I try them both out, record the results in my mental file on this girl.
“Asher,” she moans my name, and it’s my favorite sound. Nobody’s ever said my name the way she does. “You know what I like already,” she tells me, but it sounds like begging.
“I wanna findeverythingyou like, gorgeous. So show me, show me what does it for you. Harder? Softer?” My fingers keep changing it up to match my words, finding what gets the best response from her.
“It’s you,” she says, panting between the words, hardly capable of speaking and we’ve barely fucking started. “You’re what does it for me.”
Haven’t even touched her skin yet, and I’m hard as fucking stone at the feel of her beneath my hands, the look on her face, the words she’s spewing, the sounds escaping her.
“Fuck, Ellie. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, about to come for me before I’ve even gotten to feel how wet you are.”
She does this kind of whimper, this protest, and her speechless might be my favorite accomplishment to date. Well, second to when she’s anything but.
“I want you to feel me. I want to feelyou.” She says the words like a whine, like it’s not fair I’m making her come through her clothes as a precursor to the rest of the night.
“You can do it, Ellie, just give me one. The first one of the night, then I’ll take you to bed, take off this hot little outfit, make you come all night long, however you want. Just let me see this one here, let me feel you soak this little thing for me.”
She whimpers again, louder this time, and I keep up the winning combo, stroking her, pressing in, rubbing her just right. Her thigh muscles start trembling, legs locking, shaking, as she struggles to remain standing. The backs of my fingers brush against her entrance, the cloth covering it, and I can feel a rush of warmth there, I know she’s so fucking close. I wish I could feel how close with my tongue, but that’ll be next.
“That’s it, gorgeous,” I praise her.
“Fuck,” she cries, throwing her head back, hands on my shoulders to try to steady herself. I won’t let her fall, unless it’s over the edge with me, because of me.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “All the way, babe, you can do it.”
I feel the change in her, the way those words throw her over the edge, even her clit feels different through these shorts, and I keep playing with it, giving her everything she needs to come fully, draw it all out, not missing a beat. She shakes around me, above me, and I watch, transfixed, fascinated, obsessed with how she breaks for me.
“And you thought you couldn’t come?” I breathe against the soft skin of her thigh, forehead pressed against it, fingers still milking the last of her release from her. “Your ex is a fucking moron. This pussy was made to come for me.”
“Oh God, Asher,” she cries out. “Don’t—” she struggles to get the words out mid-orgasm, but she tries. “Don’t talk about him while you’re getting me off.”
I lean forward, use my tongue to stroke the length of her through the material, and she shudders again, lets out a little scream for me at what that does to her sensitized flesh.
“Fucking sings for me,” I murmur to her, ignoring her rebuke. “All you gotta do is stroke it, and it purrs so pretty.” Give her a few more said strokes, watch as her entire body shudders, she fights a chill, and I get her through the comedown.
“Jesus Christ, Asher,” she breathes out, cheeks all pink, eyes glassy and blown out, lip puffy from how she’s been biting it. “How do you do that to me?”
“Easily,” I tell her with a smirk, getting to my feet, pulling her into me for the first time since I got here tonight. Wrap her up in my arms, hold her close, let her feel how much I want her, how much I love being with her, in any way.
Look down and realize I’m still in this stupid fucking costume, which makes me laugh, and I start to take it off, pile it by my bag on the floor, by the door.
“Billy Madison, huh?” she asks me.
I tilt my head at her, do this kind of wink/quirk combo with half my face as I shrug a shoulder. “He’s the one who ends up with the hot older chick, so I kinda had to.”
That makes her laugh, and I live for it.
As soon as I’m down to my boxer-briefs, I take her in my arms again, fist her hair, bring her face to mine to take her mouth, but stop as soon as our lips brush.
“Shit!”
“What?” she asks, alarmed.
“I almost fucked up your mouth before I got a picture of how perfect you look right now.”
Her eyes widen on me again, I think nervous about the prospect of a risqué pic.
“I’ll keep it in a secure app, delete it from my photos. Just wanna remember how good you look like this for the rest of my fucking life,” I tell her, and she blushes, nods a couple times.
