a lazy sort of ease in the way he watches me climb onto him until I’m straddling his thighs.
The soft drag of my palms against his chest makes his breath hitch and abs clench, and then I’m moving lower, unzipping the pants I’ve never seen him in before. I tug them down, along with his briefs, until his cock springs free, thick and flushed, stretching up against his stomach.
I wrap my hand around his shaft and start to pump, loving the way he stiffens and grows heavier in my grip.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his hands finding my breasts, kneading and teasing until I bat them away with a smirk.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmur, leaning forward just enough for my nipples to fan over his skin. “I love your cock.”
He grins, one arm drapes behind his head like he’s posing for me. “Tell me more about how much you love it.”
I give him a serious look. “It’s the only dick I’ve been with this entire year. Well, longer than a year.”
His grin widens into something feral. “I fucking love hearing that. Tell me more about how I own your pussy.”
And I don’t know why I say it, but I do. Maybe it’s self-sabotage for the good things I don’t think I deserve in life. “You’re possessive over something that’s not yours.”
The humor drains from his face, replaced by something that looks dangerously close to sincerity. “If it’s not clear, I like you, Rhiannon. A lot.”
That has me freezing. “I…”
He exhales, laying back again, his cock still twitching in my hand. “Not the response I was hoping for.”
“I like you too,” I admit.
That makes him smile—bright, boyish, unguarded. Which only makes what I have to say next harder. “But I don’t want to date you. I mean, I don’t think we can do anything more than this.”
