He kissed down my stomach, inching my thong down my hips and dragging the skirt of my dress up to my navel. I let out a deep, shaky exhale as he settled between my thighs.
I tried to focus on Ben. On how his fingers were digging into my hips as he hovered over me. Staring at me like I really was the most captivating thing he’d seen all day. Like he was taking mental pictures so that later he could recall exactly what I looked like spread out for him like this, ready and waiting.
His breath whispered over my thighs as he brushed his lips back and forth, closer and closer, until his mouth was right there. His tongue darted out, licking up my slit. My hips rose of their own accord, my body aching with the need to be touched. To feel good.
And Ben felt good. He always felt good. And he was fun. And we were... whatever we were at this point. But my body and brain weren’t on the same page tonight. My brain was pooling with all my insecurities, spilling them over into my bedroom, the pressure of it all weighing down my bed.
I’d seen some of the women Ben had brought home. He could have anyone he wanted. His smile alone could melt the panties off half the women in a room. I’d heard him tell tales of his sexcapades before, and I had this nagging feeling that I was mediocre at best. That he would never be satisfied with me.
Ben had three of his fingers inside me and I was squirming beneath him, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the fact that I wouldn’t be enough for him. That I’d disappoint him somehow and he would find me lacking.
Not to mention, now that I knew he was able to get me there, there was this immense pressure. A niggling worry that if I couldn’t manage a repeat performance of the trifecta orgasm I somehow attained in my buzzed, confident, bad ass bitch glory, then he’d be done.
Putting pressure on myself was one way to guarantee I wouldn’t come. It wouldn’t be for lack of skill. He was extremely skilled.
But tonight? I couldn’t get there. Couldn’t disconnect from my brain enough to let my body relax so I could find the release I knew I so desperately needed.
My wheels were spinning, but I wasn’t going anywhere.
I didn’t want to put Ben off. Make him think he was doing something wrong.
He wasn’t.
It was me. My intrusive thoughts were too loud and my body was paying the price.
I was broken. Not fully functional. Someone should have put an out-of-order sign on my vaj.
Ben switched hands, stretching the fingers out that had been stroking my inner walls moments ago. I was going to give him carpal tunnel if I made him keep doing this until I came.
I grabbed Ben’s wrist.
“Come up here,” I said.
He cocked a brow at me but crawled up my body obediently. “Tell me what you want, princess.”
I smirked. He was always so willing. “I want you to put the condom on and fuck me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He grabbed the condom off my nightstand and ripped open the package, rolling it down his cock and stroking himself a couple of times while he stared down at me. I conjured up images of him kneeling in front of me, stroking himself to completion, coating me with his release.My body warmed at the idea.
He positioned himself at my entrance andthrust into me with long, slow strokes. I moaned at the sensation of fullness, wrapping my legs around his waist as he continued to pump into me, picking up his pace.
“Fuck, Eve. You feel too fucking good,” he breathed into my ear before pulling away, trying to slow himself down, shortening the length of his thrusts.
If he waited for me to orgasm, then he would be waiting all night. So, I put on my best performance, and I faked it.
“Faster,” I said, my voice a seductive purr that made Ben go harder inside me.
He did as I asked, and I let out a long moan, clenching my inner muscles before going lax beneath him.
Ben stilled his movements, studying my face.
Why was he looking at me like that?
I glanced away, cheeks burning.
“Did you...” he started and then paused, frowning. “Did you just fake it?”
