“Just asking if you liked that,” he pants. “You sound like you like that. You sound like you love lying back and getting fucked, just—” He moves slightly and sits up a little, presses our bodies flush with his hands on my thighs. I swear and grind my hips against him again, desperate for that pressure on my clit.
“Jesus Christ, look at you take me,” he murmurs, fucking me slower now. Looking down. Watching. Fuck, I wish I could see. “Your perfect pussy and your fat little clit, just begging for attention.”
Oh, so he knows?
“Well, come on, then.” It almost sounds normal.
“Is this not enough?” he croons, still fucking slowly. “It’s pretty good from here. Hot and wet and practically begging for it.”
He shifts again, and this time he slides one thumb up one side of my clit, barely brushing it. “How about this?”
“Close,” I pant. “Try just—a little to the side?—”
He slides his thumb down the other side of my clit, brushing the other side of it, and goddamnit. “Was that it?”
“No! What the hell?” This is the first time in my life I’ve ever moaned that phrase. I’m squirming, trying to grapple him with my legs, and it’s not working. “Would you please just—fucking touch my clit already?—”
Instead, Javier hoists my other ankle onto his shoulders, and now he’s leaning over, practically bending me in half, eyes frantic, and he goes deeper and harder, and it’s good—it’s really good—it’s just not quite what I need and I honestly think I might cry.
Finally, he plants a thumb on my clit and he doesn’t move it, but there’s just enough friction that I’m getting close—come on,please—and then he pulls out.
“Can I come on you?”
I nod, frantically, and try to sayyeahbut my voice isn’t working great. Javier strips off the condom, and then he’s over me again, pumping himself with his hand and then letting out a punched-out groan as he comes in stripes over my chest and belly.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and then he’s on me, our bodies not quite touching, kissing me while my brain catches up. Because, uh, does he think I came? I snake my hand off the armrest and press my fingers against my clit, rubbing softly, and sigh into his mouth. He nips at my bottom lip, then sits up and grabs my wrist, pulling my hand off.
“I didn’t come,” I point out, somewhat bitchily.
“Oh, you didn’t?”
“No.” I flex my wrist. He doesn’t let go. “So could I please just?—”
I stop because he’sgrinningat me, flushed and sweaty and devilish as anything.
“Oops,” he cheerfully lies to my face. “My mistake. Think you can be a little more patient?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Please? Three more minutes.”
I didn’t think I could get hornier than when I was actively getting well-fucked, but here we are. I can wait three minutes. I can do that.
“Three,” I grit out, and he kisses the inside of my wrist, puts it over my head again, and stands up.
“Try not to move,” he says, looking at the mess on me. “You’ve got a nice couch. I don’t want anything to drip and ruin it.”
He walks off. Fuckingwalks off. Water runs in the bathroom. I stare at the ceiling and try to, like, think peaceful thoughts or something. It doesn’t work. I mostly think about how well I can feel every inch of my skin and how exposed I am, how vulnerable. I try not to squirm. In a minute, he’s back with his hair suddenly neat, his boxer-briefs back on and a washcloth in his hand, and he—he fucking puts it on the coffee table, then contemplates everything else on it.
“Seriously?” I ask, and he glances up at me. “Come on. It’s hell getting things out of velvet.”
“You’ve managed to keep it clean so far.”
“No thanks to you.”
“At least give me some credit for my aim. You’re a much prettier mess than the couch would be.” He picks up a vibrator from the small pile on the coffee table. “I can put this one inside you, right?”
It’s silicone with a slightly curved bulb at one end, one I don’t use that often, and there’s still semen on me as Javier asks whether he can fuck me with a toy. I could easily grab the washcloth myself or just use my hands, but that’s not the point, is it?
