“I want you to touch yourself,” I whisper back.
His eyelids slam shut, his throat bobs, and his entire face strains. The comforter shifts beneath us, but neither of us have moved. Realization sinks in, and my face flushes.
“Fuck,” he says, and follows it with a groan.
“Isn’t that what you do when you get home every night? Touch yourself, knowing that I’m in my bed doing the same?”
“Aw, darlin’. You’re going to kill me with that mouth of yours. It looks so innocent, but it’s pure fucking filth, isn’t it? Just like the rest of you.”
“It’s just speaking the truth.” At least right now.
“You think of me fucking my fist?” he asks, eyes alight with a kind of intensity I’ve never seen in another pair in all my life. There’s nothing malicious, or sick about this kind of need. It’s pure, it’s reciprocated. It’s something I can fall into.
“No,” I tell him truthfully.
His brow comes down just a touch, closer to his eyes, not wavering from mine.
“I think of you fucking me.”
“Goddamn,” he breathes out, rolling over to face me completely.
“Show me,” I whisper.
“What do you want to see?”
“What I do to you.”
“I’ll show you exactly what you do to me, angel.”
My stomach flips at the use of my real name. What no one else has called me in almost a decade. From him, it doesn’t hold those connotations though. From him it feels like something holy.
I wait, holding my breath, lower lip between my teeth as I watch. Weston pulls the covers back, revealing his cut abs, all six of them, and the waistband of his underwear, taut against his lean frame.
My nipples tighten, my core flutters, and desire floods me at the sight of his masculine form. No part of me isn’t ready for this man.
Weston launches the bedspread the rest of the way off his body, and it lands at the foot of the bed in a whoosh of air. His cock juts up, fighting against the constraints of his boxer briefs, which have the challenging task of holding all of him in. I don’t know if my pussy could do the job, but I’m volunteering here and now to try, if he’s accepting applications.
“I’ll give you the live demonstration tomorrow,” he says huskily. “Make sure you knowexactlywhat you to do to me. Feel it from the inside, all the way from your throat to your toes.”
I let out a hum that might be embarrassing if I didn’t stand behind it a hundred percent.
“But for now, I’ll show you just how hard you get me, Amelia.”
I sit up, such an attentive pupil, here to remember every detail of tonight.
Weston reaches down and peels his underwear off, removing them entirely before laying back once more so I can take him in, entirely naked for the first time.
My breath leaves me, as does any shred of inhibition, as I take in the sight of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, laid before me like a feast for my eyes. I wish it were an interactive exhibit, but I can make do just fine with this view for now.
His cock is massive, entirely erect, and the veins look damn near angry, the head almost purple from the rush of blood.
I want to taste it. To feel the smoothness of him, the hardness as he notches that fat head into my center and pushes in. I’m not sure if I can stretch wide enough to take him, being as slight as I am. It might break me, but it’d be a worthy end to a life I hardly deserve in the first place.
“Is that what you wanted to see, darlin’?” His voice is gravel and carefully coiled restraint, like a bobcat ready to strike given the signal, at the first twitch of his prey.
Power, muscle, golden perfection, all ready and waiting.
I nod at him, tongue tracing my lower lip more out of the wish it were tracing something else than some conscious attempt to lure him in.
