“Please make me come.”
That I can do.
I start at her clit and lick the soft parting of her seam, spreading her with my tongue. She’s so wet already, so fucking ready.
But I’m not. Oh, I’m hard all right, and more than capable of taking her with the hurried fierceness she’s begging for. But right now, I want to tease. To draw out the slow swirl of pleasure as I commit every inch of her to memory.
Her fingers twine in my hair, clawing with enough force that I wonder if I’ll be missing clumps of hair in the morning. I don’t care. All I care about right now is bringing her as much pleasure as possible.
“Lay back,” I urge. It’s partly to save me from being scalped by her clenched fist, but mostly to get her to let go and relax. To open herself up to me completely.
She obliges, releasing my hair and leaning back on her elbows. Her legs part wider, and it’s like the most beautiful smorgasbord I’ve ever imagined. Pretty, pink flesh is on full display in front of me, inches from my mouth. I’ve never seen anything so goddamn lovely.
“Sarah,” I whisper. I shut my mouth then, because what the hell was I about to say?
I’ve always wanted you.
You’re just like I dreamed you’d be.
God, I need you.
It’s the latter I focus on, the fact that this is carnal and nothing more. It’s how it has to be now, and I can deliver. Slowly, I stroke my tongue along her opening. Jesus, she’s sweet. And so sensitive she’s arching up before I even reach her clit. I always imagined she’d be like this, but I never knew for sure. The reality socks me in the gut like the best kind of sucker punch, like a surprise under the tree Christmas morning.
Her moans sound muffled, and I glance up to see she’s biting her forearm, trying to mask her cries of pleasure.
For some reason that turns me on more, and my hard-on presses painfully against the edge of the ridiculous soap box. My palms are clamped around her hips, holding her steady. I draw one hand back and slip it between her legs. My fingertips tease her slick entrance, and she bucks against me.
“Fuck me, Ian.”
“Come for me first,” I murmur, dipping two fingers into her. “Can you do that for me, Sarah?”
She moans as I sink both digits into her and go back to licking her. Her clit is swollen and ripe, and I can tell by the way her pussy pulses around my fingers that she’s close. I curl my fingers up, locating her G-spot like she handed me a map to it.
Her body goes rigid, and her breath stops. It’s like the calm before the storm, and then the tornado hits.
“Ian, yes!” She grinds her hips, fucking my fingers, my face, taking her pleasure as she gasps and moans and squeezes tight around me.
I bring her down slowly, planting soft little licks along her opening as she twitches with aftershocks. Dotting one last kiss on her hipbone, I stand up and work my way out of the cumbersome soap costume.
Sarah props herself up on her elbows to watch me. “How come you get to take off your costume?”
“Because I can’t very well fuck you when I’m dressed as a bar of soap.”
She grins. “Fair point.” She slips a hand into the front of her dress, and I hold my breath as her fingers sweep across her nipple. When she draws her hand back, she’s holding a foil packet. “Condom,” she says. “Lisa stitched it into my dress. She’s an interior designer, and her sewing skills come in handy sometimes.”
“Remind me to send flowers to Lisa.”
I have the box off and the condom on in a matter of seconds. Sarah scoots to the edge of the table and opens her legs in invitation. “I haven’t stopped thinking about this since last night,” she says. “About having you inside me again.”
“Let’s make it happen, then.”
I know she’s wet and ready, but I still make an effort to ease in slowly. She hooks her ankles around my hips, high heels digging into my ass cheeks. “Please don’t hold back,” she begs. “Take me hard.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I grab her just below the waist, fixing my palms around her hips like they were made to fit there. I thrust into her, burying myself deep in her slippery cleft. She moans and tightens her legs around me, urging me on. It’s like our bodies were made for this. Like someone molded us from clay so we’d fit together perfectly, each of us moving to a matched rhythm in our heads.
How did I never realize it could feel like this?
