My thighs burn with the effort, the stress of the heels, and I have a vague sense of wonder about when the last time was that I put in a chunk of the work when it came to sex. Think it’s been awhile. This shit isn’t as easy as I remember it being once upon a time, but I keep going.
With every tilt of my hips, every slide of my core against his pant leg, his muscle beneath it, I get the pressure I’m craving. The delicious pull of the lace against my silky flesh is making me see stars.
And I can’t stop. I’ve forgotten all about the teasing lap dance I’m supposed to be performing. My arms wrap around his neck again, I bury my face in his shoulder, his hands rub up and down my back, taking full advantage of the temporary treaty I’ve granted him, and I can’t stop.
“Oh God, you’re going to come on me, aren’t you?” he rasps out, but I can’t answer.
My hips just keep grinding on him, back and forth, a circle every now and then, until the pressure low in my belly opens up and swallows me whole. My head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, and this motherfucker takes the chance to scoop my hair into his fist, yanking my head almosttoofar back, his lips claiming the skin of my throat that’s now exposed.
The jolt of surprise, of lewd excitement that runs through me at the feel of him commanding my body, his grip on my hair and neck, his tongue along the column of my throat, it just about sends me over the edge. The dirty words he says next do the trick.
“That’s right, baby. Take it from me.” He pauses to lick my neck again. “You know I’ll take care of this pussy, give it what it needs.” He shifts his thigh, flexing the muscle there, giving me a firmer surface to work on, and he groans at the feel. “Keep grinding all over my pants, Di. I want you to make a goddamn mess on them.”
It’s over for me.
I fall into the abyss of pleasure, all my nerve endings sparking, every cell electrified as I let out an endless moan and float away on the wings of release.
“Fucking hell,” I hear him croak, and it feels like his hips jerk beneath me.
I’m still moving on him, slower and slower, until the final wave of the orgasm ebbs and leaves me sated, resting in my husband’s lap.
I open my eyes to find his locked on me, my face, the flush in my cheeks and the way my mouth is hanging open from sheer bliss.
Well. That wasn’t the plan at all.
At least I didn’t cave in and get him off in the process. That would’ve been totally unforgivable on tonight’s mission.
Getting back to my feet, I step away slowly, joints creaking and popping, thighs screaming murder at me, and more than a couple of new blisters making themselves known on my feet.
When I’m two steps back, that’s when I notice his lap. The wet spot there.
Not on his thigh, where I imagine there’s a second one courtesy of ya girl. But right over his junk. Where I definitelywasn’ttouching during that final performance. Neither was he, I could feel both his hands all over me.
So how did he…
His gaze meets mine, not as sheepish as I thought he might be afterjizzing his fucking pants. He looks more proud. Impressed, maybe? Sated, possibly.
My brows raise in question, and all this bastard does is tell me, “What can I say, Di? You’re so fucking hot and know how to get me off, baby.”
“Did you…” I can’t even find the words.
“Mmm.” He nods once, owning it, as he stands, pulling me into him. “I’ll give you that round. That’s your point, baby.” The growl of his timbre sends chills through me, and suddenly I feel like I’m ready for round two. “But next time, it’ll be your pussy I’m coming in.”
After how quickly my plan tonight went off the rails, I’m not so sure he’s wrong.
But I padlock my resolve, batten the hatches and reaffirm that I’m keeping him out of the deepest parts of me until I trust him again.
TWELVE
CHANCE
“Sooo…we’re justnotgoing to talk about it?”
My wife’s acidic words cut through the near silence of the house. The kids are asleep, and the only other sound in here is Sir Wags, who’s joined me on the couch, laying across my legs and chewing a toy, unaware that fifty pounds is typicallyslightlylarger than a lapdog, but I’ll never correct him on that.
Her words are more defensive than accusative, so I tread carefully.
“I thought we did?” I toss back at her, a grin on my face. “It is what it is, babe. I’ll last longer next time.”
