“Relax your shoulders,” I whisper near his ear when I feel his arms and shoulders flexing. “Let the wheel do the work. We’re just guiding it along.”
He exhales slowly, and I feel him relax. His hands follow my lead, strong and careful, and the clay rises between our fingers. Water drips, slick and cool, trailing down his wrists. I add more, letting it run over his big hands.
Ilovetouching his hands. The sensation is so delicious and distracting. I’m barely paying attention to the fact that this vase is nothing more than a deformed lump of clay. My artistic integrity is gone. All that’s left is him—the heat of his body, the steady strength in his hands, the way my pulse skips every time our fingers slide together and I forget where the clay ends and he begins.
“How am I doing?” he asks, voice low.
My breath hitches. My nipples are hard and tingly as I press my chest to his back. My inner thighs are wrapped around him and my pussy is on fire.
“So good,” I whisper, sliding my hands onto his wrists.
I wonder if he’s as turned on as I am. I wonder if his cock is long and hard. I’m so wet it’s hard to concentrate on anything else.
“How do I get it up?” he asks.
I gulp. Loudly.
He gives me a sexy grin as he looks at me over his shoulder. “You okay back there?”
“Yes,” I gasp. I’m so far from being okay. Get it up… He wants to get it up?
“Oh,” I say, shaking my head and feeling ridiculous. “The clay. Like this.”
I take his hands and show him how to add pressure, pushing his thumbs into the wet clay, slow and deliberately. It rises between his palms and he laughs, deep and masculine. It sends a heated pulse rippling through my body.
“Good,” I whisper as I guide him with my hands. “Keep it center.”
The clay gets that long hard shape and my mind goes to some dirty places. My hands are so close to the real thing. I start to get all shaky when I picture sliding my hands onto his hard cock and feeling that instead.
He turns his head just enough that his cheek brushes my temple. “You’re a good teacher,” he whispers. “You’re so good with your hands.”
The wheel keeps spinning. The music throbs low. His hands squeeze just a little tighter under mine, and I know this lesson is going to end up with all of our clothes on the floor.
He looks down at my lips and all my resolve snaps. I kiss his mouth from the side as I abandon the clay and slide my hands up his hard chest and over his chiseled stomach instead, neither of us caring that I’m getting wet clay all over him. There’s no going back now.
“June,” he whispers in a deep throaty voice. “I’m falling for you...”
“Oh fuck,” I moan, kissing the back of his neck, his shoulders, his back.
He keeps working the clay, but I’ve abandoned it completely. My ravenous hands have a mind of their own, sliding down his stomach and over his muscular thighs.
He sucks in a sharp breath as I get closer to his cock, about to feel how long and hard I’m making him.
“Goddamn,” he whispers as I slowly drag my hand up to his crotch. I feel his erection—long, rock hard, and throbbing under those pants—and my wet pussy clenches with need. “Oh, yes.”
I open his button and pull down his zipper, reaching in with my wet hand as he holds his breath, his big hands still on the spinning clay.
“Fuck,” he growls as I wrap my hand around his thick shaft and pull his meaty cock out.
I can’t see it, but I canfeelit. It’s massive and as hard as concrete and I never want to let it go.
His breath turns ragged as I dip my hand in the warm water. I get his cock all wet just like I do with the clay, and start stroking it with two hands, up and down, slow and steady. His body trembles. The wheel is still spinning even though neither of us are paying attention to it anymore.
“June,” he says again, like my name is a warning and a promise all at once.
He says it like this is changing everything. Like we’re way past first date territory and into something special.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispers, his voice cracking with every second word. “I’m already getting obsessed with you. This is dangerous.”
