I didn't like that. I had no claim on her, and we only got along when we were fucking. There was nothing there. Not even a friendship to fall back on, so there was no reason I should be imagining her gasping my name while she rode my cock, looking at me like I was the only one she wanted.
It was a dangerous line of thinking, and yet I couldn't stop. I imagined how tight and wet she would be. How she would arch when I pinched and tugged at her nipples. How I could leave marks all down her chest with my lips and teeth, marking her as mine, at least for that night.
There. That was easier to think about. For one night, she could be mine, and I could figure out just how dirty she could be. How easily I could make her come by slapping her ass or fucking her harder.
I wanted to see how many times I could get her to fall apart over the course of one night, especially in a place where we didn't have to worry about being overheard or walked in on. The thrill of doing it with her brother and friends so close had been nice, but I wanted more.
I could admit that to myself, alone in my car, sitting in my driveway by that point, half hard in my jeans.
I wanted her and I wanted more. Even when she was being bratty and rude, I wanted her. If only so I could fuck her until she had nothing but my praises to sing.
It wasn't about feelings or affection or anything like that. It was about the way I couldn't get her out of my head. How she was so soft on the outside, seeming just to be this polite, naive thing, but she could keep up with me in bed.
How she begged me for more and took everything I gave her.
"Fuck," I hissed, groaning when I went to get out of the car and my cock pressed against the front of my jeans.
I was getting harder by the second, unable to stop thinking of the time we'd spent together in Greece. Her on her knees in front of me, her spread out on the couch, her in my bed. It was some of the best sex I'd had in years, and my body was craving it.
My pulse beat down through me, and I barely made it into the elevator at my building before I was pressing a hand against the front of my jeans, hissing again as my cock gave an answering throb.
I wanted to stick my hand right in my pants and get off, but the elevator was hardly the place to do that, and I fought the urge to blush when the doors dinged open and the little old woman who lived downstairs from me got on with a smile.
"Good evening," she said.
"Good evening," I bit out, and she gave me a weird look in return before turning to face the doors once more.
Once we hit my floor, I was off like a rocket, keys out, going to let myself in. And once the door was shut behind me, I sighed gratefully and moved over to the couch.
Some of the urgency had eased up, but this wasn't one of those erections I was going to be able to ignore until it just went away. It demanded attention, and I didn't have any reason not to indulge it.
I sat down and spread my legs, undoing the fly on my jeans so I could ease my cock out. It stood up, jutting proudly out from my underwear, and I put my hand over it, rubbing over the head and smearing the gathering precum around.
It felt good, and I closed my eyes, imagining my hand was smaller, more delicate. Elise's hand, wrapped around my cock, stroking it down while her eyes stayed fixed on mine.
She'd have some sarcastic comment to make, with a twist of a begrudging smile on her pretty face, and I'd tell her to stop messing around and get to it already.
She would roll her eyes, because of course she would.
But she'd do it.
I spat into the palm of my hand and tried to imagine Elise doing that. She was too prim for that, probably. She might lick her palm, though, getting it slick before she applied it back to my cock, teasing me with light, lingering strokes while I tried to keep my hips still.
I swallowed hard and teased myself, groaning as I tipped my head back. It felt good, but not as good as it would have felt to have someone else doing it.
My hand worked faster, and I gave up on keeping my hips still, just the way I would have if Elise were actually here doing this. There was no way I would be able to resist bucking up, fucking into her fist the same way I was fucking into my own.
I wished it was her mouth or her pussy, both tight and wet in their own ways.
I wished instead of fighting with her, I had brought her home with me, so I could spread her out on this couch and devour her before taking her to bed.
I didn't know why I couldn't get her out of my mind. She wasn't even that special. She was stubborn and silly, and she did things that were definitely not in her best interest.
But it was her eyes I was thinking of as I worked my cock faster and harder, breath coming in desperate pants. And it was her name on my lips when I bucked up, squeezing my cock to hold off my orgasm, drawing it out so it would be more intense.
I thumbed over the head of it, and then squeezed down, still picturing her throat, her welcoming holes. My body trembled, and I kept stroking, alternating between going quickly and slowing it down, keeping myself right on the edge time and time again, until finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
I let myself jerk off as quickly as I wanted, and it was just a matter of seconds before I was spilling in a hot, wet rush, coming over my hand and onto the crotch of my jeans with a muffled shout.
I sat there, panting hard, feeling a bit gross for the fluid all over me, and I knew that wasn't going to be the last time I got off to the thought of Elise.
