Jameson
Ididn’t know who closed the distance between our lips. It could’ve been me, maybe it was, maybe it was Tommy. I’d never know because the point when we made contact was the point when my mind was no longer my own.
Tommy’s hands were on my waist, holding me close to his chest, my centre pushed against the hard length of his cock. I heard myself moan as his kisses slowed, his mouth tasting me so thoroughly, as if he was starved for something only I could give.
The pressure points where his fingertips pressed into my skin caused concentric circles of need; making me lean impossibly closer to his body. I wanted -needed- more.
My heart had set up a heavy beat in my chest, my body struggling to stop heading into overload.
“Last chance, Jameson.” His voice was a growl.
“Not going anywhere.” The words, I knew, sealed my fate, sealed my summer. Even if this was the only night we had, my time on the island would only be about this. Every night after would be spent thinking about how I felt when he touched me.
His hands left my waist, grazing up my dress to my shoulders where he pushed off the straps, sliding them down my arms, his fingertips following.
I shivered and bucked closer to him, needing some relief, some of what he was promising me.
Those calloused hands drifted from my arms to my now-exposed breasts, my nipples hard. Tommy’s eyes dipped to them, and he licked his lips, his gaze feasting. His tanned hand was darker than my skin, making my skin seem almost translucent in the moonlight. At first, the touch he gave was gossamer-light, a mere feather dancing across acutely sensitive skin, and then he paused, as if he was deciding on his strategy.
I didn’t know whether I was just a plaything, a toy. Something to amuse himself with now he’d closed his cocktail bar for the night.
And I didn’t care.
His fingers flickered to my breast, roughly pinching the nipple. There was nothing hurried or fast about it; he’d said he didn’t care if anyone saw, and it was clear he meant it.
We were outside, exposed, the dull beats of the music drifting through the air, and this man, this broad expanse of man, didn’t care. Right now, I was the centre of his everything, or that was how it felt.
The pinch reverberated through my body, making me arch my back and want to beg for more.
“Too pretty.” He roughly cupped my breast, pressing another kiss against my neck. “I hated it when that boy was doing this before.”
“He’s not now.” I wasn’t sure how I managed to get the words out.
“No. It’s all for me.” His hands moved me so I rested back against them, and he began to feast on my breasts, taking each tip in his mouth and licking and sucking and kissing, the spot between my legs starting to throb and pulse.
His kiss became harder, sitting me up and pulling me closer once more. He was needier, more demanding now.
And I gave. I took back, my fingers over the backs of his hands as they explored my body, afraid to touch any more in case he wasn’t real. A moan I hadn’t realised I could make slipped from my lips, making him curse.
I made the mistake of opening my eyes and seeing his, those dark pools of liquid chocolate now filled with desire and hunger. My touch moved to his biceps, clutching on while his hands moved down, those rough fingers tracing their way to my thighs where the silken material met skin.
The skirt of my dress was pushed up roughly, exposing me. Because he was right, I hadn’t worn underwear. The dress was too clingy, too silken, the lines of anything else would’ve been visible, and this was one of Livi’s parties.
It was all about the look, only now it was all about the feel.
I heard the sharp intake of Tommy's breath and saw him looking at the place where I wanted him most. He danced a finger across the smooth skin there, from my lower stomach to down between my lips, the stroke across my clit so gentle and slow it felt like torture.
“You’re wet.” He pressed his finger inside me, curling it straight away.
I felt more moisture soak his hand. I wanted to be embarrassed, care that my body was betraying me somehow, in proving how gone I was for him and his touch, but I couldn’t.
He spread his legs, making mine part. I wrapped my hands around his neck and swallowed hard, his finger pulsing in and out of me, encouraging me to ride his hand, just as he’d promised, when he added a second digit.
Whispered dirty words made me clench my walls around his fingers, feeling an orgasm dance closer. I grasped at whatever coherent sense I had left, dropping a hand so it was flat against his chest, then lower, spreading my palm over his hard cock. It felt thick and long through his jeans, impossibly big and impatient.
“Take it out.”
I didn’t need to be asked again. I undid his fly with trembling, desperate fingers.
