"I said"—he groans again, sounding pained—"I wouldn't touch you."
"Congratulations. Your superhuman strength is self-control. But mine is not."
He gazes up at me, eyes feverish. Famished. "The sun is lighting up your face. Your hair. You look so pretty."
"You don't look so bad yourself, Sailor." I give my hips a little shimmy, and he grips my hip bones harder, his fingers ass-adjacent. I wouldn't mind if his hands drifted a little lower and dug into that round flesh.
"You're making this hard, Daisy."
I lean back, bracing myself on his legs, rubbing back and forth. "I can feel exactly how hard I'm making it."
He hisses. An honest to goodness, rush of breath between his teeth.
I'm dying to reach out, run my hands over his ridiculously muscled shoulders. Let my touch fall down, climb back up inside his shirt, fingernails tracing his abs.
My tongue darts out, tip pressing against the center of my upper lip as I wait for him to guide whatever happens next.
His eyes on my mouth, he says, "I said I wouldn't touch you, but maybe you could touch yourself. For me."
My core tightens, from nerves or excitement I can't tell, but I'm feeling them both. "I've never done that in front of anyone."
"You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. And?—"
"I want to." The words rush out of me. My pulse, already quickened, races now. My heart thunders in my chest.
I lift myself upright, freeing my hands, sliding back so I'm straddling him lower, almost mid-thigh. My right hand slides up my chest, slipping under the strap on my left shoulder. Smile shy, I push until the fabric lies against my arm. I do it again to the strap on my right shoulder.
"I'd kiss your collarbone," he says, strained. "Bite it. Gently, I promise."
"I'd like that," I respond, getting into it a little more. I'm feeling more and more comfortable with every passing second. I run my fingers over the top swell of my breasts, watching as his breathing turns shallow. "Should I pull down my shirt?"
"Please," he coughs out.
Satisfaction rises up inside me. The power I feel at having this effect over him is akin to being buzzed.
Gripping the fabric in my hands, I slowly pull it down, dragging it out. Lucky for him, this top has a built-in bra. My breasts spill out, the balmy air instantly hardening my nipples.
"When I tell you..." he trails off, looking like he's about to propel himself off the hood of the truck with an animalistic roar.
"Tell me what?" I ask innocently. My fingertips lightly trace over my skin.
"What I would do to those," he answers, teeth clenched. "Lick, suck, fuck."
I close my eyes, and pinch my nipples. "I want you to do all of that," I groan, opening my eyes. The front of his jeans is swollen, like he's dying to get out from the straining fabric. "You can do it, too, you know."
He shakes his head slowly back-and-forth. "My self-control is good, but it's not that good."
"Shame," I say, pouting.
I let go of my nipples, my hands drifting lower. Collecting the fabric of my skirt, I lift it and gather it behind me. Today, I wore my pretty underwear, an emerald green lace.
"Sexy, right?" I ask, running my fingers horizontally across my lower stomach.
"I might die, Sunshine. I'm not even sure how much I'm joking right now."
I chuckle lightly, rubbing my hand over myself. My head lolls back, enjoying not only my own ministrations, but his blatant appreciation.
Dipping lower, I hook a finger on the side of my panties, pretending to tug. Teasing him. "Would you like to see me, Sailor?"
