“Oh, God! That’s sooo...” She pants, rocking her hips.
“You like that?” I don’t recognize my voice, it’s so guttural. I work her in small circles, adding more fingers.
She tosses her head, sweat-slicked hair sticking to her cheeks. “Yes. So much. I feel it...”
“Where?” I dip a finger just inside. Sweet mercy, she’s tight. Pulsing with heat. I almost lose it. I slide back out to find her clit again. “Here? Do you feel it here in this slick little button?”
“Hmm.” It’s a whimpered affirmative.
“And here?” I sink into her again, a little deeper, and her snug canal clenches tight.
“God, there. August!” She grips my arms, eyes wide. “More.”
I’ll give her everything I have. I find her slack mouth, suckle her bottom lip, my fingers playing. “Everything, Penelope.”
Pen
There are things about sex that I never fully understood. Such as how the sight of my own nakedness, dewy and flushed with perspiration and sprawled out on the bed with August’s hand pushed down my panties would turn me on. I feel wanton, swollen full of lust and need. Every movement seems exaggerated, my skin more sensitive. The breaths he takes gust over the tight buds of my nipples, and I shiver. Yet I’m so very hot, like I might soon melt into the bedding.
His open mouth brushes wetly against my nipple once more, and I groan, arching up into the touch, wiggling slightly to get more,more.
God, the way his fingers slip-slide over my throbbing clit—my thighs clench tightly, trapping his hand, urging him on, begging for relief—and I shudder, so close.
As if he knows I’m about to break, his touch turns light, teasing, as his lips coast along my neck toward my panting mouth.
“Bastard,” I say weakly before touching my lips to his. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
His answering chuckle is rich butterscotch, decadent and dark. He kisses me softly, deeply, and not enough. “It’s better when you’re desperate for it.”
Hazy with desire, I manage to open my eyes and meet his gaze. His is equally foggy with need, but he keeps hold of his control. It costs him—I can see it in the tremors along his arms and the way he keeps swallowing quick and hard. But he’s managing it, just.
“I’m going to return the favor one day,” I warn him with a rasping whisper.
He smiles tightly. “Oh, honey, I’m counting on that.” With gentle movements, he pulls his hand from my panties and theneases them down my legs. I’m too needy to even feel a moment’s embarrassment.
When I’m fully naked, August stops and simply stares. “Penelope,” he breathes. “You are a dream made real.”
Exposed to him, I don’t feel vulnerable. I feel beautiful, sexy. And needy. My legs move restlessly.
“You’re wearing too much,” I point out and trace a line along his chest. He has a smattering of hair across his pecs, and when I touch him, his tan nipples bead tight.
August captures my roving hand, holding it against his chest. “You want to see me, Pen?”
His hard cock strains the limits of the blue boxer briefs he still has on, pulling the fabric away from his tight abs. I try not to look too hungry as I nod. But I don’t think I fool him. His grin widens. “Greedy girl. I’ll let you have anything you want.”
I want it all.
“Pants off,” I say, earning a laugh.
Hooking his thumbs in the waistband, August tugs off his boxers with a swift move. In a blink they’re across the room. I don’t see them land; my attention is on him. He’s so hard it appears almost angry, flushed ruddy and pulsing. And very thick. I’ve seen dicks before. But not in real life. And nothis. For a second, it hits me that August Luck is sprawled out next to me utterly naked and clearly very turned on. The idea makes me a little dizzy.
I snuggle closer, pressing my chest against his, and he grunts low in his throat, his big hand settling on my hip. He’s warm and solid. I love the feel of his skin against mine. The topography of his body is a revelation: smooth, hard, hot, alive. The smattering of hair on his chest, the tight beads of his nipples... so many textures. All of it mine to touch. Between us, his dick moves as if waving for attention.
“Can I touch it?” I’m whispering, though I’m not sure why. It simply feels momentous.
“I’m going to have to insist,” he says with a small, pained smile.
I notice again how much it’s costing him to go slow. He’s fairly shaking now. Wanting to soothe, I run my hand down his chest then head downwards. His breath hitches as I brush my fingers over the smooth crown of him.
