His cock twitches,
the heat of him pulsing through his jeans.
His hips press closer,
chasing my hand,
and his throat bobs,
trying to swallow back a groan.
I stroke once and squeeze him,
making his exhale tremble.
Another graze, another squeeze.
And then a third time.
A fourth.
His hand shakes between my thighs.
My lips brush over his.
“Look at you, shaking,” I breathe into his mouth. “You that close?”
His throat catches, the words stuck.
I touch his jaw, taste his wet cinnamon breath.
“C’mon, I want you to come for me.
“Don’t hold back.”
His hips stutter, and he grabs mine.
“Jesus, Allison—don’t?—”
The rest dies against my lips when I stroke him again.
“You can let go here,” I whisper.
“I got you, remember?”
His breath breaks in half.
Jagged inhales. Curse-filled exhales.
He can barely hold on to my lips.
Another stroke,
and his hips grind forward, giving in.
He jerks,
pulses,
