Fuck, she tastes like whiskey, and fruity shots, and mint gum, and pure fucking heaven.
It’s nothing like the strawberry lava cake I’ve imagined.
It’s so much fucking better.
My cock doesn’t know what to do with itself, cruelly imprisoned in my jeans, and I’d feel bad for it if not for the distraction of my tongue, which licks and slides against Beth’s like it’s got a point to prove. And with her soft moans, the way she reciprocates, I can’t help but feel like I’ve proven it in motherfucking spades. But whether she realizes it or not, Beth is also making a point of her own. Because with each stroke of her lush lips against mine, with every last taste of her I get, the more intoxicated I become.
Her familiar scent invades my senses, and I respond like an addict, bingeing on everything all at once, like it’s my last chance to ever experience any of it. My mouth, my hands, even the way my hips pin hers to the wall—it’s all shamefully coarse and rushed, like I’ve suddenly regressed into a virgin or something, choking under the pressure of the impossible choice between tits and ass. Except the body I’m currently running my hands all over is the one I’ve lusted over for fucking ever, and it’s not just any ass or pair of tits driving me goddamned insane, but fucking Bea’s.
But she doesn’t seem to mind the rough exploration of my hands anymore than my frenzied claiming of her mouth. In fact, she gives it all right back to me in equal measure, her fingers—though tentative at first—burning a path from my biceps up and along the lines of my shoulders. When they slide into my hair and tug, I groan right into her mouth, feasting on her responding sharp, surprised exhale. I love that she’s as out of control as I am right now.
Her swell of cleavage rises and falls dramatically with every harsh breath, pressing against my chest in a teasing parody of what it would feel like to have her beneath me. My palms zero in on her tight ass, pulling her into my throbbing erection without a conscious thought, and I have never been more desperate for anything in my life. Suddenly her tongue against mine is no longer a distraction from the steel fucking pipe wedged between us. Because, fuck, all it’s doing is making me think about more.
Her mouth—soft, hot, wet…my tongue thrusting inside it…
And then all I can think about is being inside her.
My dick swells to unfathomable proportions. My brain sends a faint, distant message that I vaguely register as a warning, but it’s lost behind the sound of her soft moan.
That fucking sound.
I grab the backs of her thighs and guide her long legs around my waist, never disconnecting from her mouth as she sucks in yet another gasp. I drop Beth on the bed and climb over her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other cupping her flushed cheek.
“Fuck, Bea,” I rasp.
Her hair is a wild mess of fine, gold silk, and I absently stroke its softness against the pads of my fingers, savoring the sensation.
I hold achingly still above her, reveling in the way her body’s delicate curves embrace me, yielding to the firm planes of my own as if they were built for just this purpose. Her plump, pink, slightly parted lips taunt me from mere inches away, reddened and swollen from my possession, tempting me to take another taste of the only fucking thing in existence that puts strawberry lava cake to shame.
But by some miracle I manage to hang on to a few more moments of self-restraint. I rest my forehead against hers, waiting to catch my breath before I pull back to look at her.
Her eyes fucking slay me, my chest swelling with an uncomfortable ache—something that, strangely, resembles a longing for something I don’t even fucking want.
I ignore it. Beth is too goddamned beautiful. She always has been. It isn’t fucking fair.
She stares up at me with eyes so wide it’s like she’s looking to me for some kind of answer. But I’m not the guy with the answers for once. No, for once I’m as confused as she is.
But I can’t let her see that—and I don’t. I mask emotion like a pro, and hiding how Beth gets to me is one act I mastered long ago. But for some reason, even as I slip on a smirk, I find it harder than usual to look unaffected.
“You win, Bea.” My voice comes out low and hoarse, strained by desire just as conspicuously as my jeans are. “Definitely not a little kid,” I concede, though I never argued that point in the first place.
Beth breathes out a short laugh. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she whines, adorable as all fuck. But I highly doubt this is what she’s been trying to tell me.
Her T-shirt has fallen off her shoulder, and her bare skin teases me, making it hard to focus despite being such an innocuous part of her body. But it’s her body, and every part of it is new, and forbidden, and motherfucking perfect.
Beth licks her lips and my dick jumps in my jeans. “You taste like whiskey,” she smiles tentatively.
I tuck a loose blond wave behind her ear. “I meant what I said,” I say pointedly. “If you’re going to lie and put yourself at risk—”
But I don’t get through a full sentence. “If you weren’t so overprotective, I wouldn’t have had to lie,” she says defensively.
“Well, if you weren’t so fucking reckless I wouldn’t have to be so protective!” I exhale harshly, aware I’m getting heated again in all the wrong ways, but too on edge to stop it. “You know Brody is out there—”
“This isn’t about Brody and you know it,” Beth spits.
My heart stops. Where the fuck is she going with this?
“This is about Brian. It’s about me seeing him, just like it’s about me dancing with Steven…This isn’t about Brody. It’s not even about me! This is about you, David.”
