Whether or not I like Eamon, which I fuckingdon't,there's no denying my body wants him to fuck me stupid. I can't even remember why it would be a bad idea right now, only thinking of all the ways he'd bend me and throw me, making me into a little fucktoy.
His soft, hot mouth marks a trail towards my ear, gently biting the lobe and tugging, making my brain short-circuit. Slowly, gently, his lips meet the spot just behind my ear, drawing a soft sigh from my mouth. His traveling lips and tongue feel like both a fire and the balm soothing it, the light, laving touch so different than he's ever been with me.
I fall back onto my elbows and let my head fall behind me, the effort of holding up against him fruitless. One of his knees eases my legs further apart, and I let them fall completely, lost in how he's clouding all of my senses. Everything around me is him. His scent, the sound of his harsh breaths, all of my nerves focused solely on his lips against my collarbone, working slowly lower. Were I to open my eyes, the sight would be too much, butfuck,I can't help it.
When I do, the forest green and red fight for dominance as his eyes lock on mine. The need in them mirrors mine as I watch his tongue dip under the line of the suit. My jaw drops, and I moan, all control of my body leaving me the longer this goes on.
His teeth grip the zipper, pulling it down so slowly I can hear every inch of it coming undone until he stops just below my tits.
He lays that filthy, incredible tongue flat, dragging it all the way up between my breasts until he meets my ear again.
"Isla," he groans. "Christ, every inch of you is delicious."
I can't fucking breathe. It's too much.
Too slow, too passionate, too desperate.
He's clouding my judgment, laying both of us bare and vulnerable.
I can't fucking take this kind of need. Certainly not from him.
This is just lust. It can't be anything else.
My breathing speeds, and not from the arousal. Fear, cold and cloying tears at my skin, reminding me of the last time Eamontastedme. Of the promise I made to make him fucking miserable, too.
With one of the many tricks he taught me, I wrap a leg around him, lifting my opposite hip and flipping him onto his back. Surprise lights up his features briefly, and his hands land on my hips.
The hard ridge of his dick feels incredible slotted between my legs where I'm perched on him, and I rock against it to make my intentions perfectly clear.
As good as it feels, this isn't about me getting off.
I lock in, making my heart as hard as the cock pressed against me. Mirroring our before position, I land my hands on the sides of Eamon's head, staring down at his slack-jawed, handsome face.
A growl builds in his chest, his grip on my hips hardening as he drags me back and forth on him, every inch of his cock rubbing against my clit. I move my body with his ministrations, riding that hard ridge and watching his face as he loses himself to the sensation.
While my moans aren't entirely faked, I'm certainly playing them up to bring him to the brink of insanity. If I let myself, I know I could come just from this, from the ceaseless way he's pushing and pulling us together.
My tits beg to be freed, trying to spill out of the skin-tight body suit the longer we rock together. Quickly debating if it's going to help or hurt, I decide to unzip the suit further, letting them fall out.
"Oh, fuck," Eamon's groan and tightening grip rewards the decision, amping up both of our pleasure even as I try to remain in control of mine. One of his hands travels up my stomach, reaching the spot he licked earlier. "They're so fucking pretty, baby."
A moan bubbles out of me at the tortured praise. Without stopping my hips working up and down his clothed length, I grab both of his hands, placing them on my chest. For his benefit, obviously. Not mine.
No matter how perfectly he holds them, both worshipping and torturing them while he grips, massages, and finally gently pinches my nipples, making me cry out, I can't lose focus.
"Feels so good," the words escape my mouth without my permission in a filthy moan.
The admission fuels his ministrations and that dirty mouth, shredding away whatever soft seduction he had hoped for, replacing it with wanton, filthy need.
"I knew these fucking tits would be perfect," he pinches again, eyes locked on the pink, stiff peaks. "God, I bet they taste so fucking good."
I want more than anything to let him find out for sure, but I can't. His hands already feel too good, and if that hot tongue touches them, I'm going to fall apart before either of us has even taken our clothes off.
One of his talented hands sneaks up, wrapping teasingly around my throat for a split second before he grips my ponytail, bringing my lips crashing against his.
This new positioning brings my nipples against his hard chest, rubbing against them with every small motion as he drags his tongue druggingly against mine. A filthy moan radiates from him, and I drink it down, reveling in the taste of him, his large hands gripping my ass and cupping the back of my neck to keep me right where he wants me.
Again and again, his tongue pins mine, his teeth grazing my lower lip.
