Her sigh is a long, drawn out exhalation. “Maybe.”
With another uncontrolled noise, I drop to the floor so fast I’ve got to pin her flank to the wall to keep her from collapsing on top of me. The way the lift shudders should be frightening, but my rational brain’s nowhere to be found.
Who gives a fuck when you’re about to get a taste of the pussy you’ve been dreaming of for months?
The pajama bottoms are tiny, loose, stretchy things and, rather than yank them down the way my inner monster would like, I urge her legs open and bury my face in the front.
“My god, your smell.” Made for me. I breathe her in like the finest, rarest whisky. Something to be savored with every sense before consuming, one slow sip at a time. But I can’t do slow. Not now when she’s here, smelling like sweetness and spice and sin combined and it just so happens to be the chemical compound of my dreams. “I’ve got to taste you, love.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Okay. Yes. Yes.”
My hand grasps the crotch of her ridiculous garment, yanks it to the side, and before it’s cleared her pussy, I dive in, sinking my whole face into her, coating myself with her, marking myself, consuming. Fuck, fuck me.
I’m lost to that part of me that wants to take and take. The part that’s wanted to push her up against the letterboxes and rut since the very moment she walked into the building.
That part knew what it wanted, even if my working brain denied it. That part felt the pull. The hunger.
Even tongue-deep inside her, I’m afraid that inner beast will never get enough.
Worse, though, I’m afraid it doesn’t want to be sated. It wants more. More of this heavenly taste, more of her almost pained whimpers filling the lift. More of the hunger itself.
I swipe up, flick her stiff little clit with the tip of my tongue, and allow myself a slow, side to side journey back down. “More,” I groan, tugging at her lip with my teeth, twisting my head to the side to lick inside her. She’s thrown one of her thick thighs over my shoulder and I want every bit of her on top of me, I want to soak up her weight, smother in all this hot, tender flesh.
Above me, her whimper turns to a squeal as I yank the shorts down and tug at her legs.
“What are you doing?” She smacks my hand. “Stop it.”
I freeze. “Shit. You all right?”
“We’re in an elevator.”
“I need to get my face in your gorgeous pussy, Jules. Please.”
“You do?”
“So badly."
“Oh, God,” she whimpers. “Yeah. I want that.”
The moment she grabs my shoulders, I shove her tighter to the wall, grip her stupendous arse and lift, so I’m holding her up as she rides me, her sweet pussy spread wide for the taking.
“Shit, shit, watch out,” she shrieks which, once I get my tongue back where it belongs, turns to a high, breathless, “Oh, God, oh God, oh God,” and, with my next bite, “fuck, Colin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I want… Oh, God.”
I hum against her flesh, actually smiling now.
Can’t help it, can I? I’ve just found the one thing that makes her curse.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Jules
Oh, my God. Oh my God. I’m gonna fall. No, I’m going to suffocate him. No, I’m going to die of the kind of orgasm I’ve only ever dreamt of.
He’s doing things to me that no one’s ever done, spearing me deep, lapping me up, wetting his whole face with me. I’d be embarrassed, I think, if I could see him.
Then again, with the way I’m feeling right now, I could forget everything but the pleasure he’s giving. And it’s not just about friction either, it’s about how badly he wants this. How wild it’s made him. The sounds he’s making of utter desperation.
It feels amazing to be wanted like this.
